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Bull swivels his stool around and leans back against his client chair, stretches out the tree trunks he has for legs, crosses his thick arms across his chest, and grins at me.
Ah, shit!
“Would you like to make a bet, Rock?”
Rock, short for Rocco. And I must be dumb as a damn rock because I just flashed a huge red flag with that woman’s face all over it in front of Bull.
Shit’s about to get real.
Bull’s an addict. It’s not drugs or booze, but betting. He lost his ass and everything he owned to it, but now he satisfies that need with tormenting us with these kinds of wagers. He bets on everything, and will stop at nothing to win.
“No I don’t want to make a bet. Leave her the fuck alone.”
Or I’ll kick your ass.
The thought of Bull touching Tinkerbell in any way, shape, or form, makes my blood boil. Unless I say so.
He laughs at me. That sadistic sound he always makes when he’s ready to throw down.
Shit!
“Why should I leave her alone? I’ll win, Rock, I guarantee it. And you can’t stand that idea. It’ll be a win/win, dude. I can give Sugar Tits the opportunity to ride the Bull. They always come back for more once they climb on. You know things really get good then, Rock. Everyone wins.”
They do. And it does.
Which is exactly why I don’t want him, or any of the other guys, going anywhere near her. Not until I do.
Trying to distract him, I quirk an eyebrow and ask, “Sugar Tits?”
“Yeah,” he drags his fat tongue, (everything about Bull is big), across his lips, “because I’m sure they’re going to be sweet and melt in my mouth when I suck on them.”
A roar explodes in my brain. This girl, this fantasy that’s somehow consumed me, I don’t even know her damn name, nor have I had any intention of finding out, is messing with me.
“No, they’re fucking not, Bull, because you’re not going anywhere near them. Or her. She’s not our kind,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
He throws his head back laughing again. Then he rubs his dick.
Don’t even think of her like that!
“How do you know?” he asks, still laughing at me, palming himself.
He knows exactly which buttons to push to irritate the piss out of me, like they’re tattooed on me in bright red. Push here for ‘horny’ (the redhead he brought around worked really well for that), here for goddamn ‘rage.’ Once he starts, he never stops. I’ve learned how to avoid his aggravating harassment. He’s like a leech, once he’s latched on, he keeps going until he sucks you dry. This time, I was the one who shoved his bloody fangs into me, walked right into it, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it now. It’s going to be hell when the rest of the guys get here.
“I just know.” It’s the best answer I can come up with, a fucking lame and pitiful one.
There’s a gleam in his eyes. A goddamn glimmer.
“Take the bet, dude, if you’re so sure.”
“No bet, Bull.”
He’s pulling me in, dammit!
“’Cause you know I’ll win. I’m a persistent bastard, you know it. Remember the redhead, Rock? Wore her down, ‘til she was begging…” that glimmer’s a fucking spotlight now!
“Tinkerbell’s nothing like that redhead, Bull. NOTHING.” It’s taking every damn thing for me to keep my cool.
“HAH! Tinkerbell, huh? Already gave Sugar Tits a nickname. I bet that fairy dust is going to feel pretty sweet all over my cock.”
