Page 27 of Mex

He doesn’t drink.

“Did he take away business?”

Nothing.

“Oh, let me guess, you’re trying to stop him and his little mission?”

He drinks.

Interesting. The biker club wants to stop Marek, not work with him or for him. That’s a first. I mean, I’m certain there are people out there who do want to stop Marek, but none of them would dare. I wonder if the biker club knows exactly who they’re planning on taking on? Surely they’ve heard how dangerous he is? Even they don’t have what it takes to stop someone like Marek.

“Well, that isn’t the road I saw that going down,” I mutter.

“How do you know Marek?” Mex goes on, not skipping a beat. “Do you work for him?”

I don’t drink.

“Does your mother work for him?”

I mean, technically, no. She doesn’t workforanyone; she workswithpeople. Nobody comes above her.

“Rephrase. Does your mother workwithhim?”

“No rephrase,” I say. “I’m not answering that question now.”

“Answer it,” he orders.

“Oh, authoritative. While that turns me on, I’m afraid you’ll find that it won’t get me to listen. I rarely do as I’m told.”

Standing, Mex leans over the table, getting in my face. I hold his eyes, my heart racing. His breath smells like vodka, and man, andfuckI’m horny. So damned horny it gives me an idea.

“I’ve got an idea,” I say, my eyes scanning his face as I bite my bottom lip.

“Don’t want your fuckin’ ideas,” he grunts. “I want answers.”

“Oh, you’ll get answers. You see, it has been a while since I’ve had sex. Good sex, sex that blows my mind. You, I imagine, would give good sex. So, here’s how it’s going to go, for every orgasm you give me, I’ll answer one question.”

His eyes flash.

I don’t flinch.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead,” I mutter.

“You want me to fuck you?”

I grin. “Oh, yes indeed.”

He pushes off the table and straightens to his full height, making my arm stretch up as he does, staring down at me with an expression that makes me weak at the knees. Oh, do I want him to do wicked things to me. I hope he takes me up on my offer. I never promised to tell him the truth when he asks questions, but those are minor details.

“Stand up,” he orders.

I push to my feet and stand in front of him. He reaches out, gripping my chin in his hand and tipping my head back. I gasp, heat rushing through my body. “If I fuck you, it means nothin’. You get me?”

“I wasn’t asking for your hand in marriage,” I whisper.

He releases my chin just as the sound of a phone ringing in his bag rips through the intense moment. With a frustrated growl, he pulls the key out of his pocket for the cuffs. With a dramatic eye roll, I say, “Seriously? That’s where you had it. I thought you said I’d never find it.”

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