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“Would you do anything to save this boy’s life?”
“Yes.” He nodded with such affirmation there would’ve been no doubt if he wasn’t lying through his fucking teeth. “Anything. But this is out of my hands.”
I walked away from the son to a table where there were about twenty knives gleaming in the light on a table behind the chief’s back. He couldn’t see what I was doing, but in a second, he would know.
“It’s not my problem.” I stared at the kid as an idea formed. Roman said I couldn’t kill. He hadn’t said I couldn’t maim. A warm thrill washed through me, along with an idea. “Do you know that it takes about four-thousand newtons of pressure to break a human femur?” I bypassed the knives and picked up a hammer. “If you were a betting kind of guy, Chief, would you bet that I can exert four-thousand newtons of pressure?”
The guy whimpered again, and the chief looked at me. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
I peered at the chief over my shoulder, then turned to walk in front of him, sighed, holding the hammer. “All right, Chief. But just know that I know this isn’t the only child you have.” I remembered a daughter as well. Her wedding had been an event when I started at Stonewall. “And if you don’t figure out a way to make Hall back off, I’m going to find and send you a piece of this fuck every day until I run out of pieces. Then I’ll move my way through your fucking family. His kids. Hers. I don’t care.”
He nodded. “I’ll reassign her.” He glanced at Roman, and I dug my fingers into his chin and twisted his head so he was facing me. “I need to stay friends with the Scorpio Society.”
“You have two days. Fix this.” My voice lowered and the threat was implied.
My body vibrated with adrenaline, need, and excitement. If I didn’t figure out how to burn it off and fast, I was probably going to explode.
Roman nodded at me, unfastened the chief’s bindings, then rested his hand at the small of my back. He guided me out to the car and held the door while I climbed in and slid over so he could sit beside me.
As soon as he shut the door behind him, he pulled me against him and pressed his mouth against mine in a hard, punishing kiss that made my toes curl in delight. His tongue swept inside my mouth and dueled with mine as he yanked up my skirt and let his hand glide against the inside of my thigh. Without preamble or warning, he dipped his finger inside me, pumped in and out for a beat, before he twisted to kneel, to swipe his tongue from my slit to my clit.
I threaded my fingers into his hair and threw my head back as he sucked the sensitive nub while his fingers twisted in and out of my pussy. I didn’t care that the driver in the front seat could see everything he was doing to me, could see me lower the straps to my dress so I could tweak my nipples as he continued licking and sucking and fucking me with his fingers.
When I cried out because the pressure inside me needed a small release, I bucked my hips, held his head, and Roman swirled his tongue until I quivered, my thighs trembling, the rest of my body taut until I couldn’t take any more and blew apart. My breath came in short gasps, my body writhing and thrashing as I came.
When the world settled, stopped spinning me toward whatever was waiting outside my body to absorb all the pieces of me, I sighed. “Holy shit.” Roman pulled the dress down to cover me, then moved to sit beside me again. “If this whole ‘club owner bad boy’ thing doesn’t work out for you, you could make big bucks licking pussy.”
He chuckled and kissed me softly, the taste of me still on his lips as I unfastened his pants. Some favors just needed to be returned.
Roman
Mondays at the club were a bitch. There were five times the daily receipts from the weekend as from the Monday to Thursday crowd, and fight nights doubled the normal weekend number.
I stared at the computer screen, waiting for the damned thing to update because Mondays also meant the damned thing needed a fucking minute. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn my mother designed the program we were using. It was as extra as she was.
When Asher walked in, his face was set in a grim expression of lines and a frown. I gave him my full attention, waited for him to sit, then waited a few more seconds. “What’s the matter with you?”
He flipped a folder onto the desk. “Dad is pissing himself. He really wants you to book that Bjorn Ivarrson guy for a fight.”
I shrugged, because who fought in the ring below the club had very little to do with me, unless I was in the ring with them or paying out the purse to the winner. “So book him.”
This wasn’t rocket science. If Pop wanted a fighter booked, he needed to be booked. It had worked this way about a thousand times before. The problem was in Asher’s head. Whatever it was. Such a drama queen this one.
“You know, little brother, you might need to get a regular nine-to-five so you grasp the importance of uninterrupted workdays.” I smiled to lessen the harshness of the words, but I meant them.
He fake-chuckled, unamused. “Fuck you, Roman. This prick will only agree to fight you.”
I shrugged again because there wasn’t anyone I wouldn’t fight. I’d been on a streak lately, too. Bjorn Ivarrson wouldn’t be any different. He would either lose or I would. But I always liked my chances. I opened the folder and gave him a look. He was big. Blond. Had a scar over his right eye that I could probably coax into opening again. “Set it up.”
I pushed the folder to his side of my desk and glanced at the screen. It was at eleven percent now. After three hours.
I glanced at Asher again. “What are you still doing here?” I honestly didn’t have time to sit around chitchatting. Especially if I was going to have to reconcile receipts by hand.
“You want bookies?”
Of course I did. I always wanted bookies. Instead of walking around the table and threatening him for the stupidity of his question, I nodded. But he leaned in, and I got a whiff of Hall’s perfume. He’d been with her again. Fuck.
“Little brother.” I shook my head. “You can stop fucking the detective now. I handled the situation.”
