Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
D id I get an apology from Clara for my balls being crushed beyond recognition? No.
Has Clara coughed up a dime of the three thousand she owes me? No.
Do I care? In all honesty, no, I don’t.
Clara set me in my place, but I deserved it. I pushed, she pushed back harder.
Although we have spoken since the incident in the parking lot two weeks ago, we’ve never discussed what led to our heated exchange. If she’s happy to forget I suggested fucking her like a bunny on my desk, I’ll happily forget she crashed her BMW into my Harley before she crippled my balls with the same amount of intensity. Seems like a fair compromise.
I’m totally fucking pussy-whipped.
Ignoring the thoughts that would have Diesel paying out on me for weeks, I wander aimlessly around Inked. Not wanting another incident marked in my ledger, I now check that Inked is void of any living thing before I lock up each night .
Happy that the premises are lacking human contact, I amble to my bike. A grin curls on my lips when I enter the thick six-foot steel enclosure my bike is now protected behind. I had it installed three days following Clara’s accidental collision with my bike.
The look on Clara’s face when her BMW rounded the corner the morning it was installed was priceless. She looked a cross between amused and mortified. I’ve been loving all the new expressions she’s been experimenting with for the past two weeks.
I squint my eyes when flashing orange lights impede my vision as I glide my bike down the side alley of Inked. Even with my vision hindered by bright lights, I can’t miss the panicked expression on Clara’s face as she pleads with a gentleman wearing a pair of grease-stained overalls.
I park my bike next to a tow truck that has Clara’s BMW sitting on the tray and switch off the ignition. Clara’s panic hits an all-time high when the second man with inky black hair clamps a set of safety chains onto the tires of her pride and joy.
Since Clara is so immersed in pleading with the middle-aged gentleman, she fails to notice me approaching. “I sent a check yesterday, I swear,” she says, her begging eyes locked onto a man who has ‘Jim’ stitched on the upper left side of his overalls. “If they just waited a day or two, this whole situation could have been avoided.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them,” Jim replies while flicking the ash from his lit cigarette onto the ground. With a nudge of his head, Jim gestures for his employee to hop into the cab of the truck. “If you’re going to rack up thousands of dollars in credit and cannot make a payment, you have to be prepared for the repercussions,” Jim reprimands Clara while tearing out a sheet of paper from his extensively used tow slip pad. “If you can come up with the payment they’re requesting by Monday, call the number at the bottom of the slip. If not, your car will be auctioned.”
Jim gives Clara an apologetic smirk before he climbs into the cabin of his tow truck and drives down the street. Clara’s chest thrusts up and down as she watches her beloved car become nothing but a speck on the horizon.
An ear-shattering scream expels from her lips when she spins and crashes into my chest. Snapping her eyes shut, she inhales a large breath as her hands scan the ridges of my chest and stomach.
A few inches lower and she’d discover the knee to the balls she struck me with two weeks ago didn’t sustain me any permanent damage .
“How long have you been standing here, Brax?” she questions with her eyes still shut as tight as a bank vault.
I smirk. “You can tell it is me just from feeling me up?”
Quicker than a flash of lightning brightening a blackened sky, her eyes pop open. “I was not feeling you up.”
“Yeah, you are.” I nudge my head to her hands still plastered across the ridges of my stomach.
She freezes for a second in shock before she yanks her hands away as if scorched by an open flame. The tears glistening in her eyes prevent me from issuing a smart-ass remark to her absurd reaction. She was touching my stomach, not my cock, for crying out loud.
After running her sweat-slicked hands down the front of her designer dress, she turns her wide eyes to mine. “Have a pleasant evening.” She cringes at her poor choice of words before she storms down the sidewalk.
It takes a minute for the reality of the situation to dawn on me.
After clenching my fists into firm balls, I hotfoot after her. “My warning still holds credit. If you get on a bus, your ass will be fired,” I state.
Clara’s quick strides to the bus shelter come to a dead halt halfway down the sidewalk. Her shoulders rise and fall as she inhales a large breath before she spins around to face me. “You just saw my car towed away, right?”
I nod.
“Then you know I have no other way to get home than to take the bus,” she continues before crossing her arms over her chest.
The nod of my head converts to a shake. “You don’t need to catch the bus. I’ll take you home.”
