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As though she can hear my internal debate, Chloe outwardly gasps while I mull the whole notion over. “Kaya, don’t even think about it!”
She leans forward, getting in my face, while I slide back into the motel lounger, putting some space between us. I don’t need her damn judgement.
I steady my pulse with even breaths, the warm air filling my lungs in a soothing way.
Ignore Chloe.
This could work…
Pondering this unique revelation, the words slip through my lips. “It’s just a virginity.”
Chloe gapes. “It’s just a—” She talks nonsensically, spluttering half words, vows, in an animated way. “Not, what? Just.No.What the fuck am I hearing? What happened to ‘I’ll use them. I’ll buy them the damn diamonds?’”
“I can’t afford a fucking zirconia now, Chloe!” I bust out, then straighten and run my palms down my bare thighs, nerves firing, causing me to fidget. As I roll this around in my head, seriously considering it, I level Kenno with a serious stare.I need more information.“Do you have access to this site, Kenno? CanIhave access? Can you show me?”
Chloe’s head slowly shakes. “Stop it, Kaya.”
He shrugs in a no-big-deal way. “Yeah. Easy.”
“Don’t you dare, Brian,” Chloe warns.
Ignoring her, I continue, holding Kenno’s hazel eyes, so he doesn’t glance at the withering stare Chloe has struck him with. “You can’t tell anyone, Brian. Can you keep this secret for me? This has to stay between us. I can’t have this leaked to the media. To fucking Lorna Jackson. She’ll have a literal field day with this. How confidential is this site?”
“No one will say anything, Kaya,” Kenno assures me. “Then, they’ll be stingin’ themselves. The site’s illegal. And the people who run it are high up, ya know? No one’s gonna talk about what’s on it.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
xander
I’m staringat the media footage on Clay’s laptop. Footage of Kaya Alana Lovit scrapping for that case. I try not to laugh because she’s so fucking feisty it makes my dick hard. With those heated blue eyes set off by cascading caramel hair and that bold attitude compensating for her petite frame, she is like a fucking wet dream.
My little scrapper.
My grin dissolves when the camera pans to me, charging towards her and the dipshit with the case.
Clay further reminds me why we are here when he says, “So, what were you doing at the Lovit estate?”
My older brother, Bronson, sits beside me in Clay’s office with his ankle resting on his opposite knee, oil stains from working on bikes across his tattooed hands, and an unkempt shadow around his resting grin. The wild Butcher.
“She’s got some fight in her, hey?” He laughs, and I nod at him, proud as if she were mine. He continues, “She must weigh no more than fifty-five kilograms soaking wet, and she’s making that hefty prick pull his back out to keep that damn luggage.Yew, look at her go!”
That’s my girl.
Woman, I mean.
It’s been three days since I saw her. I’ve barely poked my head up from training, but both nights when it slams into the pillow, exhaustion dragging me quickly into slumber, for a moment I wonder where her head is lying.
Not on satin sheets anymore, Woman.
Not in her house.
And she has no car.
Just a damn case.
Filled with God-knows-what.
And I didn’t drive her home.
