Jesus. They must’ve had an idea what’s going on . . . More pieces fell together. The bartender saying it was a bad day to start. Half the staff gone.
“I’ll be outside,” Crouse said, glaring at Painter. “She’s new and I like her. Don’t fuck her up or you’ll pay.”
Giving a high, nervous laugh I shut the door and turned on Painter.
“What the hell did I walk into?” I asked.
He stepped toward me, darkness written all over him.
“If you needed to know that, we would’ve told you. See how that works? Why the fuck are you here, Becca? Puck thinks you’re safe at school. I don’t like bitches who lie to my brothers.”
I swallowed, noticing how he stood between me and the door. For the first time I realized that maybe bringing him in here wasn’t such a great idea. No witnesses. Crouse might be outside, but there was a lot of music in the club, too. Would he be able to hear me if I called for help?
“They said some important people were coming into town today. Is that why you’re here?” I said, trying to distract him. The room was only about ten feet square. I felt my back hit the wall. Painter stepped into me, his body hard and unforgiving. Then he leaned down and spoke directly into my ear.
“Do you realize what I could do to you in here?” he asked. “How dangerous this is? I could rape you, Becca. Kill you. Blackmail you. Hell, I could even force you to spy on the Silver Bastards, now couldn’t I? Or has that happened already? Are you working for the Callaghans? Puck’s gonna want to know the details.”
He reached up and caught a lock of my hair, combing it out with his finger, then stroking my shoulder.
“I just needed some money,” I said, terrified. “This seemed like the best way to get some fast. One shift here, then I was leaving town. Puck never has to know.”
“Puck and I don’t lie to each other,” Painter snapped, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, glaring at me. “We did time together, do you know what that means? My life was in his hands every day—couldn’t lie to him if I tried.”
“Not even for his protection?” I whispered. Painter shook his head.
“You don’t get a vote, so shut the fuck up,” he replied. “Shit’s going down soon. I love my brother and for some reason he cares about you, which makes you my problem. I’m assuming they have video monitoring in here, so we’re going to have to pretend for a while. I’m gonna sit on that big, comfy chair for a while and you’re gonna sit on my lap and wiggle around. Don’t get in my face and don’t piss me off more than I am already. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”
With that he turned and sat in a smooth, leather-covered chair in the center of the room. I’d been so focused on him that I’d hardly noticed it.
“Lap.”
Then he whipped out his phone and started sending text messages without looking at me. I walked over and dropped my G-string-clad ass into his lap, praying very hard I wouldn’t feel a hard-on.
Oh, thank God. Nothing.
I gave a sigh of relief—I’d screwed men to survive before, but I wasn’t sure I could handle it again. Not with Puck’s friend. I closed my eyes and started wiggling my butt, making sure to stay as far forward as I could.
Had anything ever been more awkward in the history of time? No. No, it hadn’t. I wanted to disappear, just completely cease to exist.
“In a few minutes things will start happening,” Painter said quietly. “Sure you’ve figured that much out. Here’s something to consider—you fuck things up for us, it won’t be your head that rolls.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re Puck’s old lady. That means he’s responsible for everything you do. You ruin things today, he’s the one who pays. Choose your actions carefully. Right now this is still a private matter between him and you. Not that anyone will be terribly impressed with your shit, but punishing you will be his business, not ours. Once your actions impact the club, retribution moves to a new level.”
My stomach roiled and I thought I might throw up.
“I had no idea you’d be here today,” I whispered, wondering if he’d ever believe me. Did it even matter? “If I’d known, I never would’ve come. All I wanted was enough money to get out of town . . . I’m sorry. God, I fucked up everything.”
“Save it for Puck. I don’t care about your bullshit.”
Horrible, awkward silence fell as I continued rubbing against him. I started counting in my head, focusing on each number to keep myself from freaking out, making things worse. Then a loud scream cut through the music drifting in from the club, followed by some thudding noises.