Dirty Deeds

by Lauren Landish

  “But—”

  “If you ever see my girl here anywhere at all,” I interrupt him, “you’d best run the other fucking way because if you so much as lay an eye on her, I’ll fuck you up so badly, your own mother won’t be able to identify the body. If they find it. Clear?”

  He nods jerkily, weeping softly and sober as a judge at the turn of events. I don’t feel sorry for him at all. He probably thought a little more forceful asking in the deserted parking lot would lead to Meghan partying with him, willingly or not.

  Fucking pricks like him, thinking they’re entitled to whatever they want just because they want it.

  Still, I don’t have time for a philosophy lesson. “Meghan, open the car door.”

  She moves from behind me, and I keep an eye on her movements, making sure no other threats pop out of hiding in the dark lot. I pull up a bit on Miles’s arm, the pressure forcing him to stand in front of me. I prisoner-walk him to the side of the car and push him in, where he clumsily falls into the driver’s seat, yelping as his shoulder gives him a warning twinge at the release of the hammerlock. “Fuck, man, I’m gonna—”

  I lean down, keeping eye contact as I cage him in with one hand on the roof and one hand on the door. “Think about your next words and where you’re making your threat. Goodbye, Miles Jacobson. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

  I give him a hard stare, memorizing every detail of his face and his car, down to the company parking garage badge hanging from the rearview mirror.

  Stepping back carefully, I slam his door and then give it a swift and solid back-kick with my hard-soled boots, denting the panel. It’s not enough. I’d rather break his jaw or the glass out of every window of his fancy car, but it’ll have to do.

  I stand, stoic and solid, still threatening as Meghan hides behind me again. He peels out of the lot, but I catch the ‘Fuck you!’ he yells out the open window.

  Not worrying about his need for the last word, I turn to Meghan, gently putting my hands on her shoulders. She’s trembling for real this time, and so tiny I have to be careful not to accidentally hurt or scare her with my roughness. It’s more difficult than I thought. I’m still on edge, and this is the first time I’ve touched Meg other than to shake her hand the first night we met.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “It’s all over now.”

  Her eyes are glassy, but she nods, biting her lip. My thumbs are tracing circles on her arms, soothing her and soothing me too. This could’ve been bad, really bad, and I’m glad I was here to keep her safe.

  “You’re okay. He’s gone, and you’re safe,” I murmur softly. “I’ll always do my best to keep you safe.”

  She suddenly collapses forward, all the energy keeping her upright whooshing out as she falls against me, shaking and rambling. “Holy fracking . . . he could’ve . . . fluffernutter . . .”

  She says some of the words like she’s cussing, even though she’s decidedly not, and even in the midst of the insanity, it makes the corners of my lips tilt up. I’ve noticed it before, and in some ways, Meg sounds a lot like someone’s churchgoing cousin.

  She’s sweet, an innocent little darling who doesn’t belong in a rough life like this. She’s way too much of a good girl for someone like me. I gather her closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and lead her back inside the club.

  “Marco. Hey, man!” I call out as the door closes. “Get your ass out here!”

  Marco pops up from below the bar after a few seconds, already teasing. “Took you long enough. I need your help grabbing another case of—”

  His words cut off when he sees Meghan, and he rushes out to get on the other side of her. Despite his player tendencies, he’s got a decent heart and knows a girl in need when he sees one.

  I squeeze off the growl of ‘Don’t Touch’ that threatens to pass my lips when he grabs her hand, but together, we get her sitting at the bar.

  “You got a pen and paper?” I ask as Meghan shivers, putting her head in her hands.

  Marco rushes behind the bar again, grabbing a tumbler and filling it with ice and water before setting it in front of Meghan. “Yeah, yeah. Here you go.” He grabs a notepad and pen from beside the register, and I write down Miles’s information and description, along with his vehicle description and license plate.

  I push it back toward Marco, who looks the information over. “This guy. He’s banned from the club, from the whole damn block, and definitely from Meghan. Pass the word.”

