Page 36 of Ballistic

Staring back at her failed to reveal a trace of bullshit in her eyes, and I groaned as I slid deeper into the chair. “Fine. But I’m not taking you to a club wearing nothing but my T-shirt.”

“Ah, yes, let’s roll up to Macy’s like something out of Pretty Woman and shop for some clothes.”

“I know someone.”

“You’ve got an acquaintance for everything, don’t you, Dax?”

“Not everything,” I muttered, grabbing the car keys off the table. “Let’s roll.”

13

Nicoleta

One thing I’d come to know quickly about Dax in the short time I’d spent with him: he liked being needed. I’d seen it flickering in his eyes when I’d told him I felt safer with him. As though I’d hit the one button that made him more pliant and agreeable with females.

He was probably one of those types who insisted on being called Daddy during sex. If I had to guess, the guy’s dating roster was probably a disaster of girls with daddy issues. His size was perfect for making them feel small and fragile beside him. Little dolls he could care for and play house with, then discard when he got bored of them.

Lucky for me, I knew how to play on his weakness.

A fog still clouded my head—residual effects of the drug, I supposed—but it was nice getting out of the apartment. Like sucking in a lungful of fresh air after sitting in a smoke-filled room. Hardest part of detox had been lying in a bed, staring at the walls every day, forgetting my purpose. Ignoring that nagging sense of urgency beating down my spine, while the drugs worked their way out of my system.

The city passed through the passenger window, as we drove through downtown, toward the outskirts of what I recognized as the direction of Hamtramck.

“So, you hang out at strip clubs in your free time?” I asked. It made sense. They seemed to be a class of women who needed help. The very idea that some of them got into the profession out of desperation for money seemed aligned with Dax’s personality.

“You can make me out to be a man-whore all you want, sweetheart. Truth is, those women bust their asses every day to stay alive. I like strong women.”

Strong in bed, maybe. “And I’m weak?”

“No. Not even close.” He shot me a glance, before turning his attention back to the road. “You’re an enigma I’ve not quite figured out.”

“Don’t think too hard on it. No sense hurting your brain over nothing.”

Something like a growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re a smartass, you know that?”

“Where are we going?”

“You don’t like surprises?”

“No.”

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

Through the passenger window, the homeless we passed clustered around a burning trashcan beside a building. “Trust is hard-earned with me, and rarely reciprocated.”

“Jase is a buddy of mine. Known him since we were kids. His woman’s laid back and nice—been through some shit herself, so I figured—”

“That we’d become fast friends? Maybe we’d swap stories about being used and abused?” I turned in time to catch the flinch of his eye. Another thing I’d come to learn about Dax: he didn’t like hearing about women, in particular, getting hurt.

“I figured she’d be less inclined to ask you any questions.”

Directing my attention back to the window again, I rubbed my hands against my thighs, a bout of nervous energy humming through my veins. I’d never been good around other women. They tended to look at my standoffish personality as bitchy, when, really, I just didn’t know what to say half the time. I didn’t grow up gawping over boybands and dreaming of prom. I grew up balancing a criminal’s bank records and learning how to defend myself. I grew up keeping others at a distance, because I learned a valuable lesson early on: the more people in your life, the more times you could be hurt.

With the bucket of supplies Donata had given me, I knocked on the office door before entering quietly.

Dmitry sat at his desk, hovering over papers scattered across the surface of it. The guy was definitely a criminal, so I never quite got why he always had paperwork. He glanced up from his work only for a second. “How’s your eye?”

“Good. Can’t hardly see the bruise anymore.” I padded across the office and fell into one of the more comfortable leather seats, directly in front of Dmitry’s desk.