Bond (Pierce Securities Book 6)

by Anne Conley

  It was packed with sweaty bodies having a good time. Lasers cut through the haze in a pretty light show to the beat of the music, flashing designs on the fog. She ordered a beer to nurse while she watched the people.

  And people were everywhere. They were mostly in groups, laughing and shouting at each other, while one or two of them would make eyes at another group of people, looking for a hookup.

  Hookups. Huh.

  She took a sip of beer, watching everyone while her mind wandered back to Mr. Fine Ass. She wondered what they were doing. Was this some weird courting ritual she’d unknowingly instigated?

  Leave it to her. She couldn’t do anything normal. Of course, this hook-up culture was fucking stupid, in her opinion. She wasn’t looking for that. She had Rick to get her needs taken care of until something real came along. In the meanwhile, she’d see where Mr. Fine Ass could take her.

  But she wasn’t so sure. If he’d come over to reciprocate to her snooping at his place, where he’d shut her down by telling her he was a train wreck, then he’d fucked up the game by breaking her window. Destruction of property was a relationship no-no in her books.

  Deena Rae took another sip while she checked the layout. There was a hallway off to the side of the bar, leading behind it. That was probably where storage and offices were. She’d noticed the bathrooms were on the other end of the room. There was a flight of stairs just inside the hallway, and Deena Rae looked up to find a large window overlooking the entire bar area. That was probably the boss’s place.

  No matter how hard she tried to focus on the assignment, black hair and tattoos kept coming back to mind.

  Was Mr. Fine Ass really so stupid he would break her window, then expect her not to be pissed about it? She continued mentally justifying her actions, even as she visually inspected the club.

  Sure, he had a right to be pissed because she’d knocked him out with the butt of her pistol, restrained him, then pulled a knife on him.

  Okay, so maybe she’d taken things a little bit too far, but he’d scared her shitless with the breaking glass thing.

  As she went back and forth from feeling guilty to being pissed off, Deena Rae decided she would get her mind off things by dancing. She could look at the other side of the place if she danced her way over there.

  She chugged the rest of her beer and headed to the dance floor. Maybe that would get her mind off the fucktard who’d committed the crime of being far too beautiful for his own good.

  Chapter Eight

  Slade stood in Cecil’s office, gazing out the two-way glass overlooking the club. Cecil was in his chair, doing his cigar routine.

  “I need a car dropped off on the 360 Bridge at 1:30 tonight. Bring a cab back or something.”

  Slade ground his teeth together, not even tempted to wonder what was in the trunk of said car. “I’m on it. Anything else?” His eyes scanned the club, mostly out of habit than anything else. Fingers twitching at his sides, his temples throbbed, but by all outward appearances, Slade was calm.

  “Not tonight. I’ve got a hot date, so I’ll be out. Frank is handling things here for me. You just take care of that car. It’ll be waiting out back for you.”

  Slade’s eyes flicked over the crowd, landing on a strawberry-blonde on the dance floor.

  No fucking way.

  “Gotcha.” His flippant words concealed the sudden anxiety he felt at seeing Ginger here. Was this some sort of setup? Slade clenched his hands clenched into fists.

  “Go kill some time out there.”

  “Yes, Sir.” With pleasure. He had to see what this chick was up to.

  Slade let himself out of the office and jogged down the stairs, making his way around the edges of the dance floor until he could watch her.

  And that’s what he did. He couldn’t help himself. She was a compelling creature to watch.

  Her hips were a force of their own, like they weren’t even attached to her body. He’d noticed that before, how they swayed around while she walked, those long legs eating up ground like a lunch. But on the dance floor, as she swiveled and spun, he was captive to those legs and hips.

  Arms up in the air, her body pulsed and swayed with the beat of this shitty music. He never would have pegged her for a girl who listened to this. He’d have thought she was more into something heavy, like Limp Bizkit or Rage Against the Machine or something like that. Not the shit they played here.

  But she was moving like she was born for it.

  It gave him a new outlook on the garbage the DJ played. Slade looked around and didn’t see anybody else watching her. No groups of drunk girls clapping and cheering her on, no dudes making sure nobody danced with her because they were too shitty to do it themselves. Tuesday Night Special wasn’t here.

  She was alone.

  And that was weird.

  Chicks didn’t come to clubs alone unless they were planning on leaving with a stranger. They still brought their girlfriends, though, for moral support until they found their hookup. They didn’t come dressed like Ginger was. She had to be looking for trouble.

  Before he realized he was moving, Slade found himself directly behind her. Laying his hands on her hips with a mind of their own, he growled in her ear, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ginger.”

  She spun in his arms, and he took the opportunity to loop them around her waist, pulling her closer. She felt good like this, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that. He was suspicious of her, why she was here.

  “What are you doing?” Her eyes were filled with confusion, and Slade’s defenses went down a notch. Not permanently, since she could be an excellent actress.

  He flashed her a wolfish grin. “If it’s trouble you’re looking for, I can accommodate.”

  Her eyes squinted in suspicion, and Slade liked the look on her. “A drink is what I need.” She busted out of his arms, brushing by him on her way to the bar. Like a dog following a bitch in heat, Slade slunk behind her.

