Page 26 of Smooth Sailing

Shit.

“Let’s go meet Suzette,” I muttered.

Hugger glowered at me.

Man-bun grinned.

Tall guy looked to his boots.

Other guy let out an impatient breath.

I turned and led them down the hall to my door.

3

WE EAT IN AN HOUR

Hugger

Hugger was pissed right the fuck off.

There were many reasons for this.

First, Diana Armitage was traipsing around this hot-as-shit, sun-drenched, parched fucking city—a place no one in their right mind would willingly choose to live—and she was doing it in high-heeled gold shoes, driving the smallest, most unsafe car he’d seen in his life, all while being tailed by two gun-toting henchmen of a local mob.

Yet she did it like it was just any other day. She was just going where she needed to go, like two gun-toting henchmen of a local mob weren’t on her ass.

Which meant she was either bravely stupid or stupidly brave, but neither was smart.

Second, the bitch was gorgeous.

Lots of tits. Lots of ass. Perfect makeup. Sparkling green eyes. Long, thick hair any man would get a hard-on to have his fingers in and have it spread all over his lap when she was blowing him.

She had sass. She had attitude.

And she was messed right the fuck up, considering she inserted herself into this situation because she had a beef with her pops, and that was so fucking dumb, he wanted to turn her over his knee and spank some sense into her.

Third, she had a tight-as-shit crib.

It didn’t take a behavioral scientist to call her favorite color was blue, considering the color of her car, and her pad was mostly white with a lot of blue. It was crisp, stylish, comfortable-looking and feminine.

Even if it wasn’t his gig, he liked it. It looked good. It suited her. It was feminine without being girlie, and that was her to a T. And he dug she knew herself well enough she could stamp her space so clearly with her style.

He was on a mission.

He did not need to want to bang this woman.

But he seriously wanted to bang this woman.

Last, Suzette Snyder showed after having a brief conversation with Diana in a room down a hall.

When she showed, her arm was in a sling, she had a limp, and there were still stitches in her lip and across the cheekbone under the end of her left eye. The bruising hadn’t all disappeared either, even after three weeks.

But she couldn’t be taller than five three. She couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. And she looked about thirteen years old, even if he knew she was twenty-six.

It meant Babic didn’t bother picking on someone his own size and he might have some pedo shit going on.

For the first time in his life, Hugger understood what “it made my blood boil” felt like.

---