Page 15 of Iron Rose

She wasn’t deep. She was with me because it brought her the attention she craved.

I pulled her into the ladies’ room, and she followed behind, giggling.

I slammed the door open. It was one of those with stalls and a couch pushed against one wall. The door swung closed behind us, clattering against the frame. Liesel was already starting to shimmy out of her little shorts.

I was salivating. The smell of the bathroom cleaner, the plug-in fragrance, stale beer, and her cheap perfume spoke of something visceral and filthy. My hands came to her waist, and I pushed her to the little couch. Her legs automatically spread for me.

The door swung open again. Liesel screamed, and I swung my head toward the door, my fists up.

It was the giant, brown-haired, Jericho Vasiliev. He scanned the room with impassive eyes. Then he looked at us, and approached Liesel. I moved to block him, but he stopped short of where she had dropped her shorts. He fished her phone out of the pocket and started clicking around it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Liesel lunged forward, reaching for her phone, but Jericho pushed her back into the couch with a giant fist.

He turned the phone screen toward me. Seven words were in a text message.

“The vixen is here. 4 Green Fields.”

Jericho dropped the phone, and it clattered on the dirty cement floor.

“She sold you out,” he said coldly. “And they’re coming.”

“No!” Liesel came forward on her knees, grabbing my wrist. “Anton just wanted to talk to you, that was it! I was looking out for you.”

I pulled my arm away.

“How do you know Anton Vasiliev?” I asked. “I only met him today.”

Her eyes widened. She had been too stupid to keep up any facade. I was disappointed.

“Not to belabor my point,” Jericho said in that infuriatingly casual tone. “And not go all Terminator, but you should come with me if you want to live.”

“No, please, Rosie.” She begged, a black mascara tear running down her cheek. “If you’re not here, he’ll kill me.”

I got on one knee in front of her and wiped her cheek.

“Just tell them you tried to stop me,” I said, kissing her mouth.

“What?” She stared at me, confused. That was her normal state, when she wasn’t aroused.

With an open palm, I uppercut her jaw, and she fell backwards, her head landing on the seat couch, arms and legs splayed. It was a total knockout, her bottom half was wide open, her landing strip on full display.

Jericho peered at her, then nodded in approval, the corners of his lips coming down in a repressed smile. “Cold-blooded. I like it. Now, let’s go.”

“I have to wait for someone,” I whispered.

“Ajax won’t make it.” Jericho shook his head solemnly. “He should have told you someone else would be here if he couldn’t make it.”

“And you’re the ‘someone else’?” I asked, raising a skeptical brow.

He pulled a phone out of his pocket and showed me a message. The contact wasn’t saved, but I recognized my coach’s phone number. There was a text:Missing the RDV at 4GF. Get Rose.

“What does that mean?”

Jericho said, mechanically, “Missing the rendezvous at Four Green Fields. Get Rose.”

He walked out of the bathroom, down the side hall, in the opposite direction of the entrance. I traipsed behind him and shot a glance back at the main bar area where Martin and Cian still sat. The Brit caught my eye and smiled. He winked, and I couldn’t help but try to smile back and nod. I hoped it conveyed my gratitude, and my regret at not giving him a proper goodbye.

He inclined his head as if he was able to read my mind, and winked, then turned his body to the entrance of the bar. There was nothing more to say.

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