Page 19 of Root

“You’re pretty,” I say.

“Not sleeping with you, and you get drinks regardless of lies.”

“I was hoping you’d bring me drinks in bed.”

She pulls me close, and her mouth is on my ear. “Babe, if you and I are in bed, serving you drinks is gonna be the last fucking thing on your mind. I’ll send you to heaven, and have you begging for mercy every step of the way.”

She licks my ear, and a bolt of electricity shoots straight to my dick so fast, I jolt upright in my seat.

Woah.

“I think you outplayed me. I back down and I look weak. I try to one up you and I’m a dickwad.”

Her smile blooms, and it’s wide and so fucking hot, I’d pay money to see it on demand. “Side move. Interesting.”

I consider her. “You got a name, Iggy?”

“Grandfather of punk, proto-punk. Impressed.”

I hold up my hands. “Look, ma, no phone.”

“I’m Jess.”

I nod at her. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

“Fuck nice. Be genuine. I dare you.”

I lean forward. “I come in here a lot. This is the first time you’ve spoken to me.”

“I don’t use telepathy to get drink orders.”

“Not what I meant,” I laugh. She’s more fascinating than annoying.

Jess picks up the beer, hands it to me, and I take a swallow. It’s intimate, weirdly erotic. Maybe it’s that sizzle in the air as we look at each other, or the way our fingers touch. Or maybe it’s the fact that my mouth is where hers was, and I want to kiss her.

The moment shatters when she looks past me, pointing to the door. “No.”

I turn to find a big, biker-looking dude, and beneath the air of contrite is violence. “But—”

“I said no. Do not make me get my bat.”

“I’m having a drink,” the guy says, sneering.

No way am I letting him cause trouble. I don’t have my gun, but I know how to fight, and thanks to Niko, I can fight fucking dirty. I start to stand, but Jess grabs me.

“I said no, Chris. Out.” She stabs a finger at the door.

The guy grumbles, looks at me, and goes to take a step, but he must read something hard in my expression, that stillness that’s second nature to me, because he swallows and backs off.

While I’m not as ruthless as Nikolai—he’s a special breed—I can be ruthless. I can make men want to cry. I can be mean as I want. My charm is me, but it window-dresses the uglier parts. This man, he sees it, just like he sees I’ll do what it takes to bring him down.

He waves a hand and stalks out the door.

“You need back up,” I say. “A bouncer.”

“I can handle myself.” Jess takes my whiskey and downs it. “And you don’t know me.”

“But you know me?”

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