Page 27 of His Plaything (Slade, Inc.)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Connor stood next to his car and adjusted his tight-fitting, black t-shirt. He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled loudly. What am I doing? Do I really want to be here? He had gone back and forth the entire drive to the bar. A large part of him, the part that controlled his heart, wanted to go to Morgan's house and refuse to leave without answers. The other part of him that controlled his cock, wanted to fuck the first thing that would let him. It wasn't just about the sex, it was about the release. Physically and emotionally.

He started toward the entrance, cracking his knuckles as he walked. This night was going to be hell and heaven wrapped into one. Connor still hadn't really decided how far tonight would go. A sense of guilt was already trying to strangle him.

Just as he started to open the front door to the bar, he noticed Marcie's car parked not far away. She must have given Shay a ride. He snorted out loud. Shay's confident that her night will last long enough for a ride home by me, huh?

Connor had a strong urge to walk back to his car, but he didn't. He only had to think about Morgan's legs wrapped around another man to make his feet start inside the bar. The bar was dimly lit and smelled a bit like stale beer and misery. Just what he was looking for. Connor wanted his surroundings to match his heart.

He looked around and didn't see the women he was searching for, so he made a pit stop at the bar. He was going to need a drink.

"What can I get you?" A young man behind the bar wiped his hands off on a small towel.

Connor actually had no idea what he was in the mood for so he just repeated what he’d overheard a man a few barstools down say. "Whiskey sour."

"You bet." The bartender went to work, and Connor scanned the room again.

After a few minutes, he spotted them. There was a large booth not too far from the bathrooms at the back of the bar. The booth had high backs around it so he could just barely see part of Marcie's face and legs. She was laughing at someone talking across the booth from her, presumably Shay.

"Here you go, sir. That'll be seven-fifty."

Connor reached into his wallet, threw down a ten, and grabbed his drink. He took a large sip before walking over toward the booth. As he neared, he heard Shay laugh loudly, but he still couldn't see her. Marcie hadn't yet seen him. A strange voyeuristic feeling came over him, and for some reason, he wanted to spy on the two for a minute. Maybe he just wanted to know if they were talking about him.

There was a large wooden pillar just off to the left side of the booth. Connor took another drink as he came to a stop behind the beam. Marcie again laughed, and it made his skin crawl. He couldn't put his finger on why, however.

"I know! How stupid can one person be?" Marcie giggled.

"I can't believe how lucky we were! I thought it would take us weeks to get rid of her. I seriously can't believe that she just dropped the 'ex-fiancé' present right in your lap!" Shay howled.

"Well, when you're good, you're good. Oh, and get this!" Marcie slapped the table. "The skank called me to pick up Connor's suits. Seriously."

Connor squeezed his glass so hard he wouldn't have been surprised if it shattered in his hand right then. Not that he gave a fuck at the moment. He had already heard enough. He could no longer stand their witch cackles.

He slowly stepped out from behind the pillar and came to a halt in front of their table. Both women looked up at him. Shay's eyes lit up, instantly. She fussed with her hair, trying to smooth it out as she smiled.

"Hey, Connor. You're late." She giggled flirtatiously.

He didn't look at her. His stare was trained on Marcie. "Marcie, would you please tell me which skank has my suits."

Connor almost reveled in her expression. Her smile was gone in a flash. Marcie's eyes widened, and her mouth popped open. An odd huffing sound came from her before she spoke. "Umm, what?"

He set his glass down on the table. "Skank. I heard you say one had my suits and I was just wondering how that's possible, because I never sent anyone to get any of my clothes. I mean, I'm assuming you are referring to my dry cleaning."

She didn't speak for a while. Marcie looked from him to Shay. Her eyes were begging her friend for help. Shay only took a sip of the fruity drink in front of her.

Yep, such a classy gal.

Marcie turned back to look at Connor. Her face was pale white. "Well … um, just before Morgan left, she offered to pick them up, but … umm, with everything that happened … she still has them."

Connor's lips curled into a crooked smirk as he picked up his glass and took a large drink. As he set it back down, both women squirmed in their seats. "Shay wasn't the only temp available. Was she, Marcie?"

She stared up at him for several seconds before very slowly shaking her head “no”.

"You two wanted to get rid of Morgan. Am I right, Marcie?"

This time she did nothing.

"Tell me the truth or you're fired." His tone was harsh, and his voice was getting louder.

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