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Dom snorts. “Stud-muffin?”
“Jealous that you’re not as delectable?” Beast goads.
Dom snorts. “I’m telling you mate, I’m tasty as fuck.”
“So who do we have here?” I ask, ignoring their banter so that I can focus on the kid standing next to Beast who has a scowl on his face that could rival mine right now. They might underestimate the lad, but I can already tell this one’s a livewire. When you’re one yourself it’s easy to recognise that trait in someone else.
“I told you, a tasty fucking morsel,” Beast repeats.
“Are you looking to getfired?” I joke back.
“Uh oh,” Dom says, chuckling as he glances over at me. “Looks like your missus isn’t in the best of moods this morning.”
“I don’t know why the fuck you’re laughing,” I reply, folding my arms across my chest. “Nancy said she was sick and tired of the same old moves. Looks like you need to up your game or risk losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you because ofvanillasex…”
Dom’s smile drops and his cheeks flush with heat. Looks like vanilla is actually his preferred choice of dessert given the way he’s reacting. I hold in a laugh and give him my best resting bitch face.
It does the trick.
“Vanilla sex?! Is that what she said?” Dom replies, affronted.
“We’re friends. We talk,” I shrug, keeping this going. Truth is, whilst we are friends and we do talk, I would never break her trust and tell him what we actually discuss. She’s only ever complimented him anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“If the shoe fits, mate,” Beast adds, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Just wait till I strap her to the bed and fuck her into tomorrow,” Dom mutters, storming over to the otherside of the warehouse and pushing the door open into the gym beyond.
Chuckling, I return my attention to Beast and the kid. Beast winks, a grin spreading across his face, the kid just stares at me like he’s never laid eyes on a woman before, or maybe he’s never witnessed three gangsters ribbing each other without one of them ending up dead.
Striding over to the cage, I rest my hand against the keypad, observing the boy. Dom was right, he’s probably no more than thirteen even if he is almost my height. There’s a softness to his features that haven’t quite developed into a firm jaw and cut cheekbones, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that only comes from living a tough life. Something about that pulls me up sharp and I remind myself that just because he’s a kid doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Maybe that says more about me and my upbringing than it does him. Either way, I’m cautious.
“If you’ve got any weapons on you, I suggest you put them over there,” I say, pointing to the table. “You’ll get them back when you leave.”
“I ain’t carrying. I’m not stupid,” he replies, folding his arms across his chest and jutting his chin out.
“You’ve come to my club and given shit to one of my soldiers, and expect me to believe that?” I reply, raising a sceptical brow.
“You better start talking lad, our breakfast is getting cold and if that’s because you’re bullshitting us then there’ll be hell to pay,” Beast adds, holding up the brown paper bag and wafting the smell of coffee and freshly cooked croissants around the space.
All we had for breakfast was a quickie in the shower, and whilst it was a very enjoyable, toe-curling session it hasn’t fulfilled all my needs. I’m the type of person who getshangry, hence sending Beast out to grab breakfast for us both. I can be a complete bitch if I don’t eat. He knows that better than anyone.
“I told you, I ain’t carrying,” the boy repeats, but a flicker in his eyes tells me otherwise. The kid hasn’t quite got his poker face perfected yet.
“Beast,” I prompt, and without me needing to say anything further, he places the paper bag on the ground and strides over to the boy, pinning his arms behind his back before he’s able to protest.
“What the shit?!” the boy snarls, baring his teeth at Beast who holds his wrists in one hand and pats him down with the other, finding a flick knife tucked into his sock.
“Not carrying? What’s this then, kid?” Beast asks, flicking open the blade and shoving it under the boy’s nose.
“What does it look like?” the boy snipes back, hiding his fear behind bravado.
For a moment I’m struck by the expression on his face. On the surface it looks like he really doesn’t give a shit that Beast could cripple him for daring to bring a weapon and lying about it, but then I search a little deeper beneath the rebellious “I don’t give a flying fuck” persona and see what he’s trying to hide. Beast too, given the way he eases back just a little. The kids certainly dressed the part of obnoxious rebel with loose-fitting jogging pants, a t-shirt filled with holes and a black hoodie pulled up over his head. But it’s the dark circles under his eyes, the hollow of his cheeks and the way he hunches his shoulders that really tell his story.
“Let him go, Beast,” I say, sighing.
“The little toeraglied,” Beast protests, eyeing me.
“I said let him go. It’s not as if he can do any harm now, right?”
