Page 30 of That Girl is Trouble

“He’s… here every Wednesday.”

“Okay.”

“Just okay? No questions?”

I shrug. “I’ll have to switch a shift, but it seems pretty straightforward.”

Axe mutters a curse, pushing to his feet and then closing the distance between us. “Kat. You understand what I’m asking, right?”

“You’re asking me to distract a man with my tits, steal his phone, plug that thing into it, and then return it. And you want me to be real stealthy about the whole thing.” I nod. “Got it.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes, and he roughs a hand over his mouth in irritation. “Kat—”

“Why are you pissed off when I’m literally agreeing to help you?”

“I’m not pissed off that you’re agreeing to help. I’m pissed off at how willing you are to throw yourself into danger without asking any follow-up questions. This man is dangerous, Kat. Don’t get caught. And if you do”—he reaches behind his back and pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants—“you shove this into whatever soft spot you can and pull the trigger. You got it? You remember how to use one of these?”

Nodding, I pull the gun from his hands. My heart jackhammers as I run my fingers along the side, the cool metal somehow heating my skin in that way that makes my breath catch.

I swallow. “Don’t get caught. Got it.”

He carefully takes the gun out of my hands and shoves it back into the waistband of his jeans. “It’s loaded. I’ll drop it in your car on my way out. Glove compartment.”

There’s a finality in his tone that says he’s not staying, that I won’t get another night of him. He’s only here to ask this favour that I’m happily agreeing to it. Without objection, without question.

Can never resist, can you? Doing exactly what I tell you to do.

A wave of vulnerability hits me. I’m too naked. Too exposed. I pull my arms around my bare stomach, covering myself. The change between us is palpable, but he does nothing to offer me comfort. Instead, he takes a step back, adding more distance, giving me a final nod before he takes his leave.

No command.

No ten songs.

I wait a long time before I leave. Two songs, and then four, and then eight. I wait so long that when I finally emerge, Rayna gives me a where the fuck have you been? look and nods to a group of guys huddled in the back corner who have suddenly noticed my presence on the floor.

I do my job.

Sit on laps.

Smile through the hurt and the anger and the rejection.

Successfully evade the creepy stalker-looking guy who’s staring at me like he wants to stretch my skin over a lamp.

And I curse Axel Donovan.

Because that high that hits me when I’m in this place, when I’m working the floor and smooth-talking men into opening their wallets, is gone. There’s no thrum in my chest. No tingle beneath my skin.

Which makes the whole situation… shitty. Like I’m here for them and not for me. Like this is no longer a choice, even though it was my decision to put on this damn skirt and show up tonight. For the first time since I stepped foot in the Garden, I have to fake a smile. I have to fight the urge to recoil from the hands that touch me rather than lean into them.

Axe did this. He reminded me of what it was like to experience him. To have a man like him look at me the way he was looking at me.

At midnight, the last of the customers trickle out, and I pack up my shit. I pull a hoodie over my white tank top and skirt, opting to change at home despite the biting November temperatures that have rolled into Eden Hills. Eyes on my phone, I check my messages as I trudge through the dark parking lot towards my car, only stopping at the sound of a man clearing his throat.

On instinct, my head snaps up, and I lock gazes with the creepy stalker guy from earlier. He’s tall and on the slim side. Angular face, sandy brown hair. It’s the way he looks at me that’s had me avoiding him all night. How his eyes raked down my body, undressing me, assaulting me. Serial killer, I’m going to throw you into a hole in my basement and make you rub lotion all over your skin, kind of vibes.

“Um. Hi,” I hedge, peeking back at the door some thirty feet away. Empty. Seb already left for the night.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

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