LIVING IN BONDAGE: Welcome To The Crime City

"FORGIVE ME, FATHER, FOR I have sinned."

The shadow on the other side of the metal grate moved, and the priest cleared his throat. "How long has it been since your last confession?"

I had a difficult time believing he didn't know, but he always asked that same question.

"Three weeks, give or take."

A moment of silence passed between us, and I wondered what he was thinking. I wasn't well versed in the practices of the church, but from what little I knew, this circumstance we found ourselves in was out of the realm of normality for both of us. He was supposed to ask me questions, I was supposed to talk about my sins, and then I'd receive my punishment. But after my first visit here, that had never been the way it went down.

"Speak freely," the voice on the other side of the wood instructed.

He was patient with me when I didn't obey. As usual, I never knew where to begin.

"Why don't you tell me what brought you here," he suggested.

My fingers moved over the weathered wood bench beneath me. This building had always felt so vast. Too quiet and holy for the likes of me. But in this booth, I was safe. The anonymity granted me the freedom to confess to someone I couldn't see.

"Have you ever wished that something was a dream?" I asked.

The reply was somber. "Every day of my life."

The gravity of his statement sounded like a confession, and I didn't know what to do with it.

"I just finished another job." My hands were wrung together in my lap. "Another con. It was a lot of money."

The wood from his seat creaked, and I imagined him shifting, trying to process what kind of monster I was. "How did that make you feel?"

"This isn't about my feelings."

"Then what is it about?"

I closed my eyes, and the image came flooding back to me. My lungs burned. The landscape of my mouth turned to desert. I'd never said this part out loud before, but I needed to. Someone had to hear it.

"My sister suggested we get ice cream to celebrate. We always celebrate after a job." I tried to will the nausea in my stomach away as I spoke. "I couldn't even remember the last time we had ice cream together, though. She got bubblegum, her favorite. And it... it triggered something."

"A memory?" the priest asked.

"The day I got home from juvie, I found her in the kitchen eating ice cream. I'd been gone for six months, and every day, I was sick with fear for her. She was so small. So helpless."

I heard the priest swallow, and his voice was hoarse when he responded. "You thought it was your job to protect her?"

"It was," I assured him. "She had nobody else. And when I walked into the kitchen that day, for a split second, she was so happy to see me that I thought everything was going to be okay. I thought he'd kept his word, and she was okay."

"But she wasn't?"

I looked at the floor, clutching my stomach as I recalled her eyes. For as long as I lived, I would never forget what I saw there.

"No," I whispered. "I could see that something had changed."

"What was it?"

"Her innocence," I answered. "It was gone."

"HERE." I SHOVED A FAT wad of the twenties into the cabbie's palm. "That's half. I'll give you double that if you're here when I come back. Twenty minutes tops."

He glanced down at the stack of cash and shrugged. "No problem, lady."

I checked my lipstick in the mirror and swung open the door. It was a chore getting out of the cab in my fluffy white dress, but I made it work.

Outside, New York City Hall was bustling with crowds rushing to their destinations, but they all paused to look at the woman scurrying down the sidewalk in a wedding dress and cowboy boots.

I waved like a princess and even blew a few kisses to a pair of little girls with stars in their eyes. No doubt they were dreaming about their wedding someday. Hopefully, theirs would turn out better than this one.

A chivalrous stranger with dark eyes opened the door for me, and I thanked him while I rushed past, nearly colliding with my groom the moment I stepped inside.

"Graham," I squeaked.

"Where have you been?" He glared. "You're ten minutes late."

I bit my tongue and smiled. This was the most charming he'd been in the past two weeks, and it only solidified my decision to play him like a fiddle.

"The bride is supposed to be late." I offered him a wide smile. "It's tradition."

"Nothing about this wedding is traditional," he muttered.

That wasn't news to me. He couldn't even spring for a cake or flowers, and he hadn't invited a single family member to this shotgun wedding of ours. Yet he was deluded enough to believe I thought he loved me. The reality was that he was gunning for senator, and he needed to secure a wife for the upcoming political rallies. Family men were always more likable in the public eye.

