Thanks or the reviews! I love reading them and they put a smile on my face. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Marissa does make an appearance.

MERCEDES

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the light flicker at the back of Dual. The door to Sam's office opens and closes as he comes out into the club. He looks up and our eyes lock instantly. His expression is carefully schooled, per my request, but that doesn't mean my toes don't curl inside my work shoes. His eyes are blazing as they look into mine. My stomach does a flip and then he looks away, which is a very good thing. Otherwise, it wouldn't be Sam who blew our cover, it would be me— when I leave my position behind the bar, march right over to him, plant my lips on his, and then drag him back to bed. Tearing my eyes away from him, I force my mind back to my job. Dammit.

"I got it," Taryn chirps, reaching in front of me to grab a dirty glass from the bar top.

I smile and nod my thanks, but inside I'm picking her crazy, dreadlocked motives apart. She's been nice to me all night and I'm not sure why. She's never been nice to me. Openly hostile, yes. Spitefully devious, yes. But nice? Oh no. Before tonight, I would've assured anyone who asked that Taryn would rather sharpen her toothbrush into a shiv and shank me than even look at me. And yet, here she is, smiling my way and bussing my side of the bar.

Hmmm.

I'm not a naturally suspicious person, so… Okay, so I am a naturally suspicious person, but I have good reason to be. A lifetime of schemers, liars, selfish buttmunchers, and all-around icky people has made me a bit jaded. But I'm coming around. Anyway, I am extremely curious to know what Taryn's got up her sleeve. And there is something up her tattooed sleeve. I'd bet my life on it. Or her life. Either way. I can almost see the wheels turning behind the blue of her almond-shaped, kohl-lined eyes. The only thing I can do, however, is watch my back and keep my eyes open. She'll slip up and show her hand eventually. Then I'll know what's going on in that twisted mind of hers. Until then, I'm more than happy to let her kiss my fluffy butt and help as much as she wants.

"So," she begins casually as she makes her way back to me. "Got plans for tonight after work? I thought maybe we could hit Noir and have a drink, get to know each other a little better." All right, this is getting ridiculous. I stare at her, working to keep my jaw from dropping open as I wait for the punch line. Only there isn't one. She's serious.

"You're serious." She smiles and nods.

"Of course I'm serious. Why would I ask if I weren't?"

"Um, because you hate me," I blurt. There goes keeping my eyes peeled and letting her continue on with her ruse.

"I don't hate you. What on earth gave you that idea?"

Oh. My. God. Does she really think I'm that stupid? I turn to Taryn and fold my arms over my chest. I'm not even supposed to be here. Sam and I just got back from my dad's house in Salt Springs, Georgia, a few hours ago. Gavin, the part-time bar manager of Dual, had my shift covered since Sam didn't know if I'd be coming back or not. And yet here I am, working to fill in for Marco when I should be naked, wrapped up in Sam's arms. I don't have the patience to play games.

"Look, I'm not sure who you're trying to fool, but if it's me, you might as well give it up. I'm on to you, Taryn." She opens her pouty ruby lips like she's going to argue, but then she snaps them shut. Her innocently pleasant expression settles into something a little more normal for her and she sighs.

"Okay, I admit I was a little jealous of you when you started here. I don't know if you knew this or not, but Sam and I used to date. Until recently, we were still… resolving some things. I thought you might be trying to get in the way of that. But now I know you're not. Besides, I know he's not interested in you. He's got someone else on the hook, so it wouldn't matter, anyway." That piques my curiosity.

"Why do you say that?"

"What? That he's got someone else on the hook? Because I've seen him with a skinny girl a couple times and he's been very, very distracted lately. And that's not like him. He's not the one-girl type of guy."

"He's not?"

"Oh, hell no! I knew that going in. Any girl who goes into a relationship with Sam thinking she'll change him or that she'll be the only one is dumber than a box of her long blond hair."

"Blond?" Taryn shrugs.

"Sam has a type," she says, quirking one pierced brow at me and holding up a pale twist of her hair. "Blonde."

I nod and smile, trying my best to seem unaffected. Which I'm not, of course. Far from it. In fact, I'm so affected I feel like I might hurl right in Taryn's pretty face.

"What makes you think he'll never pick one of these… blondes and settle down?" Her laugh is bitter.

