Wicked and True - Shayla Black Page 0,39

RV with a long-suffering sigh and a stretch. “Hey. So fucking glad that’s over.”

“I’m glad for you, man. Good to have you back.”

Trees peered at him with the light from the RV’s interior. “You look like shit.”

“Well, stress, lack of sleep, and your girlfriend looking for the politest way possible to tell you to fuck off will do that.”

“No shit?”

He nodded. “It’s been one of the worst weeks ever.”

“Sorry, man.” Trees clapped his arm, then glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back, his face darkened. “Did you bring everything I asked for?”

“Yeah. I had a little trouble. It took a couple of stores to find the clothes you asked for, but it worked out.”

Trees breathed a sigh of relief. “I owe you.”

Zy heard a rustling inside the RV, then his buddy stepped aside and offered his hand, palm up.

Small fingers laid across his meaty ones as a waif of a woman came down the steps. She was exactly what Zy remembered…yet she wasn’t.

Coffee-colored hair hung in waves to her back. A choker with a black bow emphasized the daintiness of her neck. Its tails brushed the swells of lush breasts her tiny black tank couldn’t possibly hope to contain. Her denim shorts stretched tight across the flare of womanly hips and were so small they ought to be illegal. She wore no shoes, just a muted toe polish that nearly blended in with her skin. And when Zy looked up at her again, she studied him with old eyes in a face that looked way too young for such knowledge.

“Hi, Laila.” He stuck out his hand. “You may not remember me. I’m Zy.”

She looked down at his hand, dragging in a breath—for courage?—and shook it. “Hello. Is Señor Walker coming?”

Trees leaned in, looking less than pleased. “She likes him.”

“I trust him,” Laila corrected.

And she didn’t trust Trees. That wasn’t a good sign.

Then she stepped off the RV and brushed past them, curling her arms around her tiny middle to ward off the winter evening chill.

“See what I’ve been dealing with?” he grumbled as she headed toward the house, wincing as she tiptoed over dead branches and crisp fallen leaves with her bare feet.

“Are all her clothes that…brief?” Because even in the semi-dark, it was impossible to miss the fact that half her ass hung out of her too-short shorts.

Trees rubbed at his eyes. “That’s her modest outfit.”

Holy shit. No wonder Trees’s dick was in a twist.

“Well, I brought her sweatpants and oversized T-shirts, just like you asked.”

“Thank god. Maybe that will cool things off between us.”

Maybe, but Zy wasn’t holding his breath. Everything about Laila’s appearance had Trees’s type written all over her.

“Sorry, buddy.”

Trees groaned. “Can’t you come stay with her for a few days? Maybe by then I can jack off enough to get some of the blood back to my brain.”

“Nope. Whatever you do with your meat, keep that shit to yourself. But a word of advice? Don’t fuck the client.”

“Technically, she isn’t the client.”

True, but that was a problem in itself. “Valeria doesn’t like the way you look at Laila.”

“Which is a really good reason for Kane and me to switch assignments. He can watch Laila, and I’ll keep an eye on Valeria and her baby. Problem solved.”

Except the bosses would never go for that. He was half expecting to be summoned tonight to provide an update. They’d lose their shit if they found out that Trees—someone they considered a potential mole—was alone with Valeria, whose safe houses had been disclosed and breached multiple times in the past few months.

“No can do. What else do you need here?”

“You in a hurry?”

“Not so much me, but I’m assuming the sooner you let her into your place, the sooner she can cover up everything tempting you.”

“Good point.” He headed for the house. “Anything new?”

Some, and Trees wouldn’t like it. “Let’s go inside.”

His pal opened the back door, letting Laila inside and showing her to the guest room on the opposite end of the house from the master. With a quiet nod that belied her seemingly loud, fuck-me-now outfit, she disappeared.

Trees stomped into the kitchen and plucked a beer from the fridge. “Thank you for picking these up for me.”

Before he could open the bottle, Zy stopped him. “It’s not cold.”

“I don’t even fucking care. That woman…”

Was driving him to drink—literally. “You can’t imbibe on the job.”

Trees gave a long-suffering sigh and put the beer back in the fridge. “Fuck.”

“Is she mouthy and difficult?”

“No. She barely speaks, and I

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