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I’d been holding back until then; however, his little declaration of war was the green light I’d been waiting for. I moved lightning fast. Before he could spout off anymore bullshit, I had him on the ground face down, my knee in his back, his arms twisted at an awkward angle behind him.
“Better luck next time,” I whispered in his ear before releasing my hold on him.
Normally, I’d have helped my opponent off the floor in a show of good sportsmanship. Keaton Clarke, though, could lay there all goddamn day for all I cared. I was out of fucks to give.
“He’s gonna be an issue,” Luc muttered when I joined him.
“Probably.”
“I talked to Rico, so I know he’s a ghost. Remind you of someone else we know?”
“Duncan,” I grunted.
When Duncan first contacted us, Rico ran a thorough background check. Problem was, the guy’s history had been wiped clean off the map; redacted like a top-secret mission gone bad. Which, as it turned out, was a pretty accurate analogy. We didn’t work with every Joe Schmoe who wandered in off the street, so when we called him out, he gave us just enough to earn our trust and our respect.
“What about me?”
His deep, gravelly voice startled both of us.
“Jesus Christ, Palmer. Wear a fucking bell around your neck before you give someone a heart attack.” I swiped a hand down my face.
“I’ll think about it.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Luc shifted to face him.
“Checking on my protégé.” He pointed to the mat, where Keaton had finally made it to his feet.
“Figures,” I chuckled. “He’s a dick.”
“He’s got his reasons.”
“Care to share those with us?”
“Not my story to tell, Alec. But, if he gets too far outta line, call Waverly.”
“Cryptic much?”
“I’m FBI, Luc. It’s the only way I know how to be.”
I left the two of them to catch up while I finished the rest of my class. Thankfully, the remainder of the session was anticlimactic, and I was able to effectively teach without having to deal with a certain agent’s attitude. Perhaps the appearance of Duncan had been a blessing in disguise.
By the time I left Quattro a few hours later, exhaustion bled through my pores. I didn’t sleep well normally. Now though, a certain redhead had invaded my dreams, so instead of the cold sweat I was used to, I woke up every morning with a raging hard-on.
She was going to be the death of me.
Quinlan
EVERY SHIFT ATBliss was like a new adventure. Monday through Thursday, the bar catered to the local residents who sought out a good time and a good drink after work. The weekends, however, were a different beast altogether.
A few years ago, the owners decided to add live music on Friday and Saturday nights in order to draw in a crowd from the neighboring college town of Frostburg. Their plan worked a little too well, in my opinion. For the most part, the kids were respectful and didn’t cause much trouble. Unfortunately, the jackass in front of me didn’t get the memo.
“Oh, come on, gorgeous.” He smiled. “Strut your fine ass over there and pour me a drink.”
Music thumped in the background as I returned his smile, unmoving from my position. Leaning forward, I felt the vibrations from the bass filter through my fingers when I placed them on top of the bar.
“I’ll say it again, this time a little slower in case you didn’t understand the first two times. I need. To see. Your license.”
I may be young, only a few weeks away from turning twenty-two, but this guy didn’t look old enough to have pubic hair. Hence the reason he was getting carded. There was no way in hell I’d risk losing my job by serving some underage punk.
