I’d meant to do a POP—pratfall on property—at a better apartment complex, but hadn’t gotten around to it.

Karin sat up against the headboard, beaming. “We could hardly wait for you to divvy what happened!” She wore shorts and a broken-in T-shirt that read: It was me. I let the dogs out. Our grandmother had given that to her. Out of love, Karin wore it constantly.

My pink cellphone had been a present from Gram, which meant I cherished it—no matter how much I hated the color pink. Not to mention that “dialing the pink telephone” was a euphemism for masturbation. I told myself it was better than the Snuggie she’d gotten Pete or Benji’s hobbit-feet socks.

“Holy shit, sis.” Benji’s coffee-brown eyes lit up. “What a difference a day makes, huh?”

To see my brother today, you’d never guess how much he’d suffered on the streets as a little boy. He’d grown up to be lava-hot, tall and built, with a quiet strength that drew people.

Eighteen years ago, he’d been a seven-year-old street urchin trying to hustle my dad. A scrawny thing with huge eyes, he’d had a talent at cards that rivaled mine and little memory of how he got to the States. He’d called himself Benji because he’d probably been born in Bengal, India.

Dad had seen potential. With no parents to be found, he’d brought Benji home, and we’d adopted him.

“Did you really tangle with a billionaire?” he asked.

I hiccupped and grinned.

“You didn’t sleep with the Russian, did you?” Pete asked, seeming to brace himself for my answer.

I made a chopping motion. “Sex—nyet.”

Relieved looks all around.

I tossed my keys and my purse onto my dime-store desk. Lucía’s watch rattled inside that secret compartment. “But we did hook up.” I sat in my fold-up chair and took off my heels, wincing from my aching feet.

“Tell us, hon!” Karin said. “What’s he like?”

“He’s . . . he’s . . .” I tried to put him into words. “With him, it’s . . .” I gave up. “Lemme go take a shower.”

Under the paltry water pressure, I considered and discarded descriptions. How to explain someone like Dmitri Sevastyan?

Once I padded back out in my robe, Benji said, “Well?”

I hopped up on a free corner of my bed. “Dmitri is magnetic and fascinating and . . . unconventional.”

Karin studied my expression. “Then the con won’t be such a chore. Everybody’s so excited, Vice. I’ve been bragging about my boss of a little sister.” She would; she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. “Pete said he’s never seen a mark respond like this.”

He chuckled. “Not fifteen minutes after I told Vice she needed to practice sexual manipulation, she had the Russian shoving her up against a wall, groaning into her mouth, and hard as rock.”

I blushed. “I wondered if you’d seen that detail.”

“As if I could miss that huge . . . detail.”

Karin laughed. “The student has become the teacher! I tried every trick in the book to get that man’s attention—even a noob move like the toppled tray.”

She’d dropped a tray filled with plastic cups of ice, enabling her to spend lots of time on all fours in a miniskirt hunting for each cube.

The idea of my sister doing that in front of Dmitri . . . Jealousy hit me. Again.

Benji said, “Start from the beginning and tell us everything that happened.”

I did—because this was my first sex con and I needed their input. But I omitted the finer points of each orgasm, and I found myself leaving out details that made Dmitri sound even more . . . eccentric.

I finished with: “He walked me to my door, all gentlemanlike, which blew my mind after the way he’d been sexually.”

“He spanked you?” Pete raised his brows. “I did not see that one coming. Pun intended.”

“Yep.” My ass still burned. I’d gotten a glimpse of what sex would be like with Sevastyan.

Earth-shattering. Filthy. Baffling.

Pete snapped his fingers. “Now that I think of it, I’ve overheard some jokes and innuendo about BDSM from the Sevastyan couples.”

Natalie and Lucía just didn’t seem like the type.

“Did you like it?” Karin asked. “I didn’t think your tastes ran that way.”

“It’s not my bag,” I said, even though I’d gotten off on being whipped.

Karin tilted her head. “Luckily, you won’t have to deal with his penchant for very long.”

Because I only had so much time to fleece the man.

I’d once been asked if I felt guilty conning people. Nope. You have to play to pay. Behave yourself, and you’ll never know my family exists. We targeted those who could never report a con to the police—because of their own dirty deeds.

So what had Dmitri done to deserve me? What if he was a little crazy—and a lot vulnerable? I kept replaying how he’d leaned into my touch for comfort. He’d already been burned in his life and still bore the scars.

Maybe Pete’s initial instinct to cut that family had been right on. “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow night,” I said to no one in particular. “About the congressman.”

Blackmailing him could be the family’s largest score yet. Badger games were like grifter annuities; they paid for life, and sometimes even appreciated if the mark made it big.