He checked his watch and gestured for me to put my arm in his. "Come on. We're next in line."

I tagged along toward the courtroom where the magistrate was probably waiting. "This is all so romantic, but Graham, do you think I could have a word with you in private first? I have something I'd like to give you."

He glanced down at the envelope in my hand, his features tightening before he smoothed them with practiced civility. He would make a good politician.

"Sure," he said curtly. "But we'll have to make it quick."

I nodded and tugged on his hand, leading him into an empty vestibule that was closed off to the public.

"What are you doing?" He stared down the empty hall. "We can't go in here; they'll kick us out."

"Trust me," I whispered. "You'll want this to be private."

His face was a mask of irritation as he followed my lead and came to a stop around the corner. I looked up at him, mentally preparing to rip off my mask. It was always best to do it like a Band-Aid.

There was no love for me in his eyes, but even so, for a split second, I hesitated. I'd known Graham for three weeks, and in that time, he'd showered me with gifts and tokens of his appreciation. His appreciation for helping him to keep a secret he wasn't even aware I knew. I was just the dumb baby fawn being led to slaughter in a marriage he'd never truly be happy with but hoped he'd make work by pacifying me with money.

In part, he was right about that. Because I needed the money. My little sister needed the money. I wanted to give her a better life, and I decided long ago that if fate wouldn't give us our opportunities, I would create them.

I had to remember that when I looked at Graham, even if a small part of me hated what I was about to do. Sure, he was an asshole who thought he could buy me. I'd dealt with enough of them to know it wouldn't break his heart when I walked away. He'd be wiser, and I'd be richer, and we'd both be winners in the end. But lately, I didn't feel like a winner at all.

"Come on." Graham reached for the envelope in my hands. "We're wasting time here. Is that for me?"

His sharp words snapped me back to reality, and I narrowed my eyes. Rich men were all the same. They thought they could treat women like shit because they had fat wallets. And this was my reminder that it didn't matter what I was going to do. Graham would pay the money to avoid the humiliation of a scandal, and it wouldn't hurt him... much.

I handed him the envelope that felt so dirty in my hands. "This is for you, my darling."

He didn't spare me a second glance as he pulled out the contents of the evidence I'd gathered on him over the last three weeks. Sometimes this part of the game could be dramatic. I certainly never knew what I was going to find on a mark before I started researching him. One could only speculate, but even I wasn't past being surprised on occasion. Everybody had a secret. And I was very good at exploiting them.

"What in the hell is this?" The color drained from Graham's face as he looked over the photos of him with his best friend's wife. Those had been taken just three days ago, but there were plenty of others. Clandestine meetings in motel rooms and dark corners at dinner parties. It was all there. And it was an irrefutable fact that when he agreed to wait until after marriage to consummate, he was full of shit.

"There are plenty more where those came from." I dropped the Southern accent I'd been using since the night I'd met him. "As well as dates and times. Locations. They're all stored in a digital file."

"You're blackmailing me?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "You, the dumb blonde bimbo who's been parading around on my arm for three weeks? How the fuck did you get this? Who sent you?"

I pulled off my wig and shook out my hair with a smile. "I'm a brunette. And I'm a lot smarter than you give me credit for. I work alone, Graham."

The veins in his neck swelled, and his face mottled with red as he realized he'd just been played by the bimbo. "You know I'm a powerful man. How can you be sure I won't just make you disappear?"

"Because you don't want even the scent of impropriety around you," I answered. "The woman you were supposed to marry goes missing? It's a problem you don't need. Besides, I have fail-safes for such an event, and I can promise you that this information does not go missing with me. But you can make it all go away, Graham."

His eyes pinched together, penetrating me with the resentment he'd been hiding up until this point. "What do you want?"

"One hundred thousand."

