Page 31 of Taking What's Ours

“Well, he does. And you are?”

“Desiree.” She gives me a cheeky grin. “A really good friend, if you know what I mean.”

“Like he’sdoing you?” I give her words back.

Her brow cocks. “As a matter of fact, yeah. We usually hook up on Monday mornings when my shift ends.”

“Your shift?”

“At the strip club. I dance every Sunday night.” She shrugs. “It’s kind of a regular thing for us.”

“Well, I guess he forgot.” There’s a bite to my words, and she doesn’t miss it.

She pops her gum again. “You stayin’ here or something?”

“Look, Desiree. It’s really none of your business.”

“Oh, wait a minute.” She shakes a finger at me. “You’re that runaway bride chick, aren’t you? I heard about you.”

“What do you mean, youheardabout me?

She smirks. “Word gets around.”

“I think you need to leave. I’ll be sure to tellBajayou stopped by.”

“Don’t bother, bitch. I know where to find him.” She slams out the door in her to-die-for high-heeled black boots and skinny-ass jeans.

“Don’t bother, bitch.” I mimic her with a wobble of my head, but her last sentence piques my curiosity. How does she know where to find him?

Leaning to the window, I watch her sashay down the street, climb into a white Mustang, and peel away. Pulling out my phone, I press the button. “Show me strip clubs near me.”

Only one pops up.

The Cherry Bomb on the edge of town.

Just exactly what kind of man am I staying with? My thoughts return to that case under his bed, and I can’t resist returning to his room.

Dropping to my knees, I lean down and slide it out. It’s incredibly heavy, which takes me by surprise. It’s black, heavy-duty plastic, almost like a tackle box, but it’s larger, about fourteen inches by seventeen inches and eight inches high.

I stare at it a moment, before I flip the wide latches and lift the lid. I don’t know what I expected to find, but not this. It’s lined in black foam with spots for five pistols. They look like 9mm automatic weapons. They are side by side with the grips facing me for easy access. The case holds about a dozen clips.

I drop back on my heels.

Holy crap.

I could see Dylan having perhaps one gun in his nightstand for protection, butfive? Who needs five?

What have I gotten myself into? Or ratherwhohave I gotten myself involved with?

Rosie barks once, and the sound of the deck door carries to me. Moving quickly, I shut the case, click the latches, and slide it under the bed, then dash to the bedroom door and hide behind it.

I can see Dylan through the crack near the hinges. He walks past and heads toward the kitchen.

“Hey, Rosie.” He squats and scratches her ears, cupping her head. “How’re you doin’, girl?” He looks up. “You’re momma around someplace?” He stands and calls out. “Elaina?”

Shit. I’m stuck.

He moves into the living room.

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