Her lips quirk as her perfectly etched brow curves high. “Do you have another mode of transportation that has more than two wheels?”
I crack a smile at the sassiness in her voice. “No,” I reply with a brisk shake of my head.
Her brow arches even higher. “Then I’m taking the bus.”
“Like fucking hell you are,” I shoot back, my words flying out of my mouth like daggers.
All the high-spiritedness in her face drains, making way for the well-worn angry mask Clara usually wears. “You may be my boss when we’re inside those walls,” she spits out while pointing to the doors of Inked behind my shoulder. “But you have no power over me on this sidewalk.”
The stern mask she’s wearing slips for the quickest second when I take a step closer to her. “Are you sure about that, Princess?”
She squares her shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes. “Certain.”
Not thinking of the repercussions my actions could cause to my business, I seize her elbow and drag her toward my bike. The clicking of her heels drowns out a small portion of her incessant rant on my beastly demeanor.
The angry sneer in her tone changes to panic when I snag my helmet out of the saddlebag and place it on her head. When squealing brakes shriek over her blubbering, Clara cranks her head to the side in just enough time to see bus 57 pulling away from the curb.
Realizing the next bus doesn’t arrive for another forty minutes, she swings her eyes back to me. Her pupils are massive, nearly swamping her entire cornea. “I can’t, Brax… oh God. I can’t,” she mumbles with her eyes fixated on my bike.
She shakes like a leaf when I ignore her continued protests by lifting her in my arms and plopping her onto my seat. She looks prepared to flee, but her panic has rendered her motionless. I open my mouth, planning to deliver some reassurance to the dark cloud of fear forming in her eyes, but my words fail when my eyes zoom in on the indecent amount of her smooth thighs her new straddled position has exposed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as provocative as a princess on the back of a Harley— my Harley.
After dragging my eyes away from the mouthwatering visual I have no right to be perusing, I climb on my bike. “If you don’t want to fall off, you better hold on tight,” I warn.
Any objections spilling from her lips are drowned out by the loud rumble of my engine when I kick over the motor. As I pull into the heavy flow of traffic, Clara plasters her torso to my back and wraps her arms around my waist. It should feel wrong to have her sitting on the back of my bike— very, very wrong —but this feels right.
Actually, it feels fucking great.
Clara remains quiet the entire twenty-mile trip to her apartment building. There isn’t much chance of holding a conversation between the warm May wind whipping past us and motorists honking their horns as I glide my bike through the densely populated roads.
When I pull into the driveway of Clara’s apartment building on Hyde, she wastes no time scampering off my bike. “Are you a goddamn lunatic!” she screams after yanking my helmet off her head.
I slide down the kickstand, then dismount my bike. “I did the speed limit… just,” I reply with a chuckle.
A winded grunt escapes my lips when Clara shoves my helmet into my chest with brutal force. “You could have killed me.”
“I’ve been riding these streets for years, Princess. I know them like the back of my hand.”
“You could have killed me, Brax!” she screams again, her eyes teeming with tears.
Although I’ve imagined for weeks what she’d sound like screaming my name, I don’t want to hear it like this. “I’d never…” When her eyes stray to the ground, I grip the top of her arms, forcing her to lock her eyes with mine. “I would never let anything happen to you, Clara.” I stare into her eyes, ensuring she can see the truth in mine. “I shouldn’t have forced you onto my bike, and I’m sorry if I scared you, but I promise you, you were safer on the back of my bike than on the bus.”
Gritting her teeth, she yanks out of my embrace and storms into her apartment building. I run my hand over the top of my head, vainly trying to gather some of my scattered composure. It’s a fruitless effort considering the reasoning behind my skittish demeanor just stormed away from me.
After gesturing to the valet that I’ll be back in a few, I take off after Clara. I only just make it into the elevator before the doors snap shut. Clara maintains a quiet front, but I can tell she has noticed my presence. Not only did she intake a sharp breath when I first entered the cramped elevator car, but her scorching eyes also haven’t left mine for the past ten floors.
For each floor the elevator rises, the number of occupants dwindles. Once we reach the thirtieth floor, Clara and I are the only remaining riders. When I take a step toward her, she spears me in place with her furious gaze. Even with her composure screaming annoyance, her pupils are massive, exposing her earlier panic is still firmly clutching her throat.