  Marco reads the note and nods, knowing that my request isn’t directly to him, but to Dominick. His club, his rules, but for something like this, Dominick will definitely agree with my assessment of the appropriate response.

  Pocketing my note, Marco turns to Meghan. “You okay, sweetheart? You look pale. Need something a little more than just ice water?”

  She shakes her head, then seems to reconsider. “Can I have a scotch? Just a little sip to settle my nerves?”

  It’s part of Meghan’s magic. Here she is, scared out of her mind, and I swear she sounds like little girl who’s asking to have a sip and not get in trouble for it. Marco smirks, turning to grab a shot glass that he fills to the brim with the amber liquid before setting it in front of her.

  “Don’t sip it. Just shoot it down so it can work its magic, warm you back up.”

  She picks the shot up with delicate fingers, and for a moment, I wonder if this girl has ever even done a shot. If not, she’s about to be in for a rude awakening.

  But she tilts it back, opening her throat and swallowing it down with ease before slamming it back to the bar top. Wiping her lips, she offers Marco a hint of a smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  All on its own, my cock jumps right to attention in my pants, wondering if she’d swallow something of mine down her pretty little throat, and if I could put a bigger smile on her face than what the scotch has.

  Fuck, I’ve gotta get my head on straight. Now is definitely not the time for me to be thinking dirty thoughts. Hell, there’s never going to be a time for me to think that about Meghan. Even if she wasn’t too damn good for someone like me, I’d break a sweet little thing like her.

  Still, I can’t help but put my arm around her, mindlessly patting and rubbing her back, even though I’m treading dangerous territory for us both. “You gonna be okay? We can hang out here as long as you need,” I reassure her. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll walk you out to your car again. Make sure you’re safe. ‘Kay?”

  She sighs, looking up at me, her pupils black and large behind her glasses. “Actually, do you think you could drive me home? I’m not much of a drinker, and I have a feeling that scotch is going to knock me out in three, two, one . . .”

  She smiles a tiny smile, but it sounds like she’s telling the truth. This is a girl who can sling drinks like a certified pro, but one shot knocks her out for the rest of the night. And no, my dirty fucking thoughts don’t avoid the innuendo there either.

  “Yeah, I can do that,” I reply, even as part of me says this is a bad move. I’ve wanted her for weeks, and my instincts are going apeshit. Bad move, Shane. Bad move.

  Doesn’t matter. The smile she gives me is more than enough to overcome whatever my mind is saying. I turn to Marco, who’s cleaning the shot glass carefully. “Will you let Dominick know I’m leaving my truck here overnight? I’ll drive Meghan’s car to her house and cab it home.”

  Marco gives me an evaluating look, and I again appreciate that for all his slick player persona, he’s actually a pretty solid guy and is making sure that I’m not running some game on Meghan when she’s shaken up.

  I must have passed his test because he nods and sets the glass aside. “Yeah, I’ll let the boss know. Take care of her.”

  With a nod, I help Meghan up. I walk her back outside, head on a swivel as I look for any threats, any sign that Miles Jacobson got a shock of courage and came back, but all seems to be quiet and dark. We make it to her car, a nondescript little thing that looks like it sort of hang
s together by sheer force of will.

  Meghan digs in her bag for her keys and hands them to me. I do a slight double-take as I see her keyring has a fucking pompom on it. A puffy fluff of soft fur that’s white like a rabbit’s tail. It suits her.

  I hold the passenger door for her and make sure she’s buckled in before I go around. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. And thanks, Shane,” she says, giving me a smile that could melt Ebenezer Scrooge’s heart. I pull out, still keeping watch for anyone who might be following us, and head away from the club, toward the main road.

  “Where to?” I ask, and Meghan gives me directions to her apartment from there. As we drive, I have to admit I’m interested to see where she lives.

  A tiny piece of me is disappointed when I pull up outside a regular apartment complex, just one like a hundred others around town and not some special, secret hideaway with unicorns in the driveway befitting the fairy-princess sparkle of this girl. I walk her to her door, planning to get her safely inside and then call a cab . . . from the parking lot, not wanting her to feel weird about being alone in her apartment with the huge, scary guy from work.