"You must be joking," he seethed.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

He turned away, curling his lip as his eyes fell on the picture in his hand. The lovers in the frame were lost in the throes of passion, disgracing the guest bedroom of his best friend's summer house on the cape. I was there with him that night on the beach with his friends, regaling them with stories of my fake life. But when I snuck away and spotted them, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to snap the shot.

As I watched him now, his feelings were written all over his face. He wouldn't betray her. He couldn't.

"You love her," I said, "don't you?"

He dragged a hand through his hair and stuffed the photos back into the envelope. "It doesn't matter. You'll get your money if that's what you want. It's done."

His answer was what I expected, but at the same time, it renewed my constant companion of hopelessness. This was a cruel world. A world where people would choose reputations over love. Dirty escapades over happiness. I never wanted to weave myself into that fabric of society again. Situations like this reminded me why it was better to be a loose thread, dangling in the wind.

I didn't know how to love men. I only knew how to leave them, with everything I wanted.

"I'll need it by five o clock today," I told Graham.

And then I walked away.

"HOW ABOUT ANOTHER SHOT, CUTIE?" The drunk college student drooling at her feet couldn't take his eyes off her. Around the bar, a similar theme persisted. In the face of the jilted bride dancing on the bar to a country song, the entire male population of the little dive bar in Jersey had suddenly forgotten they had girlfriends or wives.

I had to give the girl some credit. She knew how to captivate a crowd. Her sob story about the groom leaving her at the altar had earned her plenty of suitors who were ready and willing to be her Prince Charming this evening and soothe her aching heart. The wedding dress and boots were a nice touch too. She had them convinced she was a small-town Dixieland princess who was homegrown and fresh off the farm with that fake Southern accent.

I'd been watching her play this game for two hours, and so far, she'd swindled several of her potential suitors out of a couple of grand by playing light with her fingers. Knowing that she'd just come from a large con, she wasn't doing this because she needed to. She was indulging her reckless behavior because she wanted to get high on her favorite drug.

Fucking over the men who would fuck her over if given the chance.

In a bold move, she decided to try her luck at the pool table. But while her male counterpart might have had a dick, he also had a brain. And he didn't take too kindly to her pretending she didn't know how to play while they were placing bets only to come out and reveal herself as a shark halfway through.

His voice was getting louder, and her taunts were tiptoeing the line of savagery.

"You didn't call the shot," he said.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared. "Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't." He pointed the pool stick in her direction. "Now I'm beginning to think you're a lying bitch."

I didn't come here with the intentions of stepping in, but at this point, I had no choice.

"That's because she is." I moved in beside her and commandeered the stick in her hand. "But that's still no way to talk to a lady."

"She ain't a fuckin' lady," the guy snarled. "She's a lyin', cheatin'"

"Con artist," I finished for him. "And she was trying to swindle you out of your money."

She peered up at me, and I removed some cash from my wallet, tossing it down on the table. "That should cover the inconvenience."

Shark gray eyes cut into me. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's a good question," her opponent chimed in. He walked around the table and stopped a foot away, studying me. "You aren't from around here."

"No, I'm not."

He cocked his head to the side, and I knew the moment recognition sparked in his eyes. I cringed before he even spoke.

"I know who you are." He jabbed his pool stick in my direction. "You're that fella from the TV. That lawyer who defends all those rich wife beaters and such."

Gypsy looked up at me, her eyes flaying me alive. I could almost hear her judgment already. With one simple comment from some drunk moron, she'd made up her mind about me.

"I saw you," she murmured. "At the courthouse. You were the guy who opened the door for me. Are you following me?"

"Let's discuss this outside."

She took a step back, shielding her body with her arms. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Who the hell do you think you are?"

I took back the space between us and whispered in her ear. "I'm the guy who just saved your ass. And if you don't leave now, I'll tell this whole bar just how much you've stolen in here tonight."

Her shoulders went rigid, and when she pulled back to look at me, she knew I meant it.

