Page 11 of Gangster Daddy's Girl

“Don’t you mean henchman?” I ask acidly.

He chuckles. “Tyson said you’ve got a sharp tongue on you, but to answer your question, I like to think I’m more than just an ordinary henchman.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he says. “Follow me.”

He leads me through a door and into the back of the club. The back room is filled with boxes of liquor and other necessities required to run the bar. Marco stops at a door that’s marked private and raps on it before opening it and sticking his head in.

“Hey, you’ve got a visitor,” Marco says, his tone amused.

“If it’s Rico and?—”

“It’s not,” he says.

Marco steps back and pushes the door open, then motions me forward. I step into the office, and Marco closes the door behind me. Tyson is sitting behind a large desk with a surprised look on his face. He closes his laptop and cocks his head.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he says. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“I’m a resourceful girl.”

“Apparently so. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” I reply. “I’m just here to tell you that this—whatever this is between us—can’t happen again. It isn’t going to happen again.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re … I don’t date guys who do what you do.”

“You don’t know what I do.”

I clench my hands into fists. “I’m not naïve. I know you’re a criminal, Tyson. And that’s just not the kind of man I’m interested in being with.”

He leans back in his chair and considers me for a moment. There’s a strange look in his eyes I can’t quite interpret. It almost looks like … hurt. As if me judging him for what he does has somehow wounded him. He quickly composes himself, but I saw it. He clearly has a depth of emotion I never would have believed if I hadn’t seen it myself.

“I’m more than what I do.”

“Maybe. But I’m having a hard time getting past what you do.”

“And you came all the way down here to tell me that?” he asks. “You could have just sent a text. Know what that tells me?”

“What?”

“That you wanted to see me and that maybe, just maybe, you’re not convinced that this isn’t going to happen again,” he says. “Or that you aren’t sure you don’t want it to happen again.”

“N-no. I’m sure. This isn’t going to happen again. It can’t,” I stammer.

He purses his lips as he gets to his feet. As he walks toward me, I back up, a soft squeak bursting from my mouth as I bump into the door behind me. Tyson takes another step forward, pinningme between him and the wall, his mouth hovering so close to mine. I draw in a breath, my heart thundering in my ears, and swallow hard.

“I-I just came to tell you that,” I say, my voice shaking. “I should go.”

“The door’s behind you.”

My stomach churning and my legs trembling, I stare into those icy blue eyes and feel like my feet are rooted to the ground beneath me. I’m so turned on I can’t see straight, and I feel frozen. Like I can’t move no matter how hard I try. The corner of Tyson’s mouth curls upward, and my heart leaps into my throat. He brushes my hair off my forehead with the lightest touch, and I feel that familiar heat between my thighs. My mind is screaming at me to move. It’s telling me that I said what I needed to say, to open the door behind me, and slip away. My body, however, refuses to obey, leaving me rooted to my spot.

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