"Because I know Sam. That boy has wild blood. Guys like that don't change. And girls can't make 'em. It's just the way they are. It's part of why they're so irresistible, too. Don't we all want what we can't have?" I smile again, but say nothing. After a few seconds, she grabs my towel and swipes at a wet glass ring on the bar. "Anyway, I'm over it. I just wanted you to know I'm burying the hatchet."

"I'm glad," I manage to squeak out past the lump in my throat.

I busy myself with early cleanup duties. Dual is less than an hour from last call. How in the world I'll make it that long is beyond me, but I know the first step is to keep busy. But no amount of busywork can silence the conflicting voices in my head. You knew he was a bad boy. That's why you tried to stay away from him and not get involved. I feel dismay curl in the pit of my stomach like a cold, heartless snake. But then the voice of reason—or is it the voice of denial?— speaks up. After all that has happened over the last few weeks, how can you doubt the way he feels about you? Sam isn't the type to fake it. And what he's said, what you've shared, isn't fake. It's real. And it's deep. And Taryn is a psychotic bitch who has no clue what she's talking about. Maybe all that tattoo ink has gone to her brain. While all of that is true, nothing I tell myself eradicates the feeling of unease that has settled into my bones. Into my heart. One part of me— the rational, logical, uninvolved, hurt-too-many-times part— pops up to make matters worse. How many times are you gonna fall for the same lines? The same kind of guy? But Sam is different. I know it. Deep down. I remind myself that it's completely unfair to judge a book by its cover. No matter how much experience I have with similar covers. Sam's cover might be that of a bad boy, but the book, the inside, is so much more.

As I clean the grate under the beer tap, my eyes wander the thinning crowd and dark interior of the club, looking for Sam. Wouldn't you know that when I find him, a busty blond bombshell is throwing her arms around his neck and rubbing her skanky little body all over him? I grit my teeth against the urge to jump over the bar, march right over there, and snatch her bald-headed. But my anger fades into acute distress when I see Sam smile down into her face. I see his lips move as he speaks to her and my heart springs a leak. It makes me feel somewhat better when he reaches up to unwind her arms from around his neck and then takes a step back from her, but it'll take more than that to get Taryn's unwelcome words out of my head.

My mood circles the drain for the next half hour. Even the fairly likable personality Taryn has adopted when she's not being an utter bitch doesn't help. I even start thinking to myself that maybe it would be a good idea to go back to my townhouse for the night. A bit later, as I wash the sliced-lemons container on my end of the bar, I'm still pondering my options while debating the likelihood that I have undiagnosed bipolar disorder. A shot glass slides across the bar in front of me. I look up to see Taryn at my right, grinning, holding a glass of her own.

"Shhh," she says with a wink. "I won't tell if you won't. It's closing time, anyway."

She pulls a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and throws it down. At least she's paying. Normally, I would politely decline, but a shot to calm my nerves and ease my troubled thoughts sounds like a good idea. I wipe my hands on a towel and grab the tiny glass. Taryn raises hers and smiles at me. "Salut!" she exclaims with a nod. I nod and raise mine as well, and we both toss back our shot. I don't need to ask what she poured. The vodka burns all the way down. Making a deep, growly ah sound, Taryn grins at me.

"Come out with me. You look like you need a night of frivolous fun." Before I can answer her, Sam's voice interrupts us.

"Mercedes," he calls from the doorway of his office. "Come see me before you go. There are a few things I need to discuss with you."

"Okay," I reply, my stomach tightening with a mixture of excitement, desire, and dread. He ducks back into his office and closes the door. I turn to Taryn. "Next time?"

"Sure," she responds pleasantly. "I'll just finish up and head out." She wanders back down to her end of the bar, and it occurs to me that we might actually make it to being friends one day. Go figure. I piddle around a little , slowing down enough that Taryn can finish before I go back to "meet" with Sam. "Ta-da!" she exclaims, throwing her towel in the sanitizer to soak. "All right, Mercei, I'm outta here. Wish you could come, but duty calls." She tips her head toward Sam's office and rolls her eyes. Grabbing her purse from the shelf under the counter, Taryn circles around to approach me from the other side of the long, black bar. Planting her hands on the shiny surface, she leans forward and gives me an air peck like she's kissing each cheek. "Night, doll."

