Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) by Celia Loren

“I can’t believe we lost the key. But I thought, hey, at the gym
you must have those…those…what do you call them? For the lockers, when you cut
them open? You know, the…the…”
    She makes a cutting gesture with
her fingers.
    Mark’s face clears. “Oh, right!
Yes, the wire-cutters. We use them to break locks when people haven’t paid for
their space. Hmm, of course we have them, but these links look kind of thick
for the blades. Tell you what, wait right here and I’ll see what I can do, you
naughty girl.”
    Mark scampers off with a wink and a
flourish.
    “A little mishap, huh?” I ask,
eyeing her. “Interesting way to describe our morning. That’s putting it rather mildly.”
    She glares at me. “Not that you’re
helping.”
    “You don’t seem to need my help, Mystery
Girl. Didn’t want to get in between you and your admirer, seemed like you had a
nice thing going on.”
    “Mark? You can’t be serious. Wait.
Are you jealous?”
    “Me? Jealous?”
    “Yes, you, jealous. Of Mark!
Ridiculous. He’s gay.”
    I knew that.
    “Then why are you flirting with
him?”
    “Oh for heaven’s sake –”
    But Mark reappears, cutting our
whispered argument short. And that’s not all he’s prepared to cut: in his hands
are a pair of massive diagonal bolt cutters, their sharp beaks gleaming
dangerously. Looks like a fine murder weapon, if you ask me. Could probably
snap through bone.
    “Wow,” I murmur in spite of myself.
“Those will probably do the trick, alright.”
    Tatiana jumps up and down,
gleefully clapping her hands. “Mark, you’re our hero! I thought we were stuck
together forever.”
    Something in me twists at the
relief in her offhanded words.
    “Don’t thank me yet,” Mark laughs.
“Let’s see if they work first.”
    Tatiana dons a serious air, and kicks my ankle until I let
her pull my hand and the chains of the handcuffs into a position that is easy
for Mark to reach. He lines up the bolt cutters, frowning in concentration.
    On his first attempt the blades
slip across the shiny marble counter-top. The second try, Mark agrees to let me
help by holding the bottom handle steady as he pulls down on the top with all
his might like a lever. He’s a small guy, and even though he’s in shape it
takes four or five of his best pulls before the chain snaps in half. The moment
the links break, my heart starts hammering.
    Now there’s nothing holding Tatiana and me together.
    Nothing except a shared cause:
surviving Breslin.
    Will that be enough?
    If she gives me the slip now, I’m
fucked. She has the laptop, the info that Breslin wants, and all the cards.
Without her, I’m a sitting duck. That must be why I’m so nervous at the thought
of her leaving me.
    Yes, that’s what it is.
    “Yay!” Tatiana yells, dancing around, giving Mark a
celebratory kiss on the cheek. “My hero!”
    She kicks my ankle again, and I grudgingly obey the cue.
    “Thanks Mark,” I grunt, stretching out my hand.
    He accepts the brusque handshake without comment. Then I
point at the clippers. “Mind if I try something?”
    “Okay.”
    He hands them over, and after a quick study of the metal
cuff still circling my wrist I know what to do.
    “Give me your hand,” I order
Tatiana.
    She does so immediately, without question, twisting my guts
all over again. The way she’s putting herself at my mercy with a dangerous
instrument in my hands makes me feel guilty for doubting her, but the doubts
nag anyhow. If I’m going to convince her to stick with me, I have to play my
cards right. I hope what I am about to do will serve as a gesture of goodwill,
an indication that I’m choosing to trust her now that the handcuffs are gone.
    “Hold still,” I murmur.
    I position the bolt cutters and snap through the clasp of
the cuff around Tatiana’s wrist. It falls and clangs on the desk, and Tatiana’s
arm comes completely free. She rubs it thankfully, and it galls me to see that
her skin is already rubbed raw where the