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“Why did you quit your job?”
“What?” She blinked, as if that was the last thing she’d been expecting.
“You heard. Why did you quit your job at the bar? Last night you said you needed it, so I got it back for you. Now I hear you’ve quit, and I want to know why.”
My question seemed to steady her, however, and she visibly hardened under my interrogation. “Because of you, you asshole!” she spat back, suddenly all fire and venom. “Because of what you did.”
“Me? What did I do?” It was my turn to play dumb. Admittedly, it helped that I didn’t have a clue what she was going on about.
“Don’t bother. I saw Ned’s face! You beat him to a bloody pulp!” She accused, beating her hands on my chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t just go around beating people to get what you want! And why? To get me my job back after you fucked it all up! Do you think I’d accept anything from you after what you’ve done?”
Oh fuck!
That’s what this was all about. The beating the Russians had given Ned. Of course she’d think that was my handiwork work, why wouldn’t she? She hadn’t known he’d had company when I arrived and sounds like she hadn’t stuck around long enough to ask.
No wonder she’s pissed off.
I backed away a step, giving her some space, raising my open-palmed hands in a universal show of innocence while trying to calm the fuck down. “Hey, hey, cool it, I didn’t do that.”
“Fuck off!”
“Really, Scout’s honour, he was like that when I found him, and anyone at the bar will tell you I didn’t do that to him.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? How?”
“Because he looks too damn good.” Probably not the best choice of words, but I couldn’t help myself. Fine ass or not, her attitude was really grating on me.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, as cool and as sharp as ice. “Bullshit. Who else would do something like that?”
“Roy and his friends from yesterday, that’s who,” I snarled back through gritted teeth. “They came by to play a game of twenty questions with your boss, and they didn’t like some of his answers. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, chances are he’d be taking a trip into intensive care right about now, with you in the bed next to him, but don’t worry, I took care of it. They’re all sorted. If you don’t believe me, go ask, then you’ll see what it looks like when I give someone a slap.”
She wasn’t in a mood to accept my reassurances and pressed on relentlessly, stabbing a finger into my chest. “Nothing will ever be sorted so long as there are people like you in the world. Yeah, I know your sort. You walk around like you own the place. Like you can do and take whatever you want. Selling drugs and guns, turning honest people into junkies and whores desperate for their next fix! Men like you, and Roy, you’re all the same. Animals! Nothing but dogs fighting over a bone, and you’ll bite anyone that tries to stop you!”
Okay, this time she had gone too far.
This girl had been rude since the moment she first saw me. She’d accused me of beating up her boss- which I hadn’t- and of getting her fired- okay, that I might have had a hand in, indirectly. Now she was calling me a dog and saying I was no better than Roy, a Russian thug that had threatened and abused her. A stinking, filthy Russian animal!
There was a time when she might have been almost right. The streets of New York City were dangerous places. No one lived on them and came out clean, and there were times I’d done things I wasn’t proud of to survive. As a boy, the law of the jungle, that concrete Manhattan jungle, had ruled my life. Then, after Don DeCampo took me in, I had changed. Since the day Turk found me, I’d hurt men. I’d killed them and watched them die, but they were all a part of that dark criminal world, never real people. Never innocent. I’d never stolen from honest people, peddled drugs or made women whores.
And when he put that bullet in my head, I was reborn.
That bullet gave me a second chance, a new life.
A life out of that shadow world for good.
I didn’t care what she’d seen me or anyone else do. That wasn’t an excuse.
I wasn’t a fucking animal.
It was time she learnt that.
Miss Jane Porter had been a very naughty girl.
And naughty girls get spanked.
“Is that so?” I didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed her arm and spun her around to push her against the wall. She gave a small squeak of surprise, then went silent as I cupped her nape. Then I was caging her again, and leaning down I said, “you know nothing about me.”
“Yes, I do, you’re… dangerous,” she whispered, her voice shaky and eyes wide with animal panic.
“And you like it, don’t you?” Catching her wrists, I raised them up over her head and pressed them hard to the wall. Securing them both with my left, I brought my right down.
“What? No! Of course no- Ahh!” She gasped as I gave her right cheek a smack that was a little less than gentle, but produced a very satisfying crack. “What the fuck?”
“It’s not nice to lie.” I left my hand there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her ass in my hands through the thin cotton of her shorts, so soft yet also firm and tight. Only when I was sure that the first sting had faded did I raise the hand again, only this time I brought it down on her left cheek.