I'm still struggling with disbelief as I watch her walk through the door and out into the night, dreadlocks swinging. I decide that dramatic personality shifts like that can't be healthy. The instant the front door thumps shut, Sam's office door opens. He emerges, his expression hard and determined. With purpose, he crosses the empty room and locks the double doors behind Taryn. For a few seconds, all that I've been worrying about for the last couple of hours fades away like the space his long stride eats up so effortlessly.

I'm mesmerized just watching him, the way he moves. His long, muscular legs flex with each step. His perfect butt shifts behind the pockets of his jeans. His wide shoulders are square and straight above his trim waist. And then he turns toward me. I might never get used to how handsome he is. It might never fail to leave me breathless. His eyes bore hot holes into mine. They don't break contact as he crosses the room again, this time toward me. He hops over the bar and lands beside me. Without a word, he bends, throws me over his shoulder, and carries me down the length of the bar and through the cutout on the other end. My heart is pounding as he takes me through the office and into his apartment on the other side. My body is on fire with desire and anticipation for what's to come, but my mind is still harboring some doubt and insecurity from earlier. I'm debating whether to say something to him and go back home for the night or just ignore every shred of rational thought and stay, when he sets me on my feet. Immediately, his lips cover mine and all other considerations are gone. He pushes me back against the apartment door. I feel it click shut behind me. He takes my hands and brings my arms above my head, pinning my wrists together in the long fingers of one hand. His free hand blazes a fiery trail down my side, his thumb grazing my already-aching nipple, then on to my stomach, where it slips beneath the hem of my tank top. He flattens his palm over my ribs and moves it around to my back and down into the waistband of my pants. The fit is loose there, so it's easy for him to slide into them, then down into my panties to cup my bare butt. He pulls me against him, grinding his hips into mine as he sucks on my lower lip.

"Do you know how hard it was to let you work tonight? To know that I can't touch you or kiss you or even watch you?" he pants against my open mouth. "All I could think about was what you look like naked and the little noises you make when I stick my tongue inside you."

His words make the lowest part of my belly fill with heat and tighten. He releases my wrists, but rather than push him away, I thread my fingers into his hair and crush my lips to his. I feel him working at the button and zipper of my jeans, and excitement floods me.

"It's only been a few hours and all I can think about is the way you taste, the way you feel wrapped around me. When you're so hot and so ready. So wet," he murmurs against my mouth. Just as my need rises to fever pitch, a voice interrupts us.

"Cam?"

It's my cousin Marissa and she's pounding on the interior garage door. Sam drags his lips away from mine and places his finger over my mouth to hush me.

"Cam?" She bangs again. "I know you're in there. The garage is open and your car is here." I hear Sam growl.

"Shit! What the hell is she doing back?" he whispers. My mind races. Although I know Sam and Cam are the same person—the fact that Marissa doesn't could pose a problem in instances like this, especially when she doesn't know about Sam and me.

"What should we do? We can't let her find out like this!"

Sam sighs and leans back to run his fingers through his mussed hair. Luckily, his preferred style is kind of spiky and disheveled, so it's not noticeable that my fingers have been in it. My body aches with want, but my mind is already in gear for reality.

"Well, I guess the only thing to do is pretend like you're closing up. I'll think of something to tell her about Cam."

"Okay," I say, straightening my clothes and hair.

"I could kick myself for opening the garage door so early. I was gonna pull your car in after Taryn left." He sighs again and shakes his head slightly. When he looks back at me, his eyes are smoky and hot. "We're far from finished, though," he promises, leaning in and lightly biting my shoulder. A bolt of electricity shoots through me and lands between my legs. He knows exactly what to do and what to say to tear me up.

SAM

It takes everything I have to let Mercedes go so I can answer Marissa at the door. Being with Mercedes is like escaping into a bubble of perfection, into a bubble of life away from all the trouble and deception and… dirt of my double existence. And it's hard as hell to come back out. I run my fingers through my hair again. My hard-on isn't a problem anymore; the sound of Marissa's voice took care of that. I went to the door that leads to the garage and jerked it open. Marissa's knuckles almost hit my nose; she was in the process of knocking again.

"Oh," she says, jumping back, evidently startled by my sudden appearance. She clears her throat. "Sam. Sorry to be so persistent, but I need to see your brother. Now. He won't return my calls and he owes me an explanation." The longer she talks, the madder she gets. I can hear it in the pitch of her voice and I can see it in the thin line of her lips.

"Sorry, Marissa. He's not here. He left his car here last night and hasn't been by to pick it up yet."

"Why would he do that? Where was he going?" she asks, clearly puzzled.

