“I have half.” He bobs his head.
“Damn, looks like I’ll be breaking something else,” I growl, stepping forward.
“I can’t give you what I don’t fucking have,” he sneers. “And I can’t pay if I’m dead.”
Jimmy scratches his neck, his eyes traveling around the small room, landing on the girl sitting quietly in the corner like she’s seen this scene a thousand times before. “Sorry you had to be here for this, darling. You have shitty taste in men,” he informs her with a shrug of his shoulder before turning his attention back to Milo. “What’s this place worth?”
“I’ll get you your money.” Milo cradles his wrist. Sweat beads his forehead. He doesn’t have the means to get the money. If he did, he would have had it by now.
“I know you will, but we’re going to need collateral to motivate you,” Jimmy warns. If he’s intimidated by the three of us dominating the small space between him and the exit, he’s not showing it.
“You can’t take—”
Before he can finish the sentence, Jimmy’s booted foot shoots out, kicking Milo in the jaw with such intensity, it forces him backward in his chair, crumbling to the floor like a bug being swat.
“I can fucking take whatever the fuck I want. This bar. Your bitch. Your fucking skin after I peel it from your body.”
“I’ll go,” a voice speaks out, soft and velvety.
All eyes turn to the brunette as she stands, nodding her head. “You can take me until he has the money. I’ll be the collateral.”
Well, damn, how many times has this girl had to offer that for this piece of shit?
“Willa, no,” Milo gurgles through his own blood, his front tooth cocked at an odd angle. That’s got to fucking hurt.
“Well…” Jimmy grins, slapping his knee, “what a team player you have here, Milo.”
My jaw tightens. I look to Jameson, who gives me a reassuring jerk of his head. I’m not kidnapping or holding women ransom. Jameson ensured me this chapter of the Royal Bastards wasn’t into that shit either.
“Sorry, darling, as lovely as you are, something tells me Milo doesn’t give a shit about the women he fucks.”
“I’m not his woman,” she says, almost choking on her words. “I’m his sister.”
Well, fuck me. Wasn’t she fucking naked when we barged in here?
Jimmy booms out a mocking laugh, “I knew you were twisted, Milo, but that takes the fucking cake.”
“It’s not like that,” Milo grunts.
“Yeah, whatever you fucking say, sicko. You have three days,” Jimmy warns.
“I need more time.”
“Three days—that’s me being generous.”
We begin to leave, but the sister’s small gasp and hesitant jerk of her body in my direction stops me. Turning back, I grab her under the arm to take with us. She doesn’t resist, and her piece of shit brother doesn’t speak up for her or attempt to stop me either.
Once outside, I open my truck door and motion for her to climb in the back. She doesn’t hesitate, just climbs right in like this shit is the norm. For her, maybe it is.
I make my way back to Jameson and Jimmy, who have a couple other brothers with them keeping an eye on things inside the bar.
“What do you think?” Jimmy asks Jameson, craning his neck.
“Three days isn’t long.” Jameson folds his arms, looking between the bar and Jimmy. “He was high, and none of his boys even attempted to step in. I’d say he’s losing loyalty, which makes me think business hasn’t been good for a while.”
“I fucking hate chasing money from fucktards who’re going to end up in the ground.” Jimmy kicks at the dirt.
“We could take the bar,” one of the brother’s pipes up.
I scrunch my nose at the thought. Who wants this dump as their responsibility?
“Fuck it. Torch the place. It’ll send a message. I don’t want to come back here.” Jimmy nods to his brothers.
“And the girl?” Jameson asks with a raised brow.
“I don’t want to know. Just deal with it.”
We slip into my truck, the golden flicker of flames dancing in the reflection of the windows as we pull away from the shithole. The woman holds a hand to her chest as she looks back to see people flailing out into the night as the bar engulfs.
“You got a name?” Jameson asks. She’s a statue in the backseat. No emotion on her pretty face. She’s numb. I know that look in her eyes because I’ve had it in mine.
“Willa,” she answers robotically.
“I’m Jameson. This is Gabe.” He jabs a finger in my direction, and I flick my gaze to hers in the rearview mirror.
“Your names don’t matter,” she states, matter-of-fact, staring out the window.
Jameson’s grunt makes a smile curl my lips. He’s not usually the talker, but he’s making an effort to put her at ease.
“Did you have to burn the place?” she whispers, drawing our attention back to her.
“It’s just wood and mortar, darling.” Jameson shrugs. “No blood was shed.”
Unless you count the tooth Milo will be losing after the boot to the face.
“To you, it’s wood and mortar,” she mutters, rubbing up her arms. I crank the heat in case she’s cold.
“Couldn’t have been worth much.” He looks over his shoulder at her.
“More than you know,” she muses before falling silent.
“So, what’s the plan?” Jameson asks me, flicking through his cellphone.
“My place tonight. I’ll check out some connections tomorrow to get her set up somewhere.” I have a friend who runs a women’s shelter. She may be able to help this girl.
Nodding his head, a smirk tugs at his lip, making me scowl. “What’s the smile for?” I growl.
“Just you and strays, man. You’re a sucker.”
“Or I have a fucking heart, you asshole.”
Jameson cackles out a laugh that startles Willa. Her eyes expand as she tries to make her body as small as possible, burrowing farther into the corner.
I can’t stop myself from watching her in the mirror and feel like a creep because of it. She’s bare of makeup, her cheeks still rosy from tears. There’s a dusting of freckles visible even in the muted light, making her appear young.
I look to the road, then back to her, studying her features. She gets prettier the more I take in every inch of her face. Thick lashes flutter over oval shaped eyes, flames of amber flicking in the brown depths ignited from the passing street lights.
Creep.
My attention drops to her lips when she says, “Can I open the window please? I feel a little queasy.” I watch her thick, plump lips, the bottom slightly larger than the top. Beautiful in every sense of the word and has been forced into a life of shit and squalor by someone who should fight to protect her at all costs. “Sure, darling, just don’t throw up on the leather. Gabe will have a heart attack,” Jameson mocks.
“Asshole,” I grumble. “You need me to pull over?” I ask, but get shot down with a frown and a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t open the window, so I use my control button to open it for her. The wind gushes in, sweeping her hair off her face.