  Hey, I know what I look like, and yeah, I use it around work to my advantage. I’m surprised when I turn to go and she calls out, “Shane!”

  I turn, hearing the fear returning to her voice. “Yeah?”

  She’s clutching the door, the toe of her Ugg boot digging in the carpet, looking for all intents and purposes like the scared little girl she is. My heart melts even as another side of me growls possessively, wanting to claim her as mine.

  She takes a deep breath, biting her lip, but her voice is surprisingly strong when she speaks again. “Do you want to come in? Have a cup of coffee or something?”

  I pause, most of me wanting to say no. This has bad idea written all over it. We’re pushing four in the morning, I’m with a girl who’s had a scare and might be slightly drunk, and for the past two months, she’s jumped to the top of my fantasy list as she ticks boxes on my mental fuck list I didn’t even know I had.

  But I can man up, be the security she needs, and not let on that she’s slowly driving me insane every time she looks up at me in those glasses. That half of me wants to comfort and soothe her, to tell her she’ll never be hurt . . . while the other half of me wants to rip her clothes off and make her hurt so damn good she screams in blissful agony before I empty my balls deep inside her body.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. “You’re home, and you’re safe. I can just call a cab.”

  She doesn’t answer, just gestures with her hand into the apartment, inviting me in. I walk past her, careful not to touch her or crowd her so she doesn’t spook again. Keeping my steps casual, I feel dirty as my heavy boots cross the threshold into her apartment, and I feel an intense, sudden need to just take them off and not pollute her space.

  Her apartment is cute, just like her. Her living room is full of soft furniture, with fuzzy blankets thrown over the arm of an old, overstuffed sofa and a floral coffee mug sitting on the table. The room is white and beige and all the other shades of . . . white. With a few highlights of pink.

  I’m nervous to sit on her furniture. I think of the places my pants have been, and I’m afraid I’ll sully it up just with my presence. But she motions for me to sit, so I do. “Uhm . . . thanks. It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Thanks. Just hold on a moment, would ya?” she asks, bustling off to the kitchen. Moments later, she’s making coffee, by the sound of the clinks I hear.

  I look around and see a huge bookcase filled with books. I don’t recognize any of the titles, but whatever type of books she reads, she’s got a shitton of them. “You’re a reader, huh? Lots of books in here.”

  Her laugh from the kitchen is slightly self-conscious, and I hear the click-thunk of a knob being turned through the open doorway. “Yeah, I read . . . a lot. Little bit of everything. Non-fiction, like historical stuff and biographies, and fiction too, romance, drama, mystery. You read much?”

  I grin, even though she can’t see me. Romance, drama, and mystery? God, you’re fucking perfect, Meghan. “No, can’t say I’m much of a reader,” I reply. “I’m more of a dumb jock type.”

  A minute later, she appears with a tray, holding two cups of steamy coffee and the fixings. “I wasn’t sure how you take it.”

  She sets the tray down, and I lean forward to grab a cup. “Black is fine. Sugar at this time of night gets me jittery.”

  She scrunches her nose and adjusts her glasses again. “Ew, too bitter for me. I like lots and lots of cream.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s really testing me here. If it were any other girl, I’d think it was intentional. But Meghan seems completely oblivious to the effect she’s having on me.

  She sits down next to me, and I watch as she adds enough creamer and sugar to her cup to make it basically coffee-flavored ice cream before taking a sip and sighing happily. I sip my own coffee, and I have to add another mark on this girl’s list of accomplishments. I haven’t had coffee this good since a vacation to Chile two years ago.

  There’s a comfortable silence as we both sip before she breaks it, looking at me earnestly. “Shane, thanks again. That was some scary intense stuff tonight. I’m glad you were there.”

  I nod, setting my cup down on the tray. “It was no problem, Meghan. I’m glad I was there too.”