"He didn't say. He just asked if he could leave it here for a day or two. That's all I know."

A sigh puffs out her cheeks. It's unlike Marissa to get so upset, to get so emotional. Normally her settings don't vary much. She goes from bitch to cold to lukewarm and back again.

"I guess I'll just keep trying his cell phone," she says, looking at his car. When she turns back to me, there is suspicion in her eyes. "I'll find him. One way or the other. Sorry to bother you, Sam." That's a lie. She's not the least bit sorry to bother me. She starts to walk away, but stops and turns back. "Is Mercedes still here? I saw her car out front."

"Yeah, she's closing up. Why?"

"I left her a couple of messages, but she hasn't called me back yet. I drove from the airport straight to Cam's and then came here."

"Do you want me to give her a message?" She frowns and purses her lips as she thinks.

"No, that's okay. Just tell her I'll see her when she gets home. She shouldn't be much longer, right?"

"Uh, no. She shouldn't be too much longer. You go on ahead. I'll give her the message and see that she gets out of here before too long." Marissa's smile is cool and satisfied.

"Okay. Thanks, Sam." I smile tightly and wait until she turns away before I close the door. I'd really like to slam it and cuss a blue streak, but there's no point.

Mercedes is just putting the wraps on the liquor bottle pourers, the last task of every night, when I make my way out to her . She turns to look at me. For a fraction of a second, something feels different. Off. But then she smiles and I put it out of my mind. That smile …Mmm, it makes my chest almost as tight as my jeans. I walk over, stopping at the bar across from her. I watch as she wraps the last bottle and puts it back on the shelf. She looks around, making sure everything is done and the bar is clear before she turns to me.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" Shyly, she looks away for a heartbeat before she brings her eyes back to mine. She's still not quite comfortable with compliments, which shocks me. How someone who looks like she does could ever feel less than drop-dead gorgeous is beyond me. Yet she does. In a backward way, that makes her even more appealing.

"You might've mentioned it once or twice before," she says coyly, biting her lip in that way I love. It makes me want to carry her into the back room again. But it would have to be quick. And a quickie isn't what I want with this girl. Unless it can be followed up with something much more…thorough. Watching me from the corner of her eye, she turns and starts walking slowly toward the cutout. With the bar between us, I walk with her.

"That's right. I did mention it before. I remember telling you how amazing you are. I think we were in front of a mirror." My dick twitches behind my zipper just thinking about sliding into Mercedes from behind and coming inside her in the ladies' bathroom at Tad's bar. "Does that sound familiar?" As she walks, she glances up at me from the corner of her eye. I see the flash of hot desire. I know she remembers it just as perfectly as I do. She clears her throat.

"Um, yeah. That seems vaguely familiar." Her grin is playful. God, what a tease!

"Vaguely? Maybe I didn't pound it into you hard enough."

"Oh, I think you pounded it in plenty hard."

"Maybe I should've taken the time to give you a good tongue-lashing, too, then."

"Oh, I think the form of communication you used was very effective."

"So it's all coming back to you now?"

"Yes, it's all coming back to me."

"If you're lying, I could sweat it out of you, you know."

"I'm not lying. It's etched into my memory. Permanently.

"Maybe we should revisit it, just so you're clear on everything we discussed. I want to make sure it's in there. Nice and deep. So you never forget it." Finally her grin turns into a giggle just as we're nearing the cutout at the end of the bar. When she rounds the corner, I'm there blocking her way with my body.

"I doubt there's anything you could do to get it in there any deeper."

"Oh, I can think of one or two things. The only way we'll know for sure, though, is to try. And I don't know about you, but I'm committed to this. Invested. And I'm nothing if not thorough." I see something flicker in her eyes just before the light goes out and she seems to cool off. Before I can puzzle too long over it, she changes the subject.

"Oh! I nearly forgot. Marissa. What did she want?" Again, I get the feeling that something's not quite right. Apparently now's not the time to talk about what's bothering her. But I know something's up.

"Right. Marissa. She was looking for Cam. Obviously. She also wants to talk to you. Said she'd left you a couple of messages, but that she'll talk to you tonight. She's gonna wait up." Either I'm crazy or there's a little relief in Mercedes's expression.

"Yeah, my phone's in my purse. I haven't checked it yet. I guess I'd better get going, then. See what she wants. I mean, we can't blow this. It'd be a disaster if she found out about… you."