"I'll leave on my own," she announced. "Thank you very much."

She scooped up the hem of her white dress, which was now stained with beer and crumpled peanut shells, and then sauntered out the door. I followed, keeping my distance just so I could watch her get safely into a taxi.

She waved at the cabbie and poked her head inside to ask if he was available before flinging herself into the back seat and shutting the door. She gave him the address, and then out of curiosity, she looked back at the door to find me standing there. I didn't stop her before they drove away.

I'd see her again soon.

THE DUSTY, HEAD-IN-OVEN VARIETY of heat hit me as I strode from McCarren International Airport's baggage claim with my Kate Spade luggage in tow. Even though Birdie was late again a familiar warmth bloomed in my chest as I stood on the curb and inhaled the exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke.

I was finally home.

It had been three weeks since I'd set foot in Sin City, and I missed it. Something about the constant lights and noise and obnoxious heat of this place attracted lost souls. A few years ago, I was one of them. Las Vegas had spoiled me with the glitz and glamour, and it didn't matter how many places I visited nothing else ever compared.

My almost marriage to Graham Darby kept me away for longer than I'd anticipated, but thanks to him, Birdie and I would be sitting pretty for at least a year. I could probably even take a vacation, but who was I kidding? I loved the con too much to quit.

As I checked my bank account to ensure Graham had fulfilled his end of the bargain, I couldn't help but notice that I had an admirer edging closer to me on the curb. He had the subtlety of a shark circling blood-infested waters, and if he weren't wearing department store khakis, I might have taken the bait.

Ignoring him, I sent Graham a quick email, letting him know that the photographic evidence of his affair would be delivered by six this evening, and he could do with it what he wished.

It was a clean break, and we both came out better for it. Though I probably could have squeezed even more out of him, in the end, I knew when I was pushing my luck. Dealing with powerful men was a dangerous game, but I hadn't lost yet.

The insufferable vocals of tween pop preceded the flash of red that alerted me to Birdie. Pulling up in the red Audi TTS I bought her last year, she popped her bubblegum and waved for me to get in.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," she said. "I'm always late."

With a pink tipped fingernail, she pressed the button that opened the trunk, and my admirer rushed to help me put my bags in.

"Thanks," I murmured.

Once he finished stuffing my suitcases inside, his eyes didn't miss the opportunity to roam over my fitted yellow romper and gold stilettos.

"My name's Kevin," he offered.

I struggled not to roll my eyes. "Hi, Kevin."

"Do you have a name?" he teased.

"My name is you can't afford me, sweetie, so I'm going to save you the trouble of working up the courage to ask me out."

I didn't wait for his reply, but I heard it nonetheless. Regardless, I laughed it off. I'd been called worse things than a bitch by guys far more intimidating than Kevin.

"Another one bites the dust, huh?" Birdie laughed as I shut the door, and she gunned it out of the clustered pickup zone.

"He might need some therapy, but I'm sure he'll survive."

Birdie turned down the music and gave me a quick once-over before replacing her oversized Coach sunglasses. "How was New York?"

"Crowded, loud, obnoxious." I sighed.

"C'mon, Gyps," she whined. "You know I don't like it when you make me ask a million questions. Just tell me about the money. Did you score big?"

I examined my little sister from the passenger seat, wishing for the thousandth time she'd never found out what I actually did to support us. It was my job to protect her, and even if she was nineteen, Birdie didn't have the skills to survive this world on her own.

She had grown far too excited when talking about my cons with me, and I needed her to know that it wasn't exciting. At least, it shouldn't be for her. It was dangerous. In reality, it was the most dangerous job I could possibly pull off, and every time I went into a con, I never knew if I'd come out alive. But I did it for us.

"Where did you get that ring?" I asked, the gleam from her right hand practically blinding me.

She wiggled her finger and shrugged. "Somebody dropped it in the casino."

She was lying, and I knew she was lying. That ring had to be worth at least twenty grand, and considering I recently put Birdie on a necessities-only allowance, she couldn't afford it.

