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He looked at the stack of unopened mail and the dark answering machine. Ten blinking lights before he’d turned it off. No need to answer. Anyone driving by could see they weren’t open. He still should have had Chuck listen to them and write the messages down. He had a lot of loyal customers who didn’t deserve him ignoring them. They’d helped make this into a successful business.
Until with one day, one act, it wasn’t anymore. After some of the shit they’d said in the papers, who would risk coming back here?No innocent bystanders killed.When he’d read that, he’d almost driven right to the news station to squeeze that reporter’s neck until his eyes popped and he shit his khakis. Nicole deserved better.
A vibration through the desk jerked his attention back to the present. Someone had come in through the side door. The doc had said that would happen, too. Things Tiger thought he used his hearing alone to identify, he also mapped through other senses, so he figured them out quicker than he'd expected.Your other senses know the same things your ears do. They've just never had to play first string.
No one was supposed to be here. Last week he’d chased off some punks who’d come to scavenge. But the thought of thieves wasn’t what compelled him to take out his gun and put it on the desk. This might be the main reason he kept coming here, whyhe’d told his crew to stay away until he called them back. If he ever did.
Come on, fuckers, he thought.Come back to get me. Be something I can kill. For Nicole and Aubrey.
If they came down the hallway, he’d feel the change in air currents before they got there. A different vibration would say they’d gone into the closed garage bays. If that happened, he’d track them there. For now, he adjusted his position in the chair to align his peripheral vision with the doorway, even as he rested his head on his hand as if he were watching the TV. Letting the ash of his cigarette accumulate.
When the person stepped in, he was up, turning to level the gun. Just as fast, he pulled it up.
Fucking hell.
Skye wasn’t the last person he’d expected to see, but it was pretty damn close, a toss-up between her and Santa Claus. And the squeezing panic he felt at her arrival was way worse than if it had been someone wanting to kill him.
He thought he'd lost the ability to panic years ago, thanks to overexposure to far scarier reasons for it. A physical handicap apparently activated a part of his brain that had been left out of that lesson.
Skye startled at being in the crosshairs of the weapon, but when he immediately lifted it, she recovered nicely, as if walking into a room where someone was ready to shoot her was the norm. She held up two coffees and offered him one.
He had a pot of two-day old sludge in the corner, so hers looked far more appealing. As he put the gun in his top drawer and took the coffee, she slid into the chair across from him. When he took a sip, he welcomed the still-hot and much fresher medium roast.
She looked good, her pink-frosted lips wet from the coffee. Her trendy hairstyle had a streak of color to it—lavender today.The clothes she was wearing were the classy but fluid style that drew a man’s gaze to her curves.
Her gaze was thoughtful. He expected his looked like a cornered animal, so he tried to settle down and sound normal. Like he could fucking hear whether he sounded normal or not.
“Your car have a problem?” he asked. “I’m not open, but I can send you over to Murray’s. Red’s working there and he’s my best guy for a Mustang.”
Mouth moving, silence coming out. It felt that way, a cavern inside him. He couldn’t tell from her expression if she noted any differences. He also had another problem. She used those audio voices on her phone to respond, and he wasn’t going to be able to hear that.
She rose. As she circled around the desk to him, she brought the guest chair with her. She sat down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, putting the phone flat on the desk between them. Brushing a hand over his shoulder, she gave him an absent smile. The contact felt good, but he still flinched, as if he was wrapped in barbed wire and her touch dug the sharp points into his flesh. She didn’t react to that, leaning forward to type the message.
“No problem with the car. I came to see you.” She straightened, pointedly waiting for him to read the screen.
She knew. Damn it. Maryshka. The girl was worried about him, and unlike the men he worked with, that worry would fly the coop of what he’d told her he wanted her to share. When his expression hardened, Skye typed again.
“Don’t be a dick. She’s having a rough time, too.”
He blinked. Sat back. He was tired. He didn’t want to deal with this shit. Thankfully, rather than push it further, Skye settled deeper into her chair and started watching the TV. Sipped her coffee. Nudged his toward him again.
So screw it, he drank his coffee and sat with her, not saying anything, and she seemed okay with that. It should have helped him relax, but he was wired like a bomb about to go off, a state he didn’t want anyone else around.
No matter how he seemed outwardly, a Mistress like Skye would pick up what was going on beneath the surface. At length, she rose to shut off the TV, because he’d left the remote on top of it.
When she returned, she moved between him and the desk. Sliding her hips up onto it, she nudged his one foot off the edge so it came down to the floor. Before he could gauge her intent, she’d adjusted so the sole of her shoe was braced against his chair seat between his spread knees, her other propped against his thigh as she typed into the phone. She took her time, considering her word choices. Just like in session, when she deliberately gave him a few moments to toggle into the more serene state subbing gave him.
The fucked-up part of his head wasn’t going for it. But the pull on it was there. She was wearing black heels, sleek and pretty, one of which was digging into his leg.
They weren’t in a club. He needed to shut this down. He wasn’t a sub outside club walls, and it surprised him that Skye of all people would push that idea. Up until now, she’d seemed to have an ironclad respect for his boundaries.
She extended the phone to him. When he reached out, she didn’t relinquish it. Just let him close his hand over her cool, slim fingers as she held it up for him to read.
His fingers tightened over hers as he read the message.
Two choices.
Get on your knees.
