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Dog snorted and turned away. “Not gonna happen.”
“You gotta hear me, brother. I know you like her. I get it. She’s hot as hell. But she don’t fit in with us, and you know it. That show out there earlier was only the beginning. Imagine her at one of our parties pulling that crap. Crank’s a mellow one—he’ll let it slide. But Spike, Leatherneck, Handmade—hell, Shatter? With that bastard, she’d be lucky to get away without a busted lip.”
Dog growled, and Cutter put a palm up. “You know I’m right.”
“I’ll kill anyone who touches her.”
“You can’t fight everybody. And you can’t watch her twenty-four-seven. If she stays around, that asshole is bound to find her. She needs to go, man, and you know it. If you care about her, you’ll do what I’m telling you.”
Something ripped through Dog, and his hand wrapped around a glass on the desk so tight he knew it was going to crack. When it didn’t, he hurled it against the door, making sure it splintered into a million pieces like he felt he was doing.
Krystal gasped. Cutter wrapped his arms around her.
“Put a prospect on Nate,” Dog snarled. “Have him find that fucker. I want to know his every move.”
Cutter nodded. “I’ll send Poke. He’ll find him.”
“Make sure he does. I want Nate in that ring, a smug look on his face. I want to be the one to make it disappear.”
Something ugly filtered through Dog’s body, shutting off emotion, locking it down.
He clenched his fist. “I’m gonna murder that asshole tonight.”
***
Dog braced himself with his arm against the shower wall, and the hot water ran over his skin. He was barely holding it together, rage hot in his veins. Damn that asshole for even thinking of touching what was his.
And Charley. Her fucking judgements kept his muscles tight despite the heat, and he wanted to punch the tile. He’d scarcely reined his anger in when she was talking.
Cutter’s words wouldn’t let go, rattling around in his head till he wanted to scream. He knew Cutter was right—it was in Charley’s best interest to leave. But, fuck it all, he didn’t want tolet her go. He’d just found her. They’d only had one night together. He wanted a whole lot more before they parted ways—if they parted ways.
Shit, he couldn’t believe he was thinking that.
Soaping up his hands, Dog washed away the scent of her, of all they’d done last night. She was too good for this life—he loved it, but it wasn’t right for her. She was too classy, too strait-laced to understand why the club played as it did, earned as it did. Not everything they did was illegal, but most was beyond what her life was about. Bare-knuckle fighting, the strip club, the pawn shop, selling Cutter’s skills and Luke’s hacking to the highest bidder. Yeah, those realities would win him boyfriend of the year.
Boyfriend. Jesus Christ. He couldn’t believe he’d even thought that word. He’d never been one and never would be. The best he could offer her was a good time, then she’d go back to her middle-class life in Charlotte. Maybe he would see her once in a while at Hazel’s, but probably not.
Shit, maybe Cutter was right.
Chapter Sixteen
Alone in the main room of the clubhouse, Charley stabbed at the mail icon on her phone. One hundred and fifty-six emails. Just what she got for taking time off to be with a man who was supposed to be stress relief. Hah!
She rubbed her brow with her free hand. First, she needed to clear the spam and other crap. That would reduce the outrageous number.
Scanning the subject lines, she swiped left over and over, getting rid of offers of life insurance and supplements for erectile disfunction. But she stopped cold when she got to one from Clement James labeled Subject: ‘You’re fired.’
A vacuum sucked the air from Charley’s lungs.
The client with the IRS deadline next week.
As if in slow motion, she tapped the email to read it.
Dear Ms. Abbott,
I regret to inform you that I must terminate your services regarding my IRS misunderstanding. I have been in contact with another tax accountant and will be retaining him by the end of the day. It will not give him much time to complete what you should have, but he assures me he will have no problem turning the matter around.
Charley sat on the barstool, a frozen stare locked on the typed words. No client had ever fired her. Ever.
