Page 135 of Down & Dirty: Rage

Or for as long as they were both capable of doing it.

Was he ready for Lyric to wear his cut tonight? No. They needed more time before he claimed her at the table.

Because once he claimed her, it needed to stick.

He wanted them to be rock solid first since he had a feeling with what was coming between La Cosa Nostra and the Twisted Souls, their lives were about to become pretty damn rocky.

“Yeah, well, you made me see what I want, just by bein’ you.”

“Ash…” she whispered.

Before she could say anything else, a cell phone began to ring.

Since it wasn’t his, he glanced over at hers.

Who the fuck was calling her at this hour? He knew it had to be long after midnight. Possibly even closer to two in the morning.

Her eyes sliced to him. “It’s late. Maybe it’s important.” She went over to her phone where it was charging, glanced at the screen, and sent the caller immediately to voicemail instead of picking up.

That caused the hair on the back of his neck to prickle. “Who the fuck was that?”

She flapped a hand toward the phone that beeped, notifying them that someone left a voicemail. “Nobody.”

He had her phone in his hand within a couple long strides. He pulled up her call history and his eyes narrowed on the name.

Dave the Dancer?

What the actual fuck?

He pinned her with a glare. “Who the fuck’s Dave?”

She carefully locked down her expression. “A dancer.”

He inhaled a slow, chest-expanding breath. “Lyric,” he growled on the exhale. “I can goddamn read.”

“He probably wants to make an appointment for a tattoo.”

He double checked her cell phone again. Yeah, it was two-fifteen in the goddamn morning. Who called for an appointment at that time?

“Never figured you for a fuckin’ liar.”

“Well, the guy has a bunch of tattoos. He complimentedmine. When it was explained that I’m an artist, he wanted my phone number.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s all he fuckin’ wants.”

“Who cares if that’s true?”

“Who cares? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“I’m not interested in him in any way other than him becoming a client,” she insisted.

“Dave the fuckin’ Dancer ain’t gonna be a client.” He deleted the contact info and tossed her phone on the bed.

“Do you plan on approving all my customers?”

“No. Just the ones wantin’ to dip their dick in my pussy.”

Her head snapped back. “Yourpussy?”