Page 20 of Cash

Cash was nothing more than a manwhore who liked a challenge. Maybe I was playing this all wrong. Maybe all I needed to do was invite him into my bed and fuck him silly. Then the game would be over. I’d get a screaming orgasm and five minutes after it was done, he’d be bored and there’d be no more ominous looks. He wouldn’t stare at me like I was a puzzle to solve. He’d be totally uninterested. I needed Cash to be indifferent, heartless—not that I thought his heart was engaged, but his dick was. And if I knew anything about men, it was once their balls were empty and the thrill of the chase was over, they were done.

D.O.N.E.

I needed Cash to be done.

With my new plan in place, I stood, shoving my phone into my pocket, and made my way back into the house.

All I had to do was get through these next five days, then I’d go home, get Cara, and disappear.

Freedom was so close I could taste it.

It must be said, the youngest of the bunch, Bishop could grill a steak. The guy had a laidback smile but there was a darkness that simmered just below the surface. His good looks could easily lure a woman in, his youthful appearance would make a man underestimate his skill.

Just because I hadn’t known these men belonged to Zane didn’t mean I hadn’t heard whispers. An assassin known as Bishop was notorious for his wet work. He was known in certain circles as someone who liked to be up close and personal when he took his blade to a victim.

Proficient, good-looking, and an excellent cook.

The perfect man.

Too bad he was a youngster and I was no longer in the market for a boytoy.

Cash slid back into his chair next to mine, his plate piled high with his second helping that I wished my metabolism could handle. I’d kill for another portion of mac and cheese.

“Men suck,” I grumbled, spearing a roasted potato with my fork.

Cash leaned close. I felt his breath whisper over my neck as he brought his mouth close to my ear. “Sometimes. But licking can be fun, too.”

I rolled my eyes.

Cash winked as he straightened in his seat.

“Appreciate the hospitality, Dutch,” Cash relayed his gratitude while sliding some of his mac and cheese onto my plate.

“What are you⁠—”

Cash spoke over me. “I’d rather enjoy my meal than worry about you stabbing me with your fork to steal my food.”

“I don’t want⁠—”

“Yes you do,” Cash once again interrupted me. “You like steak more than you like chicken. But put bread, cheese, or pasta in front of you and you send a death glare to anyone who gets a second helping. One time I thought for sure you were going to choke Smith out when he took the last of the stuffed shells Kira had ordered in. Life’s too short to deny yourself the good stuff, baby girl. Take the second helping and fuck whatever crazy shit women tell themselves about calories or carbs or whatever bullshit they tell themselves about cellulite and curves. Eat, drink, fuck, and be merry.”

That was easy for Cash to say, he was carved out of granite. I had to work hard to stay lean and fit—harder still to make sure I was at the top of my game.

I resisted the urge to dig into the extra pasta he’d shared with me. It was easier to think about the temptation of overloading on carbs than processing that he’d been paying enough attention to know my favorite foods.

“Of course your motto is eat, drink, fuck, and be merry,” I grumbled.

“It’s not a motto; it’s the key to happiness.”

“Facts,” Badger said from the end of the table. A flash of a white smile appeared through his thick beard.

Thankfully Dutch took control of the conversation. “North called in. Irine is resting now. They’ll be on their way here in a few hours.”

“What’s so special about this translator?”

“Z’s getting lazy with his briefs,” Dutch muttered.

“Or he doesn’t trust me,” I told him honestly. “Forget I asked.”