Trapped in his End Game (Series)

MELANIE

I always thought that I was smart, you know?

Turns out that when there’s enough alcohol in me, I’m just as dumb as those girls hanging around the gangsters in my club. He kissed me and I let myself feel something for him. Who knows what could’ve happened if we weren’t interrupted?

It just kills me.

He’s like that one extra slice of chocolate cake, another drink when you know you’ve already had too much, a hit-just a small bump, just something to tide you over until the next thing comes along and sweeps you off your feet. When his charm is on full blast and I’m wedged beside him in a happy alcoholic haze, he’s almost impossible to resist. I know I shouldn’t, he’s bad for me, but I can’t help it.

Like I said, I thought I was smart. I’m not. I’m a fucking idiot.

The tangle of sheets around my legs and torso feel like ropes binding my limbs. Complete darkness greets me when I open my eyes, and I grab my phone, bewildered. I’ve no idea what time it is. Five p. m.

Oh great. Only a couple hours until work. Fabulous!

Already grumpy, I rip back the sheets and try to ignore the pounding in my head from that night. It keeps playing over and over again, and I can’t help but smile secretly into the sheets when I let the feelings from last night crawl over my breasts.

I let him kiss me, and what’s worse is that I liked it.

He was an incredible kisser. His mouth and tongue worked magic over me. I can only imagine what else he can do with his body.

No.

The steamy thoughts grind to a halt. This can’t happen. I swore to myself I’d never get involved with one of them, and for good reason. They’re dangerous. Even Tommy. Especially Tommy.

But is he dangerous to me?

I step into the shower and try to let the hot jets of water scour every trace of attraction I feel for him. Instead my chest heats up as I imagine him cornering me inside the shower, smiling down at me with that devilish grin. His hand wraps around my neck and he closes the space between our bodies, my breasts flattened against his carved chest. Then the intoxicating warmth of his mouth smothers mine, and his hand slides down my body and cups the heat between my legs. I back against the shower wall as he curls a finger inside me, the water not quite masking how wet I am.

The water pelts my face as I snap out of my daydream, my nipples hard in the hot water. Jesus, this isn’t working at all. I still want him.

Of course you want him. When was the last time you’ve been laid?

Good question.

I just have to keep staying away from him, that’s all. It’ll fade. I imagine Tommy disappearing from the club, discouraged. I imagine him not coming back anymore, and it’s the strangest thing. I almost feel like crying. My chest tightens.

On some level, I liked the attention. I was flattered that he kept coming back, over and over, even though I kept rejecting him. He’d utter sweet things in my ear every time, no matter how nasty I was to him. I know he just wants to fuck me, but he did get to me. I’m misty eyed just at the thought of never seeing him again, maybe because he was the only guy who gave me that kind of attention. I’m always at the club, working, never having a moment to myself.

Should I take a chance with him?

I dry myself off and apply my makeup wearily, knowing that I’ll never give Tommy a chance. It’s just not smart to get involved with someone like him, no matter how sweet he is to me.

Mom and Dad sit on the couch, watching Portuguese channels, and I feel a sudden surge of anger. It’s so intense that I tremble on the spot, fighting back the bizarre urge to yell at them.

Mom’s bright face turns toward me. “Going out?”

“Yeah, I slept in too late.”

“You should eat something, sweetie!”

The name stirs the monster inside me, and I’m like a viper. “I’m going to be late for work,” I snap.

Wrenching open the door, I lose her angry retort as I slam it behind me. I jog down the steps and notice a pretty girl dressed in slacks, her face set in stone. She looks sort of familiar. I pass right by her, hurrying toward the subway.

“Melanie.”

A deep, mature voice sounds behind me. It’s the girl. I turn around, my mouth gaping as I see Michelle. It’s Michelle, but everything is wrong. Her hair is slicked back into a neat ponytail, her makeup is nonexistent, and her false nails are gone. What the fuck? She looks like a completely different person.

“Michelle? What are you-?”

She slips her hand inside her jacket and pulls out something. Something with a shiny metal badge.

No way.

“Agent Spencer, FBI.”

All the warmth drains out of my body and I sway on my feet, catching myself on a tree. Oh fuck. Oh Jesus Christ! I’m fucking dead!

“No fucking way!”

A sleek black sedan rolls to the curb and Michelle steps aside to open the door. “We’d like you to come in to talk.”

The car might as well be my hearse. I step backward, shaking my head. “No, I’m not going to fucking talk.”

“Trust me, Melanie. You want to hear what we have to say.”

“Trust you?” I raise my voice incredulously. “Trust you!”

