Deeper: Underground, 3 Read online

  Downing the rest of his scotch, he set the glass on the table. He was acting like a fucking pussy. He needed to keep his head in the game, needed to remember why Stella Vincent was sitting in his office. Her father owed him a shitload of money.

  “God can’t help you in this situation, Stella.” His tone was harder, and he knew he was being a dick, but she needed to see who she was dealing with. This situation was serious, and the sooner she realized that, the better off everyone would be.

  “Your father’s debt has put him in a very precarious position.”

  “We—” She choked on the word, and he felt something shift inside of him. It wasn’t like he had never seen a female cry in front of him before, pleading, begging, but for some reason this was different. He shook his ridiculous thoughts away.

  “We don’t have that kind of money, Mr. Wessen.”

  “Maybe your father should have thought about that before he came to me and asked for a personal loan.” The frightened look on her face was one he had seen many times. Tate was used to this type of reaction. He had his hands in many different business ventures, some not legal. He might have made his first millions on the stock market, but his wealth now far surpassed that, and it had nothing to do with buying and selling shares.

  “My father came to you for a personal loan?” Her voice was small, scared. She wasn’t a fool. She knew exactly who and what he was. “You had to have known he didn’t have that kind of money. Why would you give him an amount that extravagant?” Her voice had gone a little harder, and Tate couldn’t deny his cock stiffened further by the defiant little spark inside of her.

  “Your father offered his house as collateral.” If possible her face grew paler. “I’m not known for my patience, Miss Vincent. The money I gave your father, just yesterday I might add, has been gambled and drunk away in my casino.”

  “I can’t believe he risked the house for twenty-five thousand.” A tear slipped out, but she wiped it quickly away before it could track down her cheek. She mumbled something under her breath and ran her hands through the thick tangle of auburn curls that fell over her shoulders. She lifted her wide green eyes to him, and he found himself lost for a moment in those emerald depths. “How long does my father have before he needs to pay you back?”

  “The end of the week.” His answer was short and to the point. He was done letting his sexual needs override the business side of his life. She was no different than any other female he had wanted, but even thinking it, he knew that was not true. There was something different about Stella Vincent, something he wanted to explore further. After she paid him, maybe he would explore that, meaning her under him. Yeah, he just needed one night with her, one night to get her out of his system. He wasn’t used to wanting a female as badly as he wanted her. It was clouding his judgment, making him feel sympathy for her and the situation.

  Yes, he would get his money, and then he would go from there. In the end Stella Vincent would be naked in his bed, his name coming from her on a scream of pleasure.

  3

  Stella was in a massive funk when she left Tate’s office. The drive from the casino to her father’s house passed in silence, and it wasn’t just because her dad was out cold. Even if he had been conscious, she wouldn’t have had anything to say. She was beyond pissed and scared as hell. Where in the hell was she going to get twenty-five thousand dollars by the end of the week? A tear slipped free, and she quickly wiped it away. The very thought of her childhood home being taken away was too painful to even contemplate. All her memories of her mother were in that home, and her father had all but signed it away for a quarter of what the house cost. She loved her father, but at this moment she hated him.

  A sideways glance at him showed a man blissfully unaware of what he was putting his only daughter through. If the house hadn’t already been paid for, she had no doubt he would have lost it years ago. Her childhood house became illuminated by her headlights. Pulling into the driveway and shutting off her car, she sat there for a moment, letting everything settle into place. The tick, tick, tick of the engine cooling filled the car and broke up her thoughts.

  “Dad, wake up.” She didn’t bother looking over at him, just stared straight ahead. The front door, once a vibrant red that was welcoming and warm, was now peeling and dull. Shutters hung by a nail, and weeds were now making up more of the lawn than actual grass. The house looked depressing. It looked like a corpse of something that used to be great. This was what her life was now.

  She looked at her dad, felt her love for him try and press through the anger that was currently taking residence inside of her. How long was she going to continue on with this? How much longer was she going to watch her father slowly kill himself? She missed her dad, missed her house, but years ago she’d finally moved out. She’d made the decision to get a place of her own and not let the past consume her like it was doing with her father. If the house hadn’t been paid for, there was no way she could afford to live on her own. The only income he had was from his disability.

  If he hadn’t hurt himself right after her mom died, he wouldn’t be getting anything now. That check and her paychecks were the only thing keeping him from being homeless. She worked two jobs to make sure that would never happen. Why did she even bother? How many jobs have you lost because you’ve had to leave to go pick him up? How many dates have been ruined because Dad called you, begging you to come get him because he was too drunk to drive home?

  Another tear slipped free, and it tracked down her cheek before she could catch it. She was sick of crying, sick of always having to worry about everyone else, and sick of having no one to take care of her. She climbed out of the car, walked around to the passenger side door and opened it. The handle between her fingers felt icy, and although fall was in full swing around her, she knew the coldness had nothing to do with the metal or the weather. Her life was cold and distant, and she knew the frigidness was coming from within her soul. Angry at herself and everything around her, she tore the door open and stared at her father.