"Mercedes, I told you I'd give up this charade of being Sam and Cam. I'm not sure I can help my dad anyway. And if that means—"

"Absolutely not! It's important, Sam! He's your father and he's in prison for killing your mother and brother, something he didn't do. No, you're not giving up anything. For me or for anybody else. We just have to be careful." At least she's still saying "we" and counting herself as being involved. With me and everything else.

"You know I'd do it for you, though. To keep you safe."

"But I don't want you to do that. I'm perfectly safe. There's nothing to worry about. We'll just have to take things as they come." I get the feeling there's a double entendre that I'm not quite getting. Yep. Something's definitely up with her. "So, do you plan to tell Marissa about us, then?" she asks.

"That's up to you. Me? I don't care who knows, but I know you do. Especially the people around here."

"But you know why, right? I don't want to be the girl dating the boss."

"Yeah, I understand. That's why I stayed away most of the night. It's hard as hell to keep my hands off you. And my eyes. But I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." Mercedes's cheeks turn a pretty pink.

"Really?'

"Really what?"

"You really can't keep your eyes off me?"

"God, for being so smart, you're thickheaded. Have I not made the way I feel about you abundantly clear?" I thought I had, but maybe what's clear to me isn't so obvious to her. If that's the case, I'll have to make a point of being more… forthcoming. Mercedes shrugs and shifts her eyes to the side. I move in closer and bend until she looks at me. "Hey, I know this is all new and I know how you feel about supposed bad boys like me." She starts to interrupt, but I stop her with a finger across her lips. "But I hope you're starting to see that there's more to me than you first thought. Than what you first assumed. You have to remember that I'm playing a part, too— two parts actually. A charade that would be even trickier if I didn't make each brother so extreme. You know that in some ways I'm both guys and in some ways I'm neither."

"How will I ever know the real you, then?" I can see the worry in her eyes; I just don't know what has happened in the last little while to put it there. I thought we'd moved past all this. I brush her satiny cheek with the backs of my fingers.

"You already do. You'll just have to look past some of the behavior you see when we're around other people. I have to keep up appearances if you want me to go through with my plans." She watches me closely. I'd love to know what's going through her mind, but I have a feeling that, in a thousand years, she'd never tell me. Finally, she shakes her head.

"I still want you to go through with it. And I'll do my best to look… deeper than what I see. It just might take some getting used to."

"I understand that. This is not an easy thing, the life I lead. It's been my focus, all I've lived for the last seven years. But it's necessary."

"I know that. And I'm trying."

"That's all I ask." An awkward silence slides between us and I hate it. I feel like there are things being left unsaid.

"I guess I need to get going, then. Back to the apartment." Not only do I not want her to go, but I hate where things feel like they're at right now. I don't like unresolved issues. I've got enough of those in my life already.

"At least let me take you."

"That would seem strange when Marissa knows my car was here."

"Yeah, but more often than not, that P.O.S. won't even start."

"P.O.S.?"

"Piece of shit." She grins.

"Oh. Right. That's true."

"Just tell her it wouldn't start and I had to bring you home. If you want, I can go pull one of the spark plugs so it'll be true." Her smile widens.

"That sounds like an awful lot of trouble for li'l ol' me."

"Don't get a big head. I have ulterior motives."

"You do?" One eyebrow rises.

"Mmm-hmm," I say, winding my arms around her waist.

"And what might they be?"

"You'll just have to wait and see." When I bend my head to hers, her lips feel warm and pliant, but not quite as responsive as I've come to expect. Something's still eating at her. I'll just have to keep at it until I figure out what it is. I pull back and kiss her forehead. "Get your stuff. I'll meet you in the garage." Rather than watching her go, I turn toward the front doors. I hate the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach just thinking about her walking away.

MERCEDES

The bike rumbles beneath me as I wind my arms tighter around Sam's waist. I must admit to feeling somewhat better about things after our conversation. I guess only time will eliminate the fear that I'm falling right back into the same trap with the same kind of guy. But if I've ever met a man that seems worth the risk, it's Sam. I smile just thinking about him walking into the garage earlier, tossing one of my spark plugs into the air. He caught it, then winked at me as he stuck it in his pocket. He went straight to his bike and climbed on. With a devilish grin and a shake of his head, he patted the seat behind him.

"The lengths I go to just to get between your legs."