  She flinches a little, and I’m afraid she’s having a bit of a flashback, so I slip my arm across the back of the couch, not touching her, but she scoots closer, curling into my side, so I place a light hand on her shoulder. “I usually think of myself as capable of handling whatever comes my way, and I’ve dealt with some handsy customers, but if I’d been alone in that parking lot tonight . . .”

  Her voice trails off, and I know she’s imagining all the ugly things that could’ve happened. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “You’re safe now.”

  Chapter 3

  Maggie

  I wake slowly, feeling warm and fuzzy-headed and safe. It’s funny, because normally, I have to be yanked out of sleep by the harsh braying of my alarm clock just to make sure that I can get to work on time. But a quick glance to my left confirms that it’s only eight o’clock, and I’ve got time. So I curl tighter into a ball before stopping because my pillow feels harder than usual.

  The thought makes me stop and actually wakes me up, because I’m not in my bed. I’m on my couch underneath one of my throw blankets, the clock I saw was my microwave, and I’m curling up to a hard body . . . the very hard body of Shane.

  His breathing is even and slow, still asleep, so I take stock. He’s lying half reclined on one end, his boots hanging off my couch and his muscular left arm lying across the back of the couch in a protective position, like he wanted to hold me but didn’t. Meanwhile, I’ve got my cheek pressed against one nearly iron-hard but delightfully warm pectoral and my left leg’s half draped over his like the world’s biggest body pillow. It feels . . . good. Safe.

  I hum softly, and Shane stretches slightly in his sleep, his muscled arm descending slowly to lie on top of the blanket, almost instinctively cupping my butt.

  I have a momentary freakout as my body thrills and fully wakes up in a lot more ways than just shaking off the last cobwebs of sleep. Did we? No, no. We’re both fully dressed, and I’d definitely remember that. I have no doubt that having sex with Shane would be something a girl would never forget. Considering I’ve had a few fantasies about him over the past two months . . . yeah, I wouldn’t forget it.

  At that thought, my core fills with warmth, making me squirm slightly. The leg I have thrown over his lifts, and I feel the hard fullness of his dick. Sweet mama’s fairy tales, he’s . . . I don’t think I could even fantasize about someone this amazingly put together.

  Shane moans lightly in his sleep from my pressure, pulling me to him and grinding against me ever so slightly, and I gasp as electricity shoots through me. Unfortunately, the sou
nd seems to wake him and he stirs beneath me. He rubs my butt, pressing into me again as he stretches and groans. The sound alone turns me on, and I bite my lip, lifting my head to look at his face.

  Shane blinks and smiles sleepily back at me before I get a close-up view of the second his face goes from smiling ‘good morning, sweetheart’ to frowning ‘oh, shit.’

  Sigh. I never should’ve even pretended he’d be happy to wake up here with me, even if we didn’t do anything. I mean, I’m just a nerdy girl next door, and he’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny. He’s the sort of guy who has girls like Allie and the other dancers drooling over him.

  It’s only because Shane’s so nice, and that I basically begged him to stay like a little girl last night, that he’s here. But I was truly scared after the parking lot incident.

  I can feel the blush rushing across my cheeks, and I do my best to try and smooth all this over before I die of embarrassment. “G’morning. Guess we fell asleep?”

  Smooth one there, Maggie. State the dang obvious, why don’t ya?

  Shane smiles back softly, though, lifting an eyebrow. “Guess so.” Suddenly, he notices his hand on my ass and maybe the feeling of his morning wood against my thigh, and his smile disappears in an instant. “Oh, uh . . . sorry.”

  He lifts his hand off my butt, and I lift up, trying to disentangle myself from our compromising position before my heart fails. “Thanks for staying last night. I was pretty freaked out after everything. Think that guy will stay away?”

  Shane’s face hardens, and it’s reassuring to see absolutely no doubt in his eyes. “He’ll stay away, or he’ll wish he had. But you’re safe, okay?”

  I dip my chin, feeling silly that he’s still reassuring me, and deciding I need to act a bit more blasé about the whole thing, put it in my past and move forward. I’m supposed to be a tough girl, not a scaredy cat.