Page 6 of The Last Call
Behind closed doors the conservative judge likes bare skin, belly button jewelry, and bouncing tits. Luckily my pert breasts don’t jiggle too much yet, or I couldn’t pull off going out without a bra. He pays for naughty underneath the sensual. The irony not lost on me of his moderate platform on the bench conflicting with a dirty streak in the bedroom. His psychological issues worse than mine. Which is fine. The broken the better. Who am I to criticize? No one’s more fucked up than me.
Another anxious frown reflects back at me while I wash my face. I force myself to release the stress and lines, which will turn into wrinkles sooner than I can stop if I let the tension invade me. I promised myself three more years. Because no matter how much I want to, I can’t do this forever. Regardless of diet, exercise, and endless spa treatments even I can’t win against gravity. And thirty will be the beginning of the end. When a man pays more than some people make in a year to fuck you, he demands perfection. Plenty of nineteen year olds ready to be groomed to take my spot.
Besides, I’ve been smart with my money. All the way back to when I first started with Belle’s. The agency kept their fifty percent, and I banked mine. Until I realized I could do this on my own. With Mack’s help of course. Ten thousand for an event. Twenty-five for the night. Or even fifty for the occasional weekend. Which with Sergei has turned into a week. Not a bad way to earn two hundred grand, being spoiled on his luxurious island retreat despite servicing a boring dictator every night.
A thunderous bang reverberates from the living room, and I jump, fumbling with switching out the silver hoop at my waist for the sapphire stone David likes. Pounding again and again until goose bumps erupt on my naked body.
Definitely not Mack.
Another thud.
Surely not Julius.
Three more booms.
Julius would never dare come here.
The walls shake around me from the force.
Oh damn.
Ibeat on the door for the fourth time. Irritation burning in me as much as the side of my fist from her ignoring me. So fucking much I have to teach her, starting first with never keep me waiting when I want her.
I slam the surface again. I know she’s home, and I know she’s alone. Under surveillance since Kenneth traced her credit card from her bar tab. Second lesson to learn is not to use her real name when she’s doing something illegal. My woman’s smart but not slick.
Her thick necked bodyguard escorted her to her apartment around one a.m. before departing about fifteen minutes later. No one coming or going since. Including her.
Fuck this. I don’t have time to jack around anymore with this angel. The heel of my foot drives through the thick wood, splintering with a jagged crack as I kick in the damn door. My guys can come back later and fix the damage.
A black Glock greets me when I step inside. Fuck she’s magnificent. All intense and earnest in her stance and expression. Gorgeous too. No make-up and a black silk robe wrapped tight around her small body. More fragile than before without her heels boosting her height and her confidence. She’s tiny and scared. Even though she pretends not to be.
“Get the fuck out of my house, and I won’t blow your head off.”
Totally adorable. “Okay baby, put the gun down before you hurt yourself.”
“It’s not me getting hurt that you should be worried about.”
I’m so fucking hard I have to lean forward to relieve some of the pressure of my cock straining against my boxer briefs. Fucking this fireball is going to be amazing. Her gaze and the tip of the barrel follow my hand to my crotch.
“I’ll blow that head off too if you’re not careful.”
Damn. I’m going to fucking come in my pants if she doesn’t stop being so fucking glorious. “You won’t shoot me.”
That assertion riles her up and her plump lips twist into an angry sneer. “Because I’m a woman?”
Sure, I’m chauvinistic as hell sometimes. Women deserve to be protected and worshiped. But I’m no fool. I’ve known plenty of deadly women. Although she’s definitely not one of them. “Because you’re not a killer.”
Her eyes widen. Only for a second before her deep frown returns.
“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”
Pain, deeper than the argument between us, runs through her tone. Somebody fucking hurt her. And she’s too fucking tough to let it happen again.
“I saw how you were with Mr. Effingham. Kind and attentive. Not just because he was paying you too either.”
Something shifts. In her body and heart. She knows as much as I do that she’s a good person. But for some reason somebody makes her think she isn’t. Some fucker makes her hide the truth from herself.
“He’s…” Worry smothers the relief beginning to soften her shoulders, and she lifts her taut arms higher. Defensive of the old man. Enough to make her battle the one in front of her. “Leave him out of this.”
