Page 30 of Redeeming Rabbit

Elenore glanced down. “Crap. She said yes.” Meeting my gaze, her eyes lit up with cautious excitement. “What do I wear?”

* * *

“Again, you don’t have to fucking blackmail me, Rabbit. You could have just asked.” Red splotches mottled Morse’s face, cluing me in to the fact I’d really pissed him off this time. Quite the feat, considering I hadn’t been in the club for ten minutes yet. Just long enough to drop Elenore off with Shari so I could have a word with the eyes of the club about what I’d do to him if he told anyone my plus one for the night was Tina’s sister. Why did I care? Because it was nobody’s damn business, and I didn’t want to catch any grief for it.

“You would have helped me?” I asked, unable to take him at his word. “Without the proper motivation?”

“Yes! You may be a bit fucked-up, but you’re not the monster you think you are. That woman’s here with you of her own free will.” He froze. “Wait. She is here of her own free will, isn’t she?”

“What the fuck, man? Of course, she is. If I’d kidnapped her, I wouldn’t have left her at the bar with Shari. I would have figured out how to avoid the cameras and get her up to my room.”

He gaped at me. “A word of advice. Don’t say shit like that in front of the others.”

“I’m not stupid. I only trust you because I’ve got something on you. Snitch, and I’ll tell the entire club you’re into gardening porn.”

“I am not into—”

“Or that you’re a voyeur, but of gardeners. I don’t know which of those is worse.”

His head dropped forward, and he closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It appeared I was on Morse’s last nerve. Bonus to an already fantastic day.

“Want me to get my ass out of your office?”

“There is literally nothing I want more.”

I fought a grin. “Then do me a favor.”

His head whipped around, and he gaped at me for a long-ass minute before sighing. “What the fuck do you need?”

“Some asshat investor is harassing Elenore. His name is Cameron Chamberlain.”

Morse’s eyes widened. “Gerald’s son?”

“That supposed to mean something to me?”

“Of the Chamberlain Corporation?”

I shook my head. “Still nuthin’.”

His eyes bugged out, and he plucked at his keyboard until he brought up a website showing the company’s value.

I whistled. “That’s a hell of a lot of zeroes.”

“Yeah. One of the richest families in Seattle. They own half the waterfront.”

He clicked a few more buttons, bringing up a photograph of a clean-shaven yuppie who looked like he could give Elenore the fucking moon. I instantly wanted to break his nose.

“This him?” Morse asked.

“Probably? Look, all I know is that the fuckface is rich enough to throw a bunch of cash at Elenore’s company, and he thinks it gives him the right to put his hands on her. Can you … I don’t know … look into him and see how dangerous the pervert is?”

He blinked, clearly stunned by the request. “Yeah, brother. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.”

Boasting a shit-ton of computers, servers, and other nerdy shit, the tech office was every geek’s wet dream. Monitors covered the wall on my right, showing live camera footage of all three of the club’s properties. Nothing happened in the common areas of the fire station, the Copper Penny, or Formation Auto Repair that wasn’t caught on camera.

When I’d first found out about the cameras, I’d considered them a violation of privacy. But now I knew better. Not all the vets we try to aid want help. Some would rather eat a bullet than live with the images in their heads. An average of 22 American vets commit suicide daily, and we damn sure didn’t want anyone to take their life in our club. Not if we could help it.

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