  “Dad, wake up. Now.” There was not even a movement to indicate he heard her. “Dad!” No doubt the neighbors had heard her, but at the moment she didn’t give a shit. A headache was starting to form at her temples, and exhaustion settled in. All she wanted to do was go home, climb under her sheets, and dream of a life that didn’t suck so much ass.

  Her father mumbled something and turned his face toward her. He peeled his eyelids back, blinked a few times, and smiled. “Hey, baby girl.” The slurred words were far too familiar to her.

  “Come on, Dad.” Getting him out of the car was tricky, but by this point in her life she was a pro at it. When she finally got him in the house and into his bed, she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she wouldn’t go straight to bed when she got home. Maybe she would take a scalding-hot bath, light a few candles, and imagine a world where everyone wasn’t against her.

  * * *

  Three thousand ninety-six dollars and fifty-two cents. That was the amount Stella had scrounged up from her checking and saving accounts and the little bit of money her father had saved, thanks to her. It didn’t even make a dent in the amount she owed, and she felt herself falling deeper and deeper into the pit of despair. She had no family she could turn to in her time of need. The small handful of friends she did have, the ones that hadn’t left her high and dry when they found out what a hot mess her life was, didn’t have that kind of money either.

  Her father was all she had, and he was the one that had gotten them into this mess to begin with.

  Three days had already passed since her impromptu meeting with Tate Wessen. She’d picked up extra hours at both of her jobs, but even if she worked every day, all day, it would take her months, if not an entire year, to make that kind of money. Being a waitress had its perks, especially on busy nights, but there weren’t enough tips in the world to have her earning enough.

  The thought of fleeing had crossed her mind more than once, but she’d quickly banis
hed that idea. For one thing she had no doubt Tate and his henchmen would be able to find her. For the second thing, the money she’d managed to scrounge up would only last so long, and then she’d be at square one.

  The only other option—and one that didn’t appeal to her, no matter how logical it seemed—was talking to Tate and seeing if they could work something out. The very thought of groveling, begging him to show mercy on her and her father, to give her more time to save their home mortified her, but she was out of options.

  She took the money she’d acquired, hoping beyond hope that maybe she could give it to him in a show of good faith and he would grant her request. Stella couldn’t help but feel like she was living in some gangster movie, having to ask the head boss for leniency, to not break her father’s legs for the money he owed. If she was being honest, that scenario probably wasn’t too far off from reality.

  It wasn’t a secret that Tate Wessen used brutal force to get what he wanted, and she didn’t doubt he would use that power on her or her father. The very thought of going over to see him was sounding worse and worse every minute she pondered it.

  She stopped in front of the mirror by her front door and stared at herself. Maybe she could seduce him?

  Ha! Get real, girl.

  Her auburn hair was a wild mess of curls, and no matter how much product she used, there was no taming it. Leaning in, she stared at the dark circles that seemed to now be a permanent fixture on her face. She looked run-down. A sad fact, but one she could admit. The only redeeming quality was her eyes. The green was bright, and she always got complimented on them, but eyes weren’t going to woo any men into cutting her some slack and not taking her house.

  She opened her purse and riffled through it until she found her small makeup bag. She normally didn’t wear any, but if she was going to try and talk a man like Tate Wessen out of taking her family home, she needed to make herself look somewhat attractive.

  As it was, she could have been cast as an extra in Night of the Living Dead. She applied a coat of mascara and some lip gloss called Peachy Peach and looked at herself once more in the mirror. It wasn’t a vast improvement, but it would have to do. Her outfit was another story, though. Sweats and a holey tee wouldn’t be winning any points with Mr. Wessen.

  4

  Sweat was already starting to accrue between Stella’s breasts and down her spine. Had she ever been this nervous? Hell. No. She’d stopped at the casino first, trying to see Tate, but some slinky little blonde had informed her he wasn’t there, made a phone call, and directed her to one of his other businesses. So here she was, ten minutes later, standing in a small waiting room of the Rabbit Hole, a club that he owned.

  She had tried to find something sexy to wear, something that might appeal to a man like Tate, a man that dated stick-thin blondes with huge tits. Of course, she had nothing of the sort and had settled for a sweater dress with leggings and a pair of flats. It certainly wasn’t an outfit that she saw herself seducing a man in, but the neckline was cut low, and she’d opted out of a cami. If she bent over, he would get a nice shot of her full, nonaugmented B-cup-sized boobs. The dress was also snug and accented her curves.

  She paced the room, her temperature rising as the seconds ticked by. Several times she glanced at the door, the metal one that was being guarded by yet another burly-ass man. The longer she stayed in this room, the more she wanted to flee. She took a step forward, but before she could go any farther, she heard a door open.

  “What a pleasant surprise.” She turned and saw Tate. He stood in the doorway, the three-piece suit he wore not hiding his raw power and muscular frame. “And four days sooner than I expected, too.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.

