Page 30 of Deserter

I shook my head when it clicked.

Country club.

He was the pretentious fucker who’d tried getting a discount on his nose candy. I’d never met his wife, but knowing him, she was probably just as snotty.

I bet she was going to expect us to put a towel down for her to kneel on while she sucked dick.

The door opened and Bear stuck his head in. “Uh, Pres? Are you collecting the debt, or are we? Because I’d just like to remind you of that time that—”

“Out,” I growled, before rounding on Wolverine. “What’s the problem? Obviously, my men did their jobs.”

“They did something, alright—I’m just not sure you’re gonna like it.”

“Then there’s nothing to discuss. These assholes need to be reminded of who they’re dealing with.” Without waiting for a response, I left him in my office and headed toward my room.

It seemed that his sense of right and wrong became more skewed with each fucking day that passed. Comedian waved me over to the bar where he had two shots laid out behind a line of blow. “Trust me, Pres. You’re gonna want this.”

Under normal circumstances, I didn’t touch the drugs. That had been Dragon’s downfall, and I knew that I needed to run this club with a clear head.

Maybe it was my frustration with Wolverine. Maybe I just felt like celebrating our victory.

Whatever the case, I snorted the line and clinked my shot glass against his before downing it. “I’m gonna shower and then we’ll collect a debt.”

He just grinned and shook his head. “I have a feeling you aren’t gonna be sharing this one.”

Almost every eye was on me as I walked toward my room and I watched with amusement as the club whores fought to keep their attention. Richard’s wife must have been one hell of a catch if it had the guys this fucked up.

I’d barely turned the door handle when the breath left my lungs. There was no way in hell that this was Richard’s wife.

At the sound of the door opening, she’d backed herself into a corner, looking like a wild animal caught in a trap.

I ran a hand roughly over my face as I took her in. Dark brown hair hung in loose waves past her shoulders, half of it tied up with a pale pink ribbon. The ribbon matched her bohemian mini dress, complete with bell sleeves.

No denim jacket. No mini skirt. Not one goddamned neon color anywhere on her. This girl was clearly living in the wrong decade.

Her green eyes widened as she studied the patches on my kutte. I must’ve looked like a fucking savage to her. The fear in them faded into something like confusion the longer she watched me; as if she’d been expecting someone older.

Most people did.

She looked like an exotic gypsy with thick dark eyebrows and full lips that left my dick straining against the zipper of my jeans.

Her bare feet were coated in a layer of sand and I wondered if she’d lost her shoes on the way here or if they, like her family, were waiting at home for her.

“Who the fuck are you?” I growled.

She swiped at a lone tear running down her cheek and I noticed the faint discoloration of a bruise. “C-Celia. Celia Cross. My mom and dad are going to be looking for me. They’ll call the police.”

Jesus Christ, they’d taken his fucking daughter.

“Well, C-Celia Cross, your fuckin’ daddy is the reason you’re here. What do you say to that?”

“If you’re looking for money, my parents have it. I’m sure they’ll pay you if you just let me go—” Her voice broke off in a sob and she wrapped her arms around herself. All she succeeded in doing was drawing my attention to her tits.

Tits I wanted in my mouth.

Comedian was right. I wasn’t going to be sharing this one.

“How old are you?” I liked the way she seemed to jolt every time I spoke.

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