of it, I offered. And I’m kind of fucking offended that you think I’m naive enough to let myself get played. Torch, you know I can smell bullshit from a mile away, twenty grand says my gut’s right on this.”
Oh, she was good. Throwing in a thinly veiled reference to how well she’d managed to peg-and-bag Jan Collins? Slick. Making him feel like he owed her a favor without actually saying it? Manipulative as shit but effective. He had no fucking clue how Liv always managed to spin arguments in her favor—or why it always made his dick hard—but he was onto her. He’d figure out how to beat the woman at her own game eventually, but until that happened, they had better things to do than discuss Nadia Roth.
“Fine, two months,” he caved. “But you’ve done enough, you’re not funding the club’s payroll. Oh, and let’s not make a habit of taking in strays.”
She grinned and ruffled his hair. “No offense, but you should probably wait to implement that rule. I know you’ve been working hard outside all day and everything, but you look like a mangy mutt yourself.”
Chuckling, he stood up and held out his hand. “Come on, Animal Control, you can help me wash behind my ears.”
She squealed as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her sexy ass into the clubhouse.
: : : :
Torch gripped his rifle and ducked down behind a pile of refrigerator parts to listen for sounds nearby. With only three flood lights and a full moon illuminating it, the salvage yard provided unlimited nooks and crannies to hide at night.
He heard rustling coming from his right, about fifty feet away in the back corner of the property. Staying as low to the ground as he could without tripping over his own feet, he inched his way closer down a footpath. It was easier said than done. He didn’t know whose fucking idea it had been to play paintball when most of them were drunk as shit, but at least he’d managed to avoid getting hit so far. There were no rules, whoever ended up looking least like a Picasso after an hour won.
Across the yard, he could hear popping and Grimm squealing like a fucking live pig on a spit roast. It put a smile on his face. He liked Grimm, he really did, but there was nothing more enjoyable than seeing that twisted little shit get his.
As he inched closer toward the fence, he heard the rustling again. And then he smelled something familiar. It was barely noticeable, but in an area full of rusted metal and dirt, Liv’s flowery perfume tickled his nostrils.
He took back that shit about Grimm, it would be a hell of a lot more enjoyable seeing his old lady gets hers tonight. It seemed like she’d been showing him up non-stop since they’d gotten married. Hell, since they’d met. He had his fucking manhood to reclaim.
He made a quick right and crouched down behind an old van, peering over the hood to see if he could spot her. And there she went, darting across the path behind a storage shed.
She was the only woman in the game. Rox was at home with her and Jet’s two-month-old, Dana had some kind of stomach bug, Tamra was working a night shift, and he had no idea what Mo was doing. He preferred it this way, the other old ladies were cool, but not Liv-level cool. She was more of a guy’s girl who could handle her booze and didn’t mind getting dirty. She also didn’t come with the dumb fucking drama he hated.
He bolted out from behind the van and circled around the shed, hoping to catch her from the other side. But seeing a ladder propped up against the wall, he got a better idea. He kicked off his boots, climbed up, and got on his knees. Trying not to make any noise, he crawled to the other end and looked down over the edge. He spotted her pressed up against the building with her head poking around the corner.
Busted.
Rising to his feet, he wondered just how bad his next move was going to hurt before doing it anyway. He jumped off the roof and landed a few yards behind her. Pain shot through his knees, but he managed to stay upright. Christ, either the booze was screwing with his senses or eight feet was a hell of a lot higher than he remembered.