“Clara—”
My words halt when the elevator dings, announcing we’ve arrived on the penthouse floor. My strides out of the elevator car come to a dead stop when Clara suddenly spins around to face me. “I can take it from here,” she mutters, her words shaking as badly as her composure.
“I just want to make sure you don’t pass out in the hallway.” My tone relays the honesty of my statement. She looks beyond rattled that I don’t feel comfortable leaving her unattended.
Her wide eyes bounce between mine, but not a word escapes her hard-lined mouth.
“I’ve come this far. What’s a few more steps?” I gesture my head to a set of double doors a measly few feet from us.
Clara’s eyes follow mine before she faintly whispers, “Okay, but you’re only walking me to my door. You can’t come in.”
I gesture with my hand for her to lead the way. Although annoyed at the bitterness of her tone, I’m also grateful she’s lowering some of the impenetrable walls she has placed between us.
My thankfulness is short-lived.
Any panic left on Clara’s face from the ride on the back of my bike turns to absolute fury when her eyes drink in the eviction notice taped to her apartment door. After snatching the document off the polished hardwood door, her eyes speed-read the notice. “You bitch!”
Her hair smacks me in the face when she abruptly storms to a door directly across from her apartment. Her abrupt movements infuse the corridor with her rich floral scent. Loud bangs on a wooden door bellow through my ears when Clara whacks her fists on her neighbor’s door. Her pounding is so hard, I won’t be shocked if she turns up to Inked on Tuesday with busted knuckles.
Clara stumbles forward when the door is suddenly yanked open. I grab the top of her arms, ensuring she doesn’t kiss the pristine marble foyer of her neighbor’s entrance.
After gathering her footing, Clara pulls out of my embrace and locks her angry eyes with the blonde who just opened the door.
When I follow Clara’s irate gaze, my eyes bulge. Damn! I’m living in the wrong neighborhood. With long, wavy platinum-blonde hair, fierce green eyes, and a body any man would happily spend hours exploring, Clara’s neighbor is a knockout, an easy ten out of ten.
“You can’t do this.” Clara shoves the piece of paper she snatched off her door into the chest of her neighbor. “I still have another two months remaining on my lease.”
The blonde grins a ball-clenching smile that nearly has the same effect on my cock as Clara’s feistiness. “Chapter 83 of the Florida State landlord statutes clearly state Isaac is acting within his rights by issuing you an eviction notice,” she replies, her words as strong as her stance.
Clara takes a retreating step, bewilderment evident all over her face. She isn’t the only one surprised. The last time I was confronted with the name Isaac was when Clara wanted it inked on her skin nearly six months ago.
“Isaac approved this?” Clara queries, her voice hindered with shakiness.
The blonde crosses her arms under her impressive rack. “Isaac is a businessman, Clara. His priorities remain focused on his empire, leaving me the task of ensuring the trash is placed on the curb.”
“Trash? ”
“Yeah. Trash ,” her neighbor replies, drawing out the derogatory word in a long hiss. “You are nothing but a vindictive little bitch who is about to be taught a precious lesson.”
Ouch! Even my ego got slapped by that catty remark .
Though she copped a low blow, in true Clara style, she straightens her spine and gives as good as she’s getting. “Well, I have news for you, sweetheart …”
I grin, loving that she used a term of endearment as if it is an offensive word.
“The only person going to be taught a valuable lesson is you. You can act all high and mighty in your designer pantsuits, sipping expensive wine from a crystal flute in your fancy top-floor penthouse, but at the end of the day, you’re no better than me.” Clara takes a step closer to her neighbor, meeting her eye to eye. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Regan, because when Isaac finds out about the special guest you’ve been entertaining the past two months, it’s all going to come tumbling down, one Chanel suit at a time.”
After flashing a sly grin, Clara enters her apartment without a backward glance. I remain motionless, standing in the foyer with my mouth gaped open and my cock as hard as stone.
There’s nothing as compelling as a feisty princess standing her ground.
I’m not the only one rendered into silence by Clara’s gutsy tirade. Her neighbor stands just as muted as me.
Several seconds of dense awkwardness pass before Regan shifts her eyes to me. “You should be cautious about messing with a woman like Clara,” she warns, her tone not as snarky as the one she used while tussling with Clara.
A grin tugs my lips higher. “I could say the same to you.”
Regan doesn’t attempt to refute my statement because you can’t deny the truth.