Bouncer by Kim Jones Page 0,42

as well.

“Do you have a name?” Sarcasm drips from her words.

“You can call me Sly.”

“Sly?” She quirks a brow. “I’ll bet you are.”

“You’d be right.”

“I saw that red motorcycle at the cemetery. That was you, wasn’t it?”

I nod. She’s quick and observant, and I have to remind myself not to underestimate her. Dare I tell her the paint color is actually called Stiletto Red?

“Why were you there?”

“Pay my respects.”

Her beautifully arched brow quirks, and she lifts her pointed chin and huffs. “Right.”

“Told you, knew Cullen and respected him.”

“So, why are you here now?”

“To collect our payments, the bar’s behind two months now.”

“Payments? For what?” She’s pretending she doesn’t know, but something about her expression tells me she absolutely does. I’m sure Cullen didn’t tell her, but I heard there was a suicide note, and right now I’m wondering what was in it. My eyes drop to the desktop. There are papers everywhere, and that black ledger, the one Cullen always had on the desk. God knows what he wrote in it. Maybe she does know. Maybe she knows more than I want her to.

I decide I’ll be as straight with her as I can be. “Payments for the Uprising Security Plan.”

She smirks. “Right. And what does that do?

“Darlin’, we make sure your business stays nice and safe, just like all the businesses in town.”

“Protection money? Are you shitting me?”

“Let’s not call it that, sweetheart.”

“What do you want to call it?”

“Let’s say it’s insurance and security all rolled up in one.”

“Oh, hell no. Get out. You won’t get one cent from me.” She jumps to her feet and points at the door.

I rise from the chair. “You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you? I like that.”

“Get out.”

“You want to make it in this town, and baby, I seriously doubt you got it in you—but you do?—you play the game.”

“Get out! I don’t need your brand of protection. Mooney’s will be just fine.”

I like this girl. I can’t help challenging her. Something in her demeanor leads me to believe that she’s not one to back down from a challenge. Something in my brain realizes if she fails, she may leave town, and suddenly the last thing I want is Michaela Mooney leaving town. If she succeeds, she’ll stay, and I really want her around. If I know human nature, I know that challenge will get her to respond. Years in prison taught me how to read people, and what I read in Michaela’s azure eyes is a response to me I’m not even sure she’s aware of, or if she is, she sure as hell doesn’t want to admit it. That’s okay. I can work with that. “You’re not your old man. Runnin’ this place, young as you are?” I shake my head. “You can’t do it. You won’t last a month in this game.”

She’s fuming now as she comes around the desk, putting herself within arm’s reach, her first mistake.

“The hell I won’t. Watch me.”

My eyes skate down her body. “Oh, I’ll be watchin’ all right.”

She goes to slap me, her second mistake, but I grab her arm before her palm reaches my face. The corner of my mouth pulls up. “Kitten, you’re in way over your head.”

Michaela tries to yank free, but I band my other arm tight around her waist and drag her against me, pinning her. She’s a feisty one; I’ll give her that. It’s hard to concentrate with her sexy-as-hell body pressed to mine. She goes soft against me, giving in, perhaps realizing that to struggle is no use.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, angel. Relax.”

She stills, but her breathing quickens and her pulse beats rapidly in the dip of her neck.

We stare into each other’s eyes. Her pupils dilate and my hold on her eases a bit. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and draws my attention.

I want nothing more than to taste those sweet plump lips. She’s got a freckle in the center of the bottom one, and I find that I want to run my tongue over it.

I lift my eyes to hers, only to find her gaze on my mouth.

The moment lasts just a few seconds, but long enough for me to know I’ve got to give her time and play this right. I relax my hold more, giving her a little space.

“Michaela, I think you’ll find that what the club has to offer might come in handy for you. This ain’t a job for a woman alone, especially late at night. You keep the deal your father had and the club’s just a phone call away if trouble comes around.”

“The only trouble I see coming around is you.”

“True, I can be more trouble than you want, but that’s not the way this has to be. That’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

My eyes again drop to her mouth and she pulls back, reading my thoughts easily enough. “I’m not part of any deal.”

I nod, giving her that, for now. “Your father was in to us for thirty-six hundred.”

“What?”

“I cut him some slack. Probably shouldn’t have, but he swore he’d have it the end of the month. That was before …” I don’t need to remind her what it was before. She lived it.

“What do you know about his death?” she asks, throwing me with the change of topic.

I frown before releasing her and stepping back. “Nothing, angel. I swear.”

There’s doubt in her eyes. I can’t blame her for it. She has absolutely no reason to trust me. I suddenly want to change that, but I’m just not sure how.

“I don’t believe it was suicide,” she whispers.

“Then who do you think killed him?”

“Maybe someone he owed money to.” She lifts her chin at me.

I shake my head. “Wasn’t us, got my word.”

“Your word? Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Yeah. I give it … it’s golden. You’ll learn that.”

“I have no intention of learning anything from you.”

I take in a deep breath and let it out. “Make you a deal. I’ll give you another month to get your payments all caught up.” I glance at the calendar on the wall. “That’ll give you until … well, look at that, Good Friday. Now that’s gotta be a good sign.”

“Or what?”

I can’t help touching her one last time. I lift my hand to her chin and I gently tilt her face up to mine. I stroke my thumb over the soft skin just below her mouth and she remains stock still, allowing it. That pulse flutters in her neck again.

I’m surprised; I half expected her to smack my hand away. I drop my arm and answer her. “Or you don’t want to know.”

She shoots an angry glare at me, but remains silent, which is a good judgment call on her part right now. We both realize she’s pushed me about as far as she should. I find it hot as hell, though, and visions of fucking her on Cullen’s desk flash through my dirty mind. I know I’m close to acting on it, or at least trying to. I’d never force her, but I’m good at persuasion, especially when hot-as-sin women are concerned.

I step back, yank a pen from the cup on her desk, and scribble my number down on the ink blotter. “You ever get in trouble and need me, there’s my number. Use it.”

Her brow arches. “I’ll never use it.”

I toss the pen down and walk out before I try to take what I want and smash those sassy lips under mine.

When I’m back out at my bike, I stare up at the building while I strap on my helmet.

Do I want this girl? Yeah, I do, but just how badly? Enough to complicate the fuck outta my world? Because that’s what she’s gonna do if I let her.

She’s got spirit and backbone, not to mention the sass she throws around that turns me the fuck on. But it’s more than that. It’s something I saw in her eyes, something I’m not even sure I can label, something that pinged back and forth between us.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, or maybe Miss Michaela Mooney is into bad boys. She may not even know it yet, but it’s there. I saw it, I felt it, and I’m betting she did too.

Question remains, do I want this girl? She’d be a complication I absolutely do not need right now. But since when have I ever let that stand in my way?