“I’m better trained than you are, bigger and stronger.” His cunning eyes drill into me while he speaks, telling me nothing. “It’s that simple.”
“No. You are—”
“A pretty-boy billionaire who runs a sex club?”
Yes. “Clearly there’s more to you than that.”
“Clearly.” His mouth quirks at the edges, and I’d like to slap the smirk off his pretty-boy face. “Where do you keep the whiskey?”
“This isn’t a social call. I didn’t invite you here, and you already ate my pie. You’re not drinkin’ my whiskey too.”
“The whiskey is for you. You need to settle your nerves.”
“My nerves don’t need settling.” I search his face, hoping to find a clue about what he’s up to, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but a day’s worth of stubble and a tiny cleft in his strong chin. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m in need of some arm candy. It would be a huge plus if that arm candy was multilingual and knew how to use a weapon.”
What the hell? I release the breath I’ve been holding. “I’m in need of a new pair of shit-kickers, but I don’t go around stalking people who might have a pair I like, and breaking into their homes to harass them into giving them up.”
There’s a twinkle in his eyes. Bastard.
“I’m glad you find me so amusing. But ain’t no arm candy here. Sorry for your trouble.” I take the empty dessert plate out of his hand, rinse the crumbs, and place it in the dishwasher.
When he steps closer, I pull out a scouring pad from a box under the sink and begin to scrub the stainless-steel basin like my life depends on it, ignoring the singe of his glare.
“Perhaps I wasn’t plainspoken enough for a simple girl from Mississippi. You will join me for an upcoming mission. And it will require you to terminate your employment with Smith.”
I’ve officially entered the twilight zone. My hands are shaking, and I suspect there are at least a half dozen other tells that I don’t want him to see. “You’ve lost your damn mind.” I toss the scouring pad in the trash and wipe my hands. “I hear there are doctors who can help with that sort of thing.” My back is toward him as I head out of the kitchen. “Lock the door and turn on the alarm on your way out so no more assholes break in tonight. My quota for the day has been met.” I pause for a second before reaching the doorway, but I don’t turn to face him. “If that’s not plainspoken enough for a spoiled rich boy from Charleston, let me put it another way. Fuck you. And get out of my house.”
In one move, he grabs my arm and spins me around until I’m between him and the kitchen counter. “Don’t you dare turn your back and walk away until I’m finished.”
He’s in a mood, and I’m about to bear the brunt of it—maybe that’s apt since I believe I’m responsible for the crankiness.
“These are your choices,” he says, as though he might actually give me a choice. “One, you continue to behave like a brat. I walk out that door and send every image I have to the local authorities and to the Bureau. You go to prison.” He tugs on my arm. “How much fun do you think the guards will have with your pretty little covert ass? Within a day, you’ll be everybody’s favorite cum bucket.” I cringe because it’s true. “And Smith’s business will be ruined by his close association with the woman who murdered Archbishop Darden in cold blood. Everybody will think he put you up to it, to avenge Kate. That’s what they’ll all believe, and you know it.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Or two, you learn your place, and do as I say. This is an important mission. One that will allow you not only to do good, but to get your hands good and dirty in the process. To use all the tools in your arsenal, just as you were trained to do.”
Important mission. Allow you to do good. Use all the tools in your arsenal, just as you were trained to do. His words spin round and round in my head. I’m intrigued, but I’m also out of sorts and not thinking straight. “What’s behind door number three?”
I should have asked about door number two, but I lashed out impulsively, because I’m a fighter. I don’t run. Never have. I punch back, hard. It’s my default setting when I’m cornered. “Is that where the shiny new car and the beach vacation is hiding? There’s always a car.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them.
The fury in his eyes is stunning, but I don’t blink.
“Number three,” he says, in a tone that raises the hair on the back of my neck, “is I bend you over this,” his knuckles rap against the countertop, “pull down those ratty sweatpants, and fuck you until you can’t walk for a month. Then you’ll do what I want, because you know I’m not playing about those photos.”
I lift my chin defiantly.
He shakes his head. “You might be able to handle being the prison whore, but I don’t think you’re prepared to see Smith ruined.”
Of all the things Gray has ever said, that holds the most truth. I will slit my wrists before becoming the prison whore, but I will not allow Smith to go down in ashes because of me. He is the most important member of the little family I’ve cobbled together. He’s the man who took me in and gave me a job after I’d become a pariah. He held out his hand, when everyone else was still kicking me. No, I will not let anyone destroy him. And Gray damn well knows it.
“Smith is part of your family, as much as he’s part of mine.” I’m surprised my voice doesn’t echo how powerless I feel right now. “You would hurt him to punish me?”
Gray steps back, and I can breathe again.
“Smith lost his big-brother status when he planted you in my club without a word about it.”
“He did it to protect your family. To protect you.”
“I have no desire to see Smith burn. But if he becomes collateral damage, so be it. His fortune is in your hands.”
Bullshit. I don’t believe it. “What would your brother say about this? Smith is JD’s best friend. And Gabby. What would she say?”
His teeth slide over his bottom lip, with a nasty snarl. “The more people you involve, the more people get hurt. But the bottom line is still the same. The stakes are high. Bigger than any one person—any one family. Even my own.”
His words are sobering, and I don’t know what to make of them. While I can’t say for sure how he feels about Smith, I am absolutely certain he loves his brothers. And Gabby. And his baby niece. You can’t hide those kinds of feelings, and they’re plain as day when he’s with them.
“What am I to tell Smith?”
“Whatever you want. You might start with the truth. How dissatisfied you’ve become, because you miss the field work. He’ll understand that. He just went through something similar himself. Then tell him you need him to trust you. Bat those long eyelashes at him when you talk.”
Fucker. “Bat my eyelashes? That’s not what my relationship with Smith is about. He respects me and the work I do.”
“He does. And he should. But you need more than someone who respects you. You need someone to capture your attention and keep you in line so you don’t run around killing off the local clergy.” He takes a fistful of my hair. “Have I captured your attention, De-li-lah?”