"What about the sunglasses? Did you find those on the floor too?"

She smirked. "Of course not. I just smiled and batted my eyelashes, and the sales guy gave me a huge discount."

"Birdie." I rubbed my temples, trying to will away the tension. "We've talked about this."

"About what?" She tried using the same tactic she just described by batting her pretty blue eyes at me.

"You're getting too used to this lifestyle. I don't like it. You need to cut back and start focusing on your future. On school."

She pursed her lips and shook her head, strands of blond hair flying around her face. "School is boring. I want to work with you."

"No." My jaw clenched. "That will never happen. Never."

"I'm an adult, Gypsy. You can't tell me what to do anymore."

"Then why don't you act like one and get your GED like you promised you would?"

"Funny coming from you." She rolled her eyes. "Hypocritical much?"

My attention drifted out the window, watching the cars fly by as we wound our way across Summerlin Parkway. I was so tired of this argument. I knew it, and Birdie knew it, but neither one of us knew what to do about it.

"Look, I'm sorry," Birdie muttered a minute later. "Are you mad at me?"

I smiled at her because she was always the first to break. I loved my sister more than anything. I think she was the only person I was actually capable of loving. So the question was ridiculous, but she asked it often because deep down she was still a damaged little girl.

"I could never be mad at you," I told her. "I just want what's best for you. Always."

"I know." She dipped her head to hide her emotion. "That's why I'm trying to do what I promised. I'm still going to all my classes. Mostly."

"If you want to get into design school, you need to have your GED. There's no way around that."

"I know." She shrugged a dainty shoulder. "It's just hard to stay focused while I get through all the boring stuff first."

"It will get easier," I assured her.

"What about you, Gyps? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I leaned my head back against the headrest and smiled at her joke. I was already well and truly grown up. Too grown up for twenty-three. "I want to be rich."

"Ha." Birdie snorted. "Could have seen that one coming."

She whipped the car into a parking space in front of our luxury apartment building in Summerlin North but kept the car idling.

"Aren't you coming in?"

She bit her lip and shook her head. "I have class."

My gaze moved to the clock on the dashboard. I knew her schedule like the back of my hand because it was the only way I could feel safe. Those details were vital to me. There was never a question in my mind that at any minute we might need to cut and run, and I was constantly reminding her of it.

"Your class doesn't start for three hours."

Birdie groaned. She got sick of me being so overprotective of her, but she secretly loved and needed it. "Yes, but I need to study for a test. I'm meeting Trouble at Starbucks to chill out for a couple of hours. If I stay here with you, I'll be too distracted."

I wanted to believe her, but something about her explanation didn't sit right with me. Birdie had never been so dedicated to her studies before. She would usually cram for a test fifteen minutes beforehand in the parking lot while chugging a Rockstar. She didn't even like coffee. And as far as her new friend Trouble? Well, the name said it all. Birdie had found the lost, homeless girl wandering through a casino, and they'd been inseparable ever since. I didn't necessarily think she was a good influence for Birdie, but she was trying to make a point that it was time to relinquish some of my control over her life. The anxieties would never go away, but I knew that there would be a day when Birdie would decide she was ready to start taking baby steps toward her freedom, and it looked to me like that day was arriving.

"Just be careful," I pleaded with her. "Check in before you get to class, please. And when you're on your way home."

"I will," she promised.

She never argued with me on these points because she knew it would make me sick with worry if she didn't follow through. Birdie might have been a brat, but she loved me too, and she would never want to hurt me.

I got out of the car and grabbed my suitcases, rolling them up to the sidewalk.

"Hey," Birdie called out after me. "How about dinner tonight? A celebration for when I ace this test."

I smiled. "Sure, that sounds good. How about Sinatra at seven? I'll make us a reservation."

"Perfect!" she shouted. "Make sure it's on the patio."

I rolled my eyes, but I ultimately relented, the way I always did with Birdie.