  He tried not to watch her ass sway under that skirt as she sauntered away, but it was damn near impossible. She pushed through the crowd, but he grabbed her elbow and led her around to a darkened corner of the bar, away from the mass of people, where they could talk in relative quiet. He motioned for the bartender while she sat.

  “Yeah, Slade?” Aaron, the bartender greeted him with a raised eyebrow. This was unusual behavior for him, and he knew it. Slade rarely picked up chicks here.

  “Get the lady what she wants. It’s on me tonight.”

  “You got it.” He turned to Ginger and got her beer order, but Slade stuck with water since he was technically on the clock.

  “Slade? Is that your real name?” Ginger’s eyebrows were raised, the corners of her mouth were curved up slightly. It was unbelievably sexy, and Slade shifted on his feet.

  “Yeah, it is. Apparently, my mother was trying to impress somebody.” He took a sip of water, watching her over the rim of his cup. “What’s yours, since you hate to be called Ginger so much?”

  She looked at him, square in the eyes, as if daring him to laugh. “Deena Rae.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her elegant eyebrows slammed down as her eyes squinted. “I’m sorry,” he said, still laughing. “Deena Rae sounds utterly …” he searched for the word he was meant but couldn’t find it. Finally, he settled with, “Country.”

  Actually, it was more like down home, but he wouldn’t say that. That had implications of hominess, comfort, love. And Slade had never experience any of those things with a woman. He thought that might all be a bunch of bunk, made to drive sales for romantic movies and Valentine’s Day bullshit.

  This woman was definitely different, but comfortable? Hell no.

  Sweat beaded above her lip, and tendrils of hair were sticking to her face. Slade reached for one, but she beat him to it, swiping all her hair on top of her head to allow cooler air to hit the back of her neck. Deena Rae was looking around the bar, craning that elegant neck, and without a thought, Slade leaned over
and blew on the back of it.

  She froze.

  He liked that.

  “What’s back there?” She was looking at the hallway that led to the backrooms where the underground poker games happened, the deals were struck, and people had sex.

  “Nothing pretty, unless you’re looking for trouble.” He pressed his lips to the goosebumps he saw rising on her neck.

  “You gonna take me back there?” Her eyes were closed, as if she enjoyed the feel of his lips on her skin. She definitely reacted to his body the way he reacted to hers.

  “Depends.” Slade kissed her again, his lips moving over to her shoulder covered only with a thin strap. His mouth opened as he tasted her dried sweat, and his cock pressed against his zipper. “You gonna let me in those pretty little panties?”

  She moaned. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it vibrating under her skin. “Jesus. Probably not. I’m not really one for being pressed against a filthy back wall and raising my skirt.”

  “Pity.” He pressed one final kiss on her shoulder, then forced himself to lean back, adjusting the erection in his pants. “That’s one of the main purposes of those rooms back there.”

  He was sort of glad she’d turned him down. That meant she wasn’t easy. Not like he hadn’t figured that out, but she was definitely confusing. The mental image of him lifting her, wrapping those legs around his hips, and emptying himself inside her was killing him.

  She upended her beer, finishing it with a swig, and pushed from the bar. “I’ve got to go. I have work tomorrow.”

  He followed her as she left, growling at a couple of guys who checked out her ass. Once they were outside, he kept following her to the parking lot.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, clearly irritated.

  “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing? I’m walking you to your car.” He couldn’t resist the teasing lilt to his tone.

  “Not a helpless damsel,” she sing-songed.

  Slade grabbed her elbow and spun her into his arms. She was almost his height with those boots, and something about that turned him on.

  “Didn’t say you were. I just want to walk you to your car. I am part of the security team here. We aim to please our clientele, make them feel safe.”

  “You walk all the girls to their car?” She smirked at him.

  “Nope.” He was so close to kissing her, but he was damned if he was going to do it. He was getting all sorts of twisted with this woman, and he was scared of it. Slade wanted to know she wanted the same things. And he’d told himself he wasn’t doing this with her, not until he had his own shit straightened out.

  But she was so damned tempting.

  Deena Rae pushed out of his arms, but not before he’d gotten a little high from her scent.

  He watched as she walked to a massive pickup truck, and another laugh escaped him. Black with pink accents, the ninety percent bitch comment echoed in his head. The truck was perfect for her, and he rushed around to the driver’s side to see if he could get a glimpse of some panty action when she climbed into it. Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him help her.

  She beeped the truck unlocked before opening the door. Then, she turned to him, smirked, and tossed him a wink before climbing up into the truck, not the least bit elegantly or graceful, flashing him in the process.

  He nearly passed out.

  She hadn’t been wearing panties.

  The engine roared to life and Duffy’s “Mercy” filled the air. Again, so damn appropriate.

  Slade was in some fucking trouble.

  Chapter Nine

  When Slade got home after dropping off the car on the 360 bridge, he went straight to his kitchen to find something to eat, wondering why his apartment smelled different. Surprise shook him to the core when he found the platter of cookies sitting prominently on his countertop. He looked around, trying to find more evidence of Deena Rae, because he knew that’s who had done this.