  Stella gripped the strap of her purse tighter and stepped into his office. The door shut behind her, and she was acutely aware that they were alone. She’d never been to this club before and found it just as incredible as all the reviews claimed. A heartbeat passed with neither of them saying anything, and then she heard Tate clear his throat. He walked by her and sat behind his desk. He gestured to the seat for her to take, and she felt like she had three days ago while he told her she was about to lose everything.

  “So, Stella, what can I do for you?” His fingers were steepled in front of his face, his gaze penetrating. “Have you come up with the money in only three days? I’m impressed.”

  Mouth gone dry, Stella couldn’t form any words. When she decided this was what she was going to do, she hadn’t really thought it out thoroughly, she realized.

  “Miss Vincent?” One dark brow rose in challenge.

  She cleared her throat and shifted in the seat. “Um, Mr. Wessen…”

  “Call me Tate.” His voice was deep and held no room for argument.

  God, she could see why he got what he wanted. What he said was a command as much as it was a request. She opened her purse and pulled out the envelope that she’d shoved the three grand in. It wasn’t nearly what she owed, but maybe he would take it as good faith. Yeah, that was wishful thinking to its fullest. Her hands shook as she handed over the envelope, and Tate reached out to grip its edge.

  The very tips of their fingers brushed, and a thrill of electricity washed through her. Snatching her hand away, she clasped it in her lap and waited. He didn’t move for several moments, just stared at her. When he finally leaned back in his seat and opened the envelope, she waited for his response. He was like a statue, all cool composure and solid features.

  “I’m a little confused.” He closed the envelope but kept his fingers wrapped around it. He started tapping the edge of it against the top of his desk, and she gritted her teeth at the sound of the rhythmic tap, tap, tap. “If my math is correct, there is barely three thousand dollars in this envelope.” He dropped the envelope and placed his elbows on the desk, leaning forward. His gaze penetrated hers. “If memory serves, I believe I explained your father owes me twenty-five grand. What you’ve brought me today is an insult if this is your only payment.” A stretch of silence surrounded them, and she didn’t even know where to start. Should she beg him for more time? It seemed pathetic, but she was desperate. He had to know she couldn’t come up with that kind of money in such a short amount of time.

  “I can see you don’t much care for your father’s home.” He was mocking her, and a slice of anger speared through her.

  “I know it isn’t the amount my father owes—”

  He interrupted her. “Not even close, Stella.” His tone was hard.

  Palms sweating and pulse pounding, she feared she would pass out from his stare alone. “I can’t come up with that kind of money, Tate. All my life savings is in that envelope. I work two jobs just to pay my father’s bills. I have nothing and neither does my father.” The way he looked at her was disconcerting. It was like he was examining her, dissecting her and finding out everything that she held inside.

  “Your father should have thought about that before he came to me for a loan.”

  He was right, of course, but it still pissed her off. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know he had nothing before you loaned him the money. I’m sure you do extensive background checks on all your ‘clients.’”

  A scowl crossed his features, and she felt her heart drop into the very bottom of her stomach. Oh shit. You stupid, stupid girl. You want him to help you. Now you’ve pissed him off. His silence was the worst kind of response. As the long minutes stretched by without anything coming to mind, Stella found herself looking for a way out. This had been a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  He didn’t speak for several long moments, and then he finally said, “I’m not sure what you want from me.” He stood and walked over to a built-in bar in the wall. Seeing his back to her, she quickly wiped off the perspiration that was forming on her brow. Looking down at her outfit, she felt like a big ass. Had she really thought she could convince him to give her more time by wearing a low-cut dress? She lifted her gaze and found him watching her. He held another square-cut
glass with amber-colored liquid in it.

  “I’d ask you if you want a drink, but you declined before, and I assume you will this time.”

  She licked her lips and saw how his gaze dipped down to watch the act. Maybe she was imagining it all? “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d really like a drink.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and he tilted his head to acknowledge her request. She took that moment to stare at how the material of his suit jacket stretched across his shoulders. The muscles were clearly evident, and she let the idle thought of what he would look like without any clothes pass through her mind.

  She could just imagine all those hard, defined muscles straining and flexing as he moved. Was his flesh tanned or creamy white?

  “Miss Vincent?” His voice was close, very close. Stella looked up and saw Tate standing right in front of her, his brow raised and the glass of alcohol for her in his outstretched hand. She muttered a thank-you. When took a drink of the liquid, she nearly sputtered it all over his desk and on his pristine white carpet. It was like fire water down her throat, and she couldn’t contain the gasp and cough that followed. Tate’s laugh was rich and dark, just like the liquor she consumed.

  “So, what is it exactly you want from me? More time? The deed to your childhood home back? Forgiveness for your father’s debt?”

  God, he sounded like such an asshole. She gripped the glass tighter, staring at him as he made his way to a leather couch in the center of the room. His big body sprawled on the leather. Legs slightly apart and arms behind him on the back of the couch, Tate Wessen looked like he didn’t have a care in the damn world. Truth be told, he probably didn’t.

  “I’ve been called many things, Stella, but a forgiving man isn’t one of them. So, I’ll ask you again, what is it that you want from me?”