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“It was only supposed to be for a minute. I could have caught up with you.”
“But you were there, and Hammer was standing guard,” he countered, “werebeing the operative word. Did you get in my truck for them or me?”
“Them,” she protested, eyes narrowing at him. “It was for them. I need to watch you. John will be—”
“You got a thing for all the men Misty fucked?” he asked and watched as the rage bubbled up inside her. “Did you watch her across the street and dream of being her? If so, there’s a long list, but I’m pretty sure more than a few of them are here.”
“No, I don’t like John, but he’s got to be better than you.”
“How long have you lived across from Misty?” Ice asked.
“Three years,” Bree said and nodded, understanding he wouldn’t know.
“That explains why you never noticed her not coming out for days or wearing sunglasses and long sleeves inappropriately.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the son of a bitch beat the shit out of her on the regular once he had her locked in,” Ice explained. “He preyed on her, luring her in with pretty things and promises for her kids. John played it off as a kink fetish, and as a woman who couldn’t make it one paycheck to the next, she went with it.”
Swallowing back the memory of her bruised, crying, and asking for help had him turning away from Bree for a moment.
“There’s no love lost between Misty and me,” he said. “But she didn’t deserve what that man was doing.”
“Wasn’t she sleeping with you at the same time?”
“He tried to turn a ho into a housewife,” Ice said. “Even the most seasoned of dancers is going to break eventually with a trick.”
The curtain for the room moved, and Velvet Moon poked her head into the hallway. “Hey, Ice, I should have known that was you.”
“Hey, Velvet, having fun with the Nomad?”
“Always. He was just wondering if the new girl wanted to join? Maybe he could give you feedback if she was still in the audition phase.”
“He’s a giver,” Ice said, a protective spike of ownership shooting through him. “And I appreciate the warm-up he gave her, but she’s mine.”
The word felt as if it echoed in the hallway. Velvet’s eyes widened as her eyes trailed down Bree like a laser cutting away the comfortable clothes she wore and replacing them with peekaboo lace.
“Too bad,” Velvet purred. “Those legs look long enough to wrap around even the thickest of poles. Let me know what that mouth can do, will you?”
“I’m not a stripper.”
“Me either,” Velvet mocked. “I’m a dancer, escort, and doctoral candidate.”
Bree’s jaw dropped, and Velvet let her off the hook.
“Just kidding,” she laughed. “I’m still two years from my bachelor’s, but I’ve sucked enough congressional cock, I’m pretty sure my internship will be granted.”
Once she’d disappeared behind the curtain, Bree slipped from his hold and walked away with her hand up to stop him from following, not that it would. She cut through the club, her hips the bobber on a very long fishing line. They moved and bounced as she avoided tables and people, hands up when going past and with a quick hip check like she was in the middle of an obstacle course.
“Who’s the new gash?” Callen “Caliber” Macleod asked as he approached him from behind. The comment sounded forced from the man. There was something false about him, not in the “he’d shoot a man and lie to his brothers” way, but like Vegas itself, faux but with good intentions.
“She’s helping with my kids,” Ice said. “Guess Misty went and got herself killed.”
“Fucking the nanny,” Caliber laughed, “or is she technically the babysitter? Is this a live-in situation? Or do you have to get her home before midnight?”
“You’re a fucking laugh riot.” A strange sensation was building in Ice, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the sweet taste lingering on his tongue or the idea two men had already commented about fucking Bree that had him ready to slam the next man into the wall for thinking that way about her. Mine. Had he really thought that? Fuck, he hadn’t thought it; the word had fallen from his lips as easy as water from the tap.
He had to get the woman out of his place.
