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"No."
"Aye."
"I don't have time for this."
"Then quit stalling, so we can get going. Bad music to listen to, bad guys to rough up. We have a lot on our plates."
"My music isn't bad."
"My guess is ya only think that because ya have never heard good music."
Not sure why I did it, why I didn't have Graham come out and drag him out of my car, I reached over, yanked up the volume, and pulled out of my spot, hitting the highway heading toward Atlantic City.THREEAdlerSwear to fuck, thought she'd have gotten shot of me somehow. Shocked the shite out of me when we hit the parkway, and she hadn't attempted to eject me from my seat.
I probably should have ejected myself.
I hadn't run this past Reign.
It was an easy thing to forget at times, that I wasn't my own boss anymore, that I couldn't just come and go as I pleased.
Reign was somewhat lax as a whole, letting his men have their own lives, not demanding too much of their time except guard shifts and church. But he expected us to check in.
When her iPod switched to yet more modern crap, I pulled out my cell, shooting off a text to him and Cash saying I'd be out of town for a few days.
"Why?" was Reign's almost immediate reply since he had given me a stern talking-to when he let me prospect, telling me that my old job was done and over with. He didn't want me sneaking off to put a bullet or knife wound in someone while I was working for him. Unless, of course, it was by his orders.
I lifted my phone, toggling over to the camera, snapping off a pic before I realized my volume wasn't off.
"Did you just take a picture of me?" she asked, head turning away from the windshield for way longer than was technically safe.
"If I end up dead after this weekend, I want my mates to know who did it," I said casually, shooting the image off to Reign.
Reign - Got it. Check in if your fuckfest goes longer than two days.
That was the kind of leader I could get behind.
"What's wrong with my music?" she asked a moment later, breaking a silence that had been between us since we pulled away from her skeazeball boss' office.
"It ain't music. Music involves instruments that the actual band members play. And vocals that haven't been auto-tuned beyond recognition. What's the point of liking an artist if they don't sound a fuckin' thing like that in concert?"
"Fair point," she conceded, turning down the dial slightly, letting the pop-rap become background noise. "So why are you tagging along with me? I haven't exactly been inviting."
"Figure it might be interesting to see ya in action."
"Trying to make friends with someone who might haul in your gun-running ass someday isn't exactly the smartest move."
"Duchess, no one knows who I am. They wouldn't know who to issue a bond to."
"A ghost, huh? Want to bet I can learn your story in under a month?"
"What's the wager?" I asked, hoping for something worthwhile since there was no way she was going to win.
"Money is lame. You lose, you do whatever I want you to do for thirty days."
"Anything ya want, huh?" I asked, feeling my lips curve up, liking the idea a little too much.
"Wipe that grin off your face. I'm not talking sex. Laundry, dishes, car washing services..."
"And if you lose?"
"Same offer."
"Ya cook?" Her foot put the pedal to the floor, just barely braking in time for the red light, half turning in her seat to face me, brows drawn together.
"Of course I can cook. You can't cook?"
"Haven't had the chance to learn," I admitted, shrugging it off. "Besides, it's much better when a beautiful woman does it for ya."
"What? Naked and in heels?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"Nah. She can wear a thong."
"I will not be wearing a thong."
"Naked is fine then."
She snorted as she slammed on the gas, rambling off a string of curses at the guy behind her who laid on the horn the second the light changed.
"Fuck you too, asshole!" she yelled even though the windows were up as the guy swerved into the other lane to pass her, yelling and waving his hand as he did so.
"Little road rage problem?"
"Road rage, yes. Problem, no."
"Duchess, you drive down side streets like you're taking a precision driving course at Quantico," I countered, smiling when she sent me a slitted-eye look.
"What? Like it's my fault that no one else knows how to drive?" she asked, swerving out of the way, just barely missing the back bumper of a van that turned without a signal. "Stop criticizing my driving skills, and look over that file for me. Make yourself useful."
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything that might help me find this bastard. Did you read that autopsy report?" she added after a moment, tone losing that sharp edge it always had, there to cut people before they got too close, no doubt.
