Four Seconds to Lose

amusing, but because she finally reacted the way I’d expect her to. Because I finally see an expression on her face that seems unguarded and uncontrolled.

Persuasive Cain is gone. “You’re not staying in this apartment, Charlie. Not for one more night.” I slide my phone out of my pocket. “Pack your things. Now.” I can’t help the severity in my tone; it tends to escape in situations where I have to take control.

Charlie turns to regard me with a hard glare. I wonder how she’ll react to my more unpleasant side. I don’t give her a chance to argue. “This is nonnegotiable. If you want to work for me, you’re not living next door to a bunch of crackheads. I don’t want you anywhere near that shit.” I hit “call” on my phone, adding, “I know of a good place.”

Turning my back to her, I wait. Maybe she’ll launch something at my head. It wouldn’t be the first time . . .

The familiar, gruff voice answers on the third ring. “Tanner here.”

chapter ten * * * CHARLIE

“You drive a brand-new Sorento and you live in the slums?” Ginger’s pretty face twists up in bewilderment from my passenger side. She climbed in the second I pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, behind Cain. Her hair is styled poker-straight and smooth today, reaching all the way to her chin in multicolored stripes.

“I inherited it.” The lie slides off my tongue so easily. It’s the same lie I gave to Cain when he helped load my belongings into the back. I could tell by the blank stare that he might not buy it, but he didn’t call me out.

Thank God Sam didn’t send me here with another Volvo—this whole charade would be that much harder to sell. Then again, I imagine a Volvo wouldn’t have lasted one night in the other apartment’s building’s parking lot. The truth is I almost sold my SUV to bank the money. But that could get back to Sam through Jimmy, and it would raise questions. I figure I can get about twenty grand on its sale the second I’m ready to leave.

My eyes roll over the white-stucco apartment building in front of us. Despite the bars on the bottom-floor windows, it looks nice enough and well maintained. Nothing fancy, but hopefully not a place where I have to worry about getting shot, standing in the middle of my studio.

I think I did a pretty good job of hiding my emotions from Cain today. But, considering I carry a constant feeling of threat on my shoulders nowadays, I don’t think this was as shocking for me as it would be for someone else. Either way, I didn’t want to appear vulnerable in front of my new boss, so I did my best to focus on making light of the situation while I iced the bump on his head.

“So, you live here?”

“A bunch of us do. Me, Mercy, Hannah, China.”

“China?” I repeat, tossing a sidelong glance at Ginger. “The China?” The viper who almost made me cry last night?

She snorts. “Yeah, the one and only. Bad news is she’s a bitch. Good news is she’s fine if you get on her good side.” That’s Ginger. She’s blunt and snarky, but she always tries to keep things positive.

“Does Cain live here, too?”

“Cain?” Ginger snorts. “No way. He lives somewhere downtown. But he owns the building. Bought it two years ago.”

“He owns this building,” I repeat, my tone flat. “And four of his strip club employees live here.”

“Five, now,” Ginger corrects with a grin.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I’ll be stripping for him and living under his “roof”? If I don’t get fired for providing false references, that is. What the hell? In my haste to get away from my domineering drug-dealing stepfather, have I allowed myself to be acquired by a pimp?

Ginger seems oblivious. “I know it’s a little strange. Cain is a little strange. But you’ll be my neighbor now!” She lets out an excited squeal. “We can have coffees in the mornings with Mercy and go to the gym together. You can be my guinea pig for test recipes.” Ginger is taking culinary classes but refuses to eat anything she makes, for fear of turning into a portly chef, she says. “We can drive to work together, too! I hear you’ll be working with me every night.” With a raised brow, she adds, “That’s a lot of Ginger time for you. I hope you realize how lucky you are.”

Oh, man. Laying low is hard to do when you have people watching your every move . . . Shit . . . I can’t have anyone seeing me heading to a drop, in disguise. That’s how questions begin. I can’t have people asking questions.

None of them can ever know what I’m into.

I should have kept my roach-infested apartment, but Cain made it clear that wasn’t an option. He walked me to the superintendent and, after watching them have a heated conversation about bullet holes and appalling conditions, followed by threats about having the place condemned—I don’t know if Cain can make that happen, but he sure as hell sounded convincing—I handed in my keys and the landlord handed me back my security deposit.

I watch as Cain’s lean body slides out of his driver’s seat, with his phone to his ear. I don’t know whether to be thankful or angry with the way things played out today.

Or worried.

Sure, the fact that I might get a night’s sleep without having to leave the lights on is more than enticing. But . . . why is he doing all this? I now have a job and what I assume will be a better place to live. What will he want in return? Everyone wants something.

Sam sure does.

And Cain is doing it all despite not knowing anything about me. Except that I have a gun, which he didn’t even say a word about.

“He sure likes to get involved with his employees’ lives,” I say out loud.

Ginger’s gaze locks on her boss. Now, our boss. “Yeah, he tends to.” She pauses. “But not in a bad way. He’s a good guy,” she assures me. “A little different, sometimes. Reclusive. Charming, occasionally. And he can be moody, but who wouldn’t, with all the shit he deals with.”

I have to agree with her. I caught rare glimpses of a joking, playful Cain earlier today, with his soft chuckles. They were few and far between but when he loosened up, I couldn’t deny there was a magnetic pull. Most of the time, though, he seems stressed—his back rigid, his keen eyes boring into me as if scouring for answers.

I watch him now as he begins to pace, one hand deftly adjusting the collar of his new shirt while he talks. By the deep wrinkles in his forehead, he doesn’t look impressed with the conversation. Maybe it’s my background check.

Not good.

When I came back from grabbing that shirt from his Navigator—a spotless, well-maintained vehicle that smelled fresh and clean, like him—I found him standing next to my bed and I immediately panicked. I thought he had discovered the wigs I’d hidden. But then I was distracted by the fact that my sheets were in his hand. The 1200-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets that I had to buy because cheap sheets make my skin itch and keep me up half the night, paranoid that bugs are scurrying all over me.

And he was shirtless.

And his other hand was on his groin.

That was a super-awkward moment.

Awkward because I didn’t know what he was doing, and awkward because I instantly wanted him to offer me the same ultimatum that Rick had. At that very moment, I would have submitted.

“And he’s intense,” Ginger says, cutting into my thoughts. She pauses. “And principled. Cain marches to a different beat. I mean, I’ve heard the kinds of things that some of these girls try on him, and he never takes the bait.”

“Never?” I feel my face tightening with doubt as I gaze out at the tall, dark form again, still on the phone. “Bullshit.” I don’t believe it. It doesn’t matter, because he can do whatever—or whoever—he wants.