Page 68 of Ryker

“You gonna introduce us, Ry?”

Ryker grips my leg a little more. “Tara, this is Knox.”

“Hey, sugar.”

I don’t respond. It makes me feel awkward and powerful, which is such a weird combo.

“Ah,” Knox says, chuckling. “I get it. Well, then, let’s get down to business so you two can do whatever the fuck you two are doing.”

While they start talking about construction, permits, people and contracts, I study the tattoo on Ryker’s hand. It’s a monarch butterfly with wings spreading across the top of his hand, the antennae twirling while the lower part of the body morphs into a skull. The bottoms of its wings drip down towards his wrist like poison. His veins are pronounced and disappear under his dress shirt where I know there’s more ink.

“—need at least another five hundred thousand.”

“What?” Ryker lifts his hand off my leg and rests it on the table. “That’s more than we projected.”

“Inflation’s a bitch, man.”

“What about another loan?”

“I’m tapped out. It’s why I asked you and D to both be here. If we split it, we can cover the rest easy.”

“We’ve already given you more than enough to cover it, Knox.”

“Yeah, but that was before I had to pay off the taxes my pops owed, plus two permit officers to grease the wheels so I could get the liquor license rushed. I’ve also had to deal with an outsider influencing my old man.”

“Who?”

“Someone from Brisbane Realty.”

Ryker stiffens, and his reaction makes me edgy. “The fuck do they want?”

Knox shrugs before leaning back in his seat. “They’ve offered Pops a lot of money to sell this place to them under the table.”

“Shit.” Ryker swipes his mouth. “Did he accept?”

“Not yet, but he’s given me a deadline. If I can’t make the necessary changes to the club and have it up and running in the next sixty days, he’s selling it to them.” Ryker curses and Knox puffs on his cigar. “What a kick in the fucking balls, right? He’s not giving me a lot of time to work with here.”

“He’s given you an impossible deadline, just to make you fail so he can get rid of it.” Ryker blows out an angry breath. Then I feel his eyes on me. “Butterfly. How about you go grab us a couple drinks from the bar?”

Being called Butterfly sounds less and less like an endearment each time he fucking says it, too. I want to slap him. I’m not a server, nor am I his lap dog. But I obey if only to give myself a minute to let what they’ve said sink in. “Yes, Sir.”

Sliding out of the booth, I tense when Ryker adds, “On your hands and knees.”

I’m going to kill him.

Biting back my fury, I sink to the floor and do as he commands. The worst part about it is, I know how good I look and I’m certain he’s watching. He said I fascinated him before. Let’s see if I can annihilate him now.

I crawl like a cougar towards the bar and hear Knox say, “Damn, she’s got an ass for days. Bet it’s nice and ti—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll cut your tongue out of your big fucking mouth.”

I had no idea threats could be such a turn on until this very moment. Once I reach the bar, I get up and wrap my hand around the closest bottle of booze.

Grey Goose Vodka.

Snagging two crystal glasses next, I dump some ice into each, pour three fingers worth of vodka, and finish them both with a lime. If they don’t like it, tough shit. Keeping my gaze on the floor ahead of me, I return, on my feet, and slide their drinks across the table. Though my eyes are still cast down, my brow arches when I ask, “Anything else you need from me, Sir?”

My question’s loaded and we both know it.

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