I laughed. I had no choice. His grin was so cute and engaging. So light and carefree. All the things I wanted to feel at that moment. Sometimes it's nice to be free of trouble and worry. Even for just a few minutes. And Sam gives me that. Often. Now, I'm not at all pleased to see the familiar sights of my street come into view. I'm enjoying being close to Sam, feeling safe in his care. I don't want the ride to end. But it does. Sam pulls up along the curb and rolls to a stop. I wait to see if he's going to flip down the kickstand. When he doesn't, I sigh and slide off the seat. Sam watches me unbuckle the helmet from beneath my chin, pull it off, and hand it to him. He takes it, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn't move to put it on right away. I'm pretty sure he's thinking about the same thing I am— how to walk away without a kiss. After all we've shared over the last few weeks, after all the words and kisses and nights and mornings, it seems so strange to just walk away like friends. In the pit of my stomach, it feels like a bad omen, that we'd part ways like this.

"Well, thank you," I say uncomfortably, trying not to fidget . Sam is frowning. I feel like frowning, too. "Um, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You're working your shift, right?" I nod.

"Yep."

"I'll call you in the morning. How 'bout that?"

"Sounds good." At least it's something. The silence grows tense.

"I'll wait until you get inside. I don't know why Marissa didn't leave the lights on." I glance behind me at the dark apartment windows. "Are you really surprised by anything selfish and inconsiderate that she does?" Sam's grin is small and wry.

"I guess not." I sigh.

"That's just the way she is. Some things never change." Silence again. "Okay, well, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride. Have a good night."

"You, too." I nod and rock back on my heels before I turn to walk up the sidewalk to the front door. I've made it only a few steps when Sam calls my name. I jerk around, anticipation curling in my stomach. He can't stand it, either. I walk quickly back to Sam. I feel more than a little deflated when he hands me my overnight bag, which he'd strapped to the back of the bike, behind the seat.

"Don't forget your bag."

I smile politely and take it from his fingers, turning once again toward the apartment. The anticipation in my gut cools into an uneasy sensation. How can things have changed so much, so fast? Taryn's comments, the memory of my mother's disapproving voice, and a whole slew of bad choices come crashing into my head like a rock slide. I dig around in my purse for my key as I approach the front door. I'm distracted as I slip it in and unlock the knob, turning to wave to Sam. But he's not on his bike at the curb. It's resting on the kickstand, motor idling. He's charging up the sidewalk toward me. Before I can even blink, my back is pressed to the cool metal of the door, Sam's lips are on mine and his hands are in my hair. I melt into him. Relief that he was feeling the same way battles for dominance with the desire to drag him into my bedroom, shut the door, and pretend nothing and no one exists outside it. But before I can give in to that urge, Sam is pulling back, giving me room to breathe and giving rational thought the tiny crack it needs to wiggle back into my mind. His eyes, darker than the night around us, search mine as his hands move from my hair to my shoulders and down my arms to grip mine.

"Do me a favor," he whispers, curling my fingers over the back of his and bringing them to his mouth. "

What?" His eyes never leave mine as he brushes his lips over my knuckles.

"Dream of me tonight," he says softly. He watches me, waiting for a response. I have no words, so I simply nod. He doesn't need to know that no one else occupies my dreams. No one.

"Dream of my lips, teasing you." Straightening one of my fingers, he kisses the tip. His voice is like velvet and his words are like an aphrodisiac. "Dream of my tongue, tasting you." His tongue sneaks out to flick the end of my finger. A surge of desire rocks my core. "And I'll dream of you. Of what it feels like to be inside your warm, wet body." As if to show me what he feels, Sam sucks my finger into his mouth and pulls it in and out of his mouth, back and forth over his tongue. I can barely breathe. He pulls it out, but before he lets it go, he gives it a gentle bite. I feel a burn in the pit of my stomach, a drop of lava in a boiling volcano. "Good night, Mercedes," he says quietly. And then he turns and walks away. On legs that suddenly feel like jelly, I pivot toward the door. I focus with every ounce of my brainpower on putting him out of my mind before I do something stupid, like ask him to stay. I push open the door and reach around to flip on the foyer light before waving back to Sam. But what I see stops both thought and movement. The narrow table next to the door is turned over and the lamp that sits atop it is broken. The plant stand at the corner of the living room is overturned and there's dirt and foliage all over the floor. Some pillows from the couch are scattered across the floor, two having been thrown all the way over to the door. Marissa has been home fifteen minutes at most. What in the world could've happened in such a short amount of time? A shiver of apprehension works its way down my spine. When fingers wind around my upper arm and jerk me backward, I open my mouth to scream, but a wide hand clamps over it before any sound emerges. My heart springs into wild motion behind my ribs, and my mind races, going back through every possible memory for any self-defense know-how. All I can think of, though, is Aim for the balls! Aim for the balls!

