Page 21 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 3

“You two have a very odd relationship. I’ll just be honest. I can’t pick up on whether she loves you or fears you.”

“Perhaps a little of both.”

Nabbing strands of hair from my shoulder, I circle them around my finger. “She kept giving me strange looks. Guess I know why now.”

“I’ve never brought anyone to Emily. You’re the first. Making clothes has been a good source of distraction for her. Keeps her balanced. Dressing you was her reward.”

That explanation doesn’t make it any less odd, so I drop the Emily topic for now. “So you know, this thing with you and me. And back when I tried hooking up with the guy at the factory. I don’t, I mean, fucking for money isn’t something—”

“Life is about survival, Dylan. We can’t all be saints.” His phone buzzes on the console between us, interrupting my mind’s desire to chew on his words, and he picks it up to a voice I can’t make out. “He’s gone? I’ll swing by now then.” Twisting his wrist, Ripley checks his watch and sets his phone back down. “Fuck. We have to make a stop. I need to hit Spades and check something out, so I guess you’ll have to go with me.”

“What’s Spades?”

“It’s a club owned by my boss.”

“So … like the one who tells you to kill people?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re taking me to this guy’s place?”

“We’re closer to the club than my house, and I don’t have time to drop you off first. The boss isn’t there.” He leans into me and grips my chin. “You do exactly as I tell you. There are some shady bastards in this place. I don’t need someone setting off my kill switch because you decided to misbehave.”

Just because we’re nothing more than fuckbuddies doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with him.

Cracking a smile, I cast my gaze toward the window. “You’re not my dad.”

“You’re right. I’m not, but I am the man who’s got to deal with you walking around in that fucking dress so I guess that makes me your executioner.”

In a bold move, I slide my hand across his thigh and bite my lip. “Do you want to be my daddy, Ripley?” Laughter escapes me when his face pinches to a frown and he finally sits back in his seat, setting his hand over mine before I reach his dick.

“You need to quit with that shit.”

“Does it make you nervous?”

“I’m not old enough to be your dad.” He steers the vehicle onto the expressway and hammers the gas.

“No, but you’re bad enough to be my daddy.” Another round of laughter rips from my chest. I’m pathetic when it comes to talking dirty, but his broody persona makes messing with him fun, nonetheless. “Don’t worry. I promise to be good, wherever it is you’re taking me.”

“I didn’t say you had to be good, Bandit. I just said no misbehaving. There’s a difference.”

Twenty minutes pass and Ripley steers the car into a parking structure that dips below street level—an underground garage packed with cars. He pulls into a spot and throws the car in gear.

“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” He lifts his chin to the rearview mirror, and I twist in my seat catching sight of two men who aimlessly stumble along, looking like something out of The Walking Dead. Their obnoxious shouts and laughter echo through the mostly empty garage. “Fucking drunks,” Ripley mutters, shaking his head. “C’mon, you’re coming with me. Keep your head low and stay by me.”

7

Ripley

I lead Dylan inside the elevator and up to the main floor of Spades.

The clusterfuck of a Friday night has already begun and seems to be in full swing as assholes sitting near the stage hoot and thrust their crotches at the dancers. A glance back at Dylan in that dick magnet black dress sets my muscles on edge. She’s hot. So goddamn hot I have to turn around to keep from dragging her down a hallway and acting on the urges I’ve had since we left Emily’s place.

Bringing her here isn’t my first choice, but I don’t like the interest Enzo’s taken in reviewing the security tapes, so I’d prefer check them out when the bastard’s not around.

I dodge the cameras that are directed on the crowd, by sticking close to the walls, and head toward the back dressing room where the strippers walk around half naked. No cameras back there, thanks to the pushback Dorian received from a few of the dancers who didn’t want him knowing every time they took a piss.

“Ripley!” A few of the girls call out. They like to give me a hard time, petting my chest and offering to meet me in the alley of the club. All in play, I suppose. I mostly ignore it when I’m here. Unless their tits are hanging out as they are now, but not even that has my heart beating wild as when I give a second glance back at Dylan.