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“Never.” Then I realize how that sounds. “Don’t usually work this part of town but . . .” I shrug. “Arranged to meet a friend who backed out at the last minute.”
I don’t usually lie. Maybe twist the truth, keep fucking quiet. Let my muscles and fists talk when needed and gun when that particular point needs to be made.
This?
Not what I do.
Oh, now, girls, I can pick up and fuck in minutes. But this, sitting, talking is . . .
What the hell am I even thinking? This isn’t different from a watch job. One where I go and keep quiet and observe.
Yeah, except I don’t usually walk into rival territory and do it without much motive. And not when the object of that watch job is so fucking pretty and talkative.
Or up close and personal.
As personal as you can get with a wooden, polished slab of bar between me and the job.
“Oh, cool.” Then she frowns, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t mean cool you got stood up, I just meant . . .”
Avah is fucking adorable as she struggles to find words.
So, I help her out. “Just an old friend, and I’m glad I came, anyway. I’m enjoying the view.”
A grin lights up her face, right as a barback or whatever he is comes from the kitchen and deposits a bowl of spiced sweet potato fries on the underside of the bar for her.
His gaze lingers a moment on her tits beneath the tight black T-shirt, then it skitters to me, and he turns and scurries away.
“Are you flirting?”
“With him?” I let a slow smile come. “Not my type. You, on the other hand. . . as I said, nice view.”
She pops a fry in her mouth as I sip the beer. “What do you do, Nicolo?”
“Security.”
It’s the truth, a lie, the layer that gives credence to me and also explains a lot of shit without any magic handwaving.
Avah opens her mouth when motion at the other end of the bar catches her eye. The suits are waving their glasses and with a sigh, she heads over to help him.
Me? I fucking watch her walk, the soft sway of her hips, the line of her legs. Her ass cupped tight by the denim is something I could watch all day long. And truth be told, given the chance, I’d do her without even blinking.
I sip the beer, and scroll through my phone, not paying attention to the newsfeed on there. Instead, I take in my surroundings. No one’s really up to anything. The Lowlanders or their affiliates that are packing seem to be just eating a late lunch.
Mia and Scarlett—wives of the second in command and the big man himself, respectively—shouldn’t be coming here; especially Scarlett, but that’s not my business. My business is to do what I’m told and that’s what I’m doing. The fact Mia asked and not Christian or Leo is neither here nor there. The De Lucas are close-knit, a good outfit and though I’m a fucking enforcer, I’m treated like family.
A man doesn’t take that lightly, especially one without much of his own.
One of the guys grabs Avah’s arm and even from here I can hear him ask about her tits.
I should keep out of it.
Should keep my head low and report back that she’s fine and wash my hands of this shit.
After all, she’s not quaking in her boots or looking scared for her life.
But that’s not what I’m going to do. For some reason, washing my hands of this shit doesn’t sit well with me. Or maybe it’s because she’s a beautiful woman.
With a sigh, I peel away from my seat and head down to the other end, knowing my size and height can be intimidating. I tap my hand on the bar right in front of the guy who’s holding her with his other hand.