Those lips I hardly recognize curl into a smile. “If I were you, I’d forget about how angry you are with me and focus on yourself.”

Fuck.

I look around the street. Jesus, any of them could be here, watching me. My heart pounding, I reluctantly slide into the car, even though everything inside me screams not to.

Michelle slides in next to me and gives me a small smile, and I try to resist the urge to give her the finger. My eyes sting with tears when I realize how much she saw in the back, and all the time she was an FBI agent. Probably sent to gain my trust, and it fucking worked. She’s a fucking duplicitous snake. A bitch.

I trusted her.

“Is your name even Michelle?”

She shrugs apologetically and I bury my face in my hands. “Oh God.”

The car ride is silent, but my thoughts scream in my head. What am I going to do? Fuck, they’re going to kill me. They’ve got me for something. Who knows what? She’s seen so many things in the back-why the fuck did I let her go in the back?

I agonize over it as they bring me to a nondescript building somewhere. It must be some kind of secret fucking black-ops hiding place they have for snitches. Michelle, or whatever the fuck her name is, takes my arm to lead me inside. I pull away from her as disgust rises in my throat. I cannot tolerate her right now.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

My body shakes violently when they take me into a claustrophobic room with three blank white walls and one giant two-way mirror. Four men and women, including Michelle, sit down in front of me and I feel as if I’m about to endure some kind of panel interview, and they’re about to judge my fate.

“I’m Agent Palmer.” A balding man with a morose expression addresses me.

“A-Am I under arrest?”

“Not at this time, but that can change depending on your choices.”

Michelle slides a piece of paper across the table, and I gasp out loud when I read the title.

“That’s a search warrant for your club, your office, and your drugs.”

“It’s not-” I bite my lip suddenly and fight the tears threatening to spill over my lids. I can’t say anything. I can’t let them trick me into admitting anything.

They’re not my drugs, and she knows it.

“We’re offering you a chance to get out of this, Mel,” she says, leaning in, her eyes harder than I’ve ever seen them. “You told me so many times how you wished you could get out.”

“I did not,” I growl.

“I have it on tape.”

Heat enflames my chest as I stare at that bitch. She taped me? Actually taped me?

“We’re building a RICO case against the members of the Vittorio Crime Family: Vincent Cesare, Joe DiFiore, Paulie Marziliano, Nicky, and anyone else we can rope in. We need your help.”

Oh my God.

My heart hammers against my chest as I look at each of them, hoping that this is an elaborate joke. “Are you fucking crazy? There’s no way I’ll testify against them.”

I wouldn’t last a day.

“We would protect you and your parents. You’d be sent to the Witness Protection Program, and all charges against you would be dropped.”

Michelle leans in again. “You wanted a way out-this is the way out, Melanie.”

“W-what if I say no?”

“You’ll be arrested and charged with possession and intention to distribute cocaine, ecstasy, heroin, and I don’t know how many other drugs.”

It takes everything in my power not to argue with him, to deny, deny, deny.

“Carries a sentence of up to twenty-five years in prison, and after you make bail you can explain to Jack Vittorio why you brought an undercover FBI agent into one of his clubs.”

This isn’t happening. This is not fucking happening.

The back of the chair cuts into my legs as I stand up abruptly, flinching horribly when I hear it topple and crash to the floor. Michelle shifts in her seat and I gaze at the mannequin sitting in front of me, who is so unlike the girl I called “friend.”

“Is this what you were trying to do when you spent all those fucking nights at the club? You were trying to get me killed?”

She licks her pink lips and looks up at me, her hands shaking slightly. “I was doing my job.”

“Your job is going to get me fucking killed, and you know I had nothing to do with any of it! Fucking bitch!”

My foot slams into the leg of the table, and it shakes violently. She pulls back her chair and stares at me with wide, guilty eyes. The other agents look distinctly unruffled.

“Calm down, Ms. Ronaldo.”

“I will not fucking calm down!”

Not when everything is falling apart, not when I might not live to see another day, and my only choice-my only choice is to join a program and be whisked away somewhere far away. I had plans in New York. Sure, I want those bastards in jail, but I didn’t want to be the one to testify against them. Who the fuck would? My heart keeps slamming into my chest, the rush of blood sending dizzy spells to my head. I grasp the edge of the table, and Tommy’s blade sinking into that guy’s chest replays itself over and over again in my head. That’ll happen to me. If I’m lucky.

“I want it in writing. I want my lawyer here.” I look up at them with the sensation that I’m signing my death sentence. “I’ll talk.”