  But she was nowhere, yet everywhere. That’s what he’d smelled was when he’d come in. The cookies, cinnamon and sugar, permeated everything. He walked back to the front door to find a slight concentration of the scent, as well as undertones of the purely feminine smell of her.

  Slade poured himself a huge glass of milk and went into his living room to watch her dark apartment while he ate.

  He was still surprised she’d made him fucking cookies, but he managed to chuckle at her note of apology for pulling a knife on him. No apologies for the gun. But in her defense, he had scared the shit out of her, and that was probably her way of handling things.

  He liked that about her. She didn’t whimper and cower in fear. She stood up and fought back.

  Which made the cookies really weird. That and the fact they were his favorites—snickerdoodles.

  Niggling suspicion tugged at his brain as he thought about Deena Rae. She’d broken into his apartment first. She’d shown up at his club. She’d made him his favorite cookies. Was she stalking him?

  That thought should have scared him, especially knowing how armed she was, but it didn’t. It brought him a weird sense of pleasure.

  She was apparently just as weird as he was. A match made in heaven.

  Slade shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking along these lines. His life was no less a train wreck than it was when he’d first told her that. Slade had no business getting involved with her. Period.

  But as the next cookie melted on his tongue, he realized he wouldn’t really mind the distraction. If she was as weird as he thought she was, she wouldn’t really mind he was a fuck up. And if she didn’t want anything serious, maybe they could just have a little fun while he straightened out his shit.

  Something bothered him about that, though. He didn’t know her at all, but his gut wanted more than fun with her. He couldn’t see himself moving in with her and buying a cat together or shit like that, but he wanted to be more than her new Tuesday Night Special.

  Or maybe she would call him out on his bullshit and stab his ass for being such a dumbass.

  He smiled through the crumbs and gulped his milk, watching her apartment.

  Vague, unmoving shadows. She was asleep.

  His phone rang, and he pulled it from his pants pocket to answer it, looking at the screen first.

  Mom.

  He sighed as he put it to his ear to answer.

  “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” He was wary. Or was it weary? He was so tired of his mom’s bullshit.

  It was late for her to be calling, but he’d remembered she had a date tonight and had probably just gotten home. At least she came home and didn’t stay overnight at the guy’s house for a change. At least, he was assuming she didn’t.

  “I just had the best date ever and had to tell someone about it. You’re the only person I know who’s still up at three in the morning.”

  “I don’t want details. You’re my mother, remember?” Just hearing her voice was pissing him off. “Oh, by the way, the last time you saw me, you stole nearly six thousand dollars!”

  A soft sigh echoed through the phone. “Slade, we talked about this.”

  “No, Mom, we didn’t. You may have made all sorts of excuses in your head about it, but that was my money, and you stole it. Now I’m in a bunch of trouble and you have no idea what you’ve done.”

  She tutted in response, as if he’d just told her he’d lost a video game or some shit. His blood pounded in his ears and he saw red, clenching his hands into fists as she prattled on about her date. She did this. So single-minded.

  “I won’t give you details, but man! He’s loaded! He took me to Eddie V’s and oh my God, Slade. It was amazing. Then he took me on a carriage ride around town, and it was so romantic, honey. I’ve never in my life had a guy treat me this way.” She was gushing, talking too fast, her voice high-pitched and nearly hysterical, but Slade just swallowed the bitter pill and wondered when the hell things had turned so drastically for her. Surely, she didn’t go through her childhood t
his selfish?

  “That’s great, Mom. You deserve somebody who treats you good.” She sort of did. Even though she treated everyone around her like garbage, she tried really hard to find meaning outside of herself after his biological father had done a number on her heart. Slade tried to put his anger in perspective.

  After being in love with his loser sperm donor Slade’s entire life, and dating assholes most of the time to erase the rejection, she deserved someone who treated her like a princess. Every woman did. Never mind she’d just stolen six grand from him. He could justify it just as well as she could because he understood the bullshit she’d gone through. He just couldn’t understand why she didn’t break the cycle. Maybe this guy would do that for her.

  His eyes involuntarily rose to the apartment across the way. Did Tuesday Night Special treat Deena Rae like a princess?

  “He bought me a spa day for this afternoon. And he wants to take me out again tonight. He said I can stay over and everything. I have to ask you, though, from a guy’s point of view, is the spa thing because he doesn’t like me the way I am? Do you think I should dye my hair or something to look younger?”

  “No, Mom. Guys who can afford that shit don’t date girls they aren’t already attracted to. He just wants you to be pampered. Take it, have fun. But you’re beautiful the way you are.”

  This was the first time in a really long time he’d had a real conversation with his mother, as one-sided as it was.

  “Mom, about the other night. I really needed that money you took out of my freezer. I owed that to someone, and it’s put me in a bad spot.” Slade was trying again, hoping she could hear a softer voice.

  Guilt riddled him, but he tamped it down. That money in her possession now made him Cecil’s possession.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t have it anymore.”

  “You spent all of it? On what?”

  “Well, I got a new dress, and some shoes, and a purse to go with everything. And I was able to get my hair and my makeup done for the date, and just … stuff. I’ll pay it back, I promise.”