Caught for Christmas (Stripped 3.50)

The guy has a scar down the side of his face. It makes his smile look like a snarl. “Now why would I do that, little girl? I’ve got a bigger prize now.”

He pushes Jeb down, and he stumbles, looking older than I’ve ever seen him. A large hand grabs my arm, and he whirls me around.

West is standing at the edge of the hallway. Blue is behind him, along with a couple of other men from the security team. And farther back is Maisie, her eye blackened and her dress torn.

“Jeb,” she cries. Even now she only has eyes for him as he struggles to stand. The fact that there’s a gun to my temple doesn’t even seem to register.

It does to West though. He sends a look to the man holding me that feels like pure ice.

This is the warrior who fought overseas. This is the killer.

I can’t let him get hurt for me. I won’t let him get hurt.

He would have charged us, would have been my knight in shining armor—and earned a bullet in the heart. I would have traded my life for my father’s and ended up dead.

We would have written our own tragedies.

I used to think I didn’t deserve a fairy-tale ending, but in this moment I realize they aren’t only for the princess. It doesn’t matter who our parents are, doesn’t matter whether we dance at a ball or strip onstage. All that matters is that we have the courage to reach for it.

And by God, I will not let West die in this hallway. I will not let them win. That’s the last coherent thought I have before I jam my elbow into the large stomach behind me. It’s mostly muscle and doesn’t get far, but it does startle the guy holding me enough to loosen his hold.

I turn in his grasp and knee his balls—that’s one benefit of working in a strip joint for so long. I know how to handle a man who’s getting handsy, even one who’s also holding a gun. He goes down, staggering into the wall.

The guy next to him tries to grab me, but he only gets one step closer before red blooms on his shirt and he staggers back. I curl myself into the door frame as shots boom through the corridor.

The silence rings so loud, it takes me a second to realize the shooting is over. All I can hear now is the groaning of men in pain—the ones that aren’t ominously still and silent.

Jeb is holding his arm and whimpering. There was a time I would have run to him.

Now I look away. He’s a stranger to me, worse than that.

A large body blocks my view, and I’m disappointed to find that it’s Blue. He guides me inside, but I fight him. I have to see West.

“He needs to do this,” Blue says solemnly. “You shouldn’t watch.”

Chapter Twenty

“Three…two…one…”

I blink groggily at the large flat-screen TV while the distant sound of fireworks booms through the ground. West looks down at me with a soft, indulgent smile. “Happy New Year.”

My sleep schedule was messed up after working at the Grand every night and then abruptly stopping. Instead of staying up late, I’ve taken to falling asleep early. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I wanted to stay up with you.”

West kisses my nose. “You need rest.”

It’s been a couple of days since a man was killed outside the door of this loft. Self-defense, everyone assured the cops who came to take the body away. They kept the story short and sweet.

West made sure that Jeb left town—possibly with his fists—and Maisie went with him, of course. Empty handed. This is one time they didn’t trade up.

I already know they’ll never come back.

I would never help them again, and there’s nothing worthwhile about a daughter you can’t con.

The first night, West took me into the shower with him, carefully washing me, checking my skin for any marks or bruises. He touched me so tenderly, as if I was made of glass. And maybe I was. It felt like I might shatter.

Although he was hard and slick, he didn’t have sex with me. Even when I touched him, he pushed my hand aside. He held me all night, his body tense and protective around mine.

Maybe we both needed a little time to recover, to heal.