Page 2 of Broken Love

“I’m sorry, sir. Prices are final.”

He scoffs and tosses the club to the floor. “What the hell kind of pawnshop is this? I want to speak to the manager.”

I clear my throat. “You’re looking at her.”

His cackle travels through my ears and down my spine. “No, honey. I mean the owner—”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

He looks me up and down and his eyes pause just a hair too long on my cleavage. “You? What are you, like, four-foot-nine?”

“Five-five in heels but that’s not really relevant to the one-hundred-year-old golf club you just dropped on my damn floor.”

He chuckles. “And what are you gonna do about it, huh?”

“Pick it up, please.”

He keeps laughing and little drops of spit hit the counter between us. “Yeah, sure, honey, I’ll get right on that once you’re done sucking me off like a good girl.”

I sigh. Saturdays always bring in the absolute worst customers, especially the last ones of the night. There’s something about this city that attracts the most worthless scum in the world, but I guess that’s one of the reasons why I strayed out here in the first place. It’s easy to get lost in the fray and blend in with the bright lights of Hollywood Boulevard.

City of Angels, my ass.

“Pick it up,” I repeat.

He steps back, humoring me. “Okay, okay…” He waves his hands and bends over to grab the club.

I watch him closely, looking for any sudden flexes in his muscles. His fingers wrap around the thin grip, instantly going white with his tight squeeze. There’s a stiffness in his abdomen as he clenches up and he quickly inhales.

Yep. That’s what I thought.

He rises fast, spinning around to strike me with the club. I’m sure he has his reasons. An uppity woman having the audacity to disrespect him most likely at the top of his list. I’ve dealt with insecure fuckwads like him in the past and I’m positive he won’t be the last of them.

I easily block the blow with one hand, wrapping my fingers around his wrist and holding it in the air. He tries to tug away but he can’t. The surprise in his eyes is absolutely delicious.

“Apologize,” I say, calm as standing water.

“What the fuck—”

I twist his hand, bending it just a touch more than its meant to, and he squeals like a little, pink piglet.

The club slips from his hand and I grab it as his instincts kick in. He tries to fight back but not before I pull him down to the counter and hold him against it with the club, pushing it hard into the back of his neck like a rolling pin.

“Okay, Porky. I’m going to ask again and then I’m going to get mad,” I say. “Apologize, please.”

His wet breath heaves against the glass countertop, fogging it up with his stench. “All right — all right! I was just fuckin’ around. Don’t gotta be such a bitch about it—” I dig in harder and he shrieks. “Fuck, lady! I’m sorry!”

I push into him as I let him go, bouncing back to put a bit of distance between us. “Now, get out of my shop.”

I keep my grip on the club as he rises, ready to beat him with it if he drifts even an inch closer.

He straightens up and adjusts his jacket, his eyes once again falling to my chest. This time, he looks right through my tits and notices the dog tags hanging from my neck.

“Christ, lady, what are you? Army?”

“Once upon a time,” I answer.

His face shifts from annoyance to respect. “Thank you for your serv—”

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