“I’m more than happy to kick your ass right here,” I bait sweetly, letting my anger get the best of me. What these men don’t know is part of what they stole from me could actually get me sent back to Texas and a needle put in my arm.
“You stupid whore, you don’t know who you’re fucking with. You’re probably just some loose pussy the club likes to have around. I bet you gave them a taste of your cunt so you could get into the club to begin with, didn’t you?” I have to control my eye roll at his words, it’s like men can’t come up with something better than my spreading my legs.
“I think your VP got a taste of me earlier today. Maybe you should have one too. Get a real good idea of how I got into my club.”
They both take a step towards me, but stop short. I was so focused in on the Five Aces that I completely forgot about Vincent. His arm wraps around my waist pulling my back flush to his front, holding me in a possessive grip. One that says we’re more intimate than we are. That I’m his or some shit. He completely dwarfs me with his size, and he’s still got at least three inches on Blondie and Sidekick. His timing is perfect. He might not want to take me home after he hears these two run their mouths, but I won’t be taking a punch to the face.
“There a problem?” Vincent growls from behind me. He locks his arm around me tighter, and I’m thankful he doesn’t pull me behind him. Neither of them say a word, just study him for a few beats, before fastening their gaze back on me.
“You’re fucking a fed, Casper?”
I feel Vincent’s body go solid against me. It takes me a moment to get what Blondie said, but before I respond, Vincent beats me to it. “Get the fuck out of here before I make your night hell.”
“Fuck it,” the blonde snarls. “Have fun with the bitch. Hope you don’t end up with a few bullet holes in you. That’s her MO, but you probably know that, don’t you?”
Vincent keeps his arm locked around me but doesn't respond.
“The Five Aces a bunch of tattletales now? And you give my club shit for having a pussy in it. Seems like you guys have a few of you own.”
“Fuck you,” he snaps back at me. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Both men head to the door, and I feel myself release a long breath.
“Let me go,” I mutter.
Vincent leans down, rubbing his lips against my neck.
“It’s not what you think,” he mumbles, placing a soft kiss behind my ear. He’s completely foreign from the brute he was earlier when he had my wrist bound with his belt.
“Let. Me. Go,” I say between gritted teeth. All the white-hot desire I felt for him washes away. Nothing better to kill a mood than thinking about spending the rest of your life in prison. And that’s exactly what Vincent could do to me.
I drop his hand from my waist and turn to look up at him.
My heart gives a traitorous jump at the defeated, miserable look on his face.
“I’m not here as a fed, I—”
I halt his words with a raised hand. How could a man I’ve known less than an hour rouse all these emotions in me? I want to scream and shout in his face. I feel like he’s just taken something that I want away from me. I never planned to try to keep him, but realizing that I can’t makes me want to punch someone again. With my luck it would only make him look more handsome.
“Name,” I say, wanting to confirm something I feared when the Five Aces called him a fed. Something that Pres told me days ago.
“Vincent Cassano”
I close my eyes in pain before opening them to glare at him. Vincent Cassano. The fed who has been sniffing around about the guns, the same one asking questions about me. The one Pres told me to keep an eye out for.
“You tried to fucking play me?”
“No!” he barks, taking a step towards me that I only match in retreat.
“You want to question me, you call my lawyer. I said all I had to say about the guns and anything else…” I let the last part hang, wondering if this is indeed about Texas. I know I’m wanted for questioning but they can’t make me go back without an extradition process. Besides, they never sent anyone to question me. Just a few queries over the phone where I also let them know not to call me again, but call my lawyer.
“I swear this isn’t about that, I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He says it with such conviction that I want to believe him, but I can’t. I shouldn’t be mad at him, because I would do just about anything for my brothers, and maybe he’ll do anything for the feds. I can’t be mad at that kind of devotion. In fact, I should have some level of respect for it, but I can’t see past my anger.