"Shhhh," a familiar voice hisses at my ear. I calm immediately. It's Sam. It's Sam who's behind me, Sam who's holding me. He releases me and steps in front of me, pulling me up against his back. "Stay close," he whispers from over his shoulder. They'll have to peel me off your ass, mister! All my senses are heightened by fear. The deep rumble of Sam's bike purring at the curb is an eerie backdrop for the absolute silence in the apartment. There are no other sounds. Not even those of Marissa. Slowly, we make our way to the edge of the living room. Hyperalert, I look around, taking in even the tiniest of details. I see more signs of struggle— the lopsided position of the expensive clock on the wall, a small hole in the plaster not far from it. I barely control a reflexive yelp when Sam's phone rings. I hear him growl as he fumbles for it in his pocket. He glances at the screen and then starts backing up, pushing me toward the front door. He holds up his phone and I see the name on the Caller ID. My heart does a nervous little flip. It reads Marissa.

"Hello," he answers quietly. Without saying another word, Sam listens for a few seconds, then lowers the phone and sticks it back in his pocket.

"What? Why'd you hang up? What did she say?"

"It wasn't Marissa. Come on, we've gotta get out of here."

"Who was it, then? Sam, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you when I get you someplace safe."

With that, he practically drags me back to his bike and shoves the helmet at me. I bite my tongue and push the helmet onto my head before I climb on behind Sam. Just before we take off, though, I change my mind. He's not going to keep me in the dark about this. Either we share everything or this has to end now.

"No," I say as I start to climb right back off the bike. Sam straightens one arm in front of me to stop me. "Tell me right now what's going on or I'm getting off this bike." In profile, there's enough light that I can see Sam's lips thin in irritation, but I don't let that intimidate me. My resolve has already hardened, like a thick icy shell. I lean back and cross my arms over my chest.

"Fine," he snaps. "They've taken Marissa as leverage." I gasp.

"Who's they? And leverage for what?"

"The Bratva. Russian mafia. And they've taken her as leverage for the books."

"The books ? Those accounting ledgers? I thought no one knew you had them."

"They didn't."

"Then how did they find out?"

"The only thing I can figure is that they have an inside man at the prison, maybe someone who can listen in on my conversations with Dad. We've been careful, but …if they've been listening long enough, they could put the pieces together. It wouldn't be hard for them to figure out that I plan to use the books to get their asses thrown in prison. And this last time I went to visit Dad, I mentioned that I'd told someone."

"Oh my God! But why on earth would they take Marissa, then?" His pause makes me even more anxious.

"I don't think they meant to take Marissa." When the meaning behind his words sinks in, the bottom drops out of my stomach.

"What?" I breathe. "If they've been listening or watching very long at all, they likely know who I am. They called my phone, Sam's phone, to tell me about Marissa. If they didn't know I'm the same person, they'd have called Cam's phone, since he's her ex-boyfriend. Both of our numbers are programmed into her phone."

"So then, if they know who you are, why take Marissa?"

"They thought you would be the only one coming back here. But when she showed up instead, they took her anyway to make a point."

"Which is?"

"That they could get to you if they wanted." He said quietly. "And they know that I'm Cam and Sam."

My gut swims with nausea. And fear. For Marissa and for myself. I fight back tears.

"But why would they want either of us? We don't know anything."

"It's not what you know. At least not entirely, I don't think. It's who you are."

"That would make sense with Marissa. She's the successful, influential one. The one who comes from money. I'm a nobody, from nowhere." Sam turns around until he's looking into my eyes.

"Not to me, you're not." Above the fear that's clogging my chest, I feel a little thrill at his words. "They-"

"Baby," Sam begins, interrupting me. "I know you have questions, but right now I don't have all the answers. And we have to get out of here. Just hold that thought. Let me get us someplace safe and we'll talk more."

He doesn't wait around for my answer. He guns the engine and the motorcycle shoots forward, leaving me clinging to his back for dear life.