Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ A re you fucking kidding me?” I murmur to myself.
After yanking my sunglasses off my face, I snag my cell phone out of my pocket and check the address Clara texted me earlier. The tick of my jaw increases when I discover the graffiti scrawled on the wall of the derelict apartment building matches the address Clara texted.
My fear that this rundown block of apartments is Clara’s new residence surges when her little beat-up Ford Focus pulls to the curb behind my bike. I grit my teeth together, barely swallowing the string of illicit cuss words dying to break free from my mouth. Not only is Clara’s new crash pad closer to Inked, but it is also in the seediest part of Ravenshoe.
Although Ravenshoe has seen a massive growth in the past three years, the money being pumped into the good half hasn’t spanned this far yet. Broken beer bottles line the gutter, tennis shoes dangle off the power lines, and the sounds of sirens wail in the distance. And don’t even get me started on the condition of the hideously ugly apartment building. If there wasn’t a steel gray Audi parked a few spots up, I would have said Clara was the only thing of value on this entire street.
Clara curls out of her car and saunters to stand next to me. Sheltering her face from the mid-afternoon sun with her hand, her eyes run over the rundown apartment building. Her lips quirk and the scent of fear plagues the air between us. She keeps her shoulders high, endeavoring to ensure me she isn’t rattled by the ghastly sight standing before us.
While spinning a set of keys around her finger, she strolls up the cracked concrete sidewalk, her steps shaky and slow.
I hop off my bike and follow her. “You’re not staying here.”
If my abrupt statement wasn’t greeted with a glaring stare, I would have assumed Clara didn’t hear me over the blaring music pumping from an apartment three stories above. Clara’s furious gaze silently warns me she’s on the verge of snapping, but I don’t care if she’s about to blow her top. She can call me a brute, beast, or any other name on her wish list, but I’m not budging an inch. I wouldn’t let the feral cats living in the dumpster at the back of Inked stay in a joint like this, let alone the woman my cock is infatuated with. And although I’ve said earlier my status as Clara’s employer gives me no rights over her personal life, I don’t give a flying fuck. Even if we didn’t share a kiss two weeks ago and hadn’t been flirting like it is going out of fashion, there’s no way in hell I’d let a member of my crew stay in a dump like this. Male or female. No fucking chance.
“Call the delivery truck driver and get your furniture taken to the storage sheds on Traeter. Once we find you a new apartment, we’ll have your furniture shipped there.”
Acting like she didn’t hear a word come out of my mouth, Clara shoves a key into a door that is hanging by a thread and enters the dimly lit apartment. Growling at her ignorance, I shadow her inside. The deepness of my growl intensifies when I walk into the mildew-scented living area.
“It’s not too bad,” Clara mutters while roaming her eyes around the paint-peeled walls and heavily stained carpet. “Nothing a bit of elbow grease won’t fix.”
“Elbow grease?” I arch my brow into my hairline. “The only thing that could fix this place is a gallon of fuel and a match.”
Clara rolls her eyes before moving to the front window. Dust particles riddle the air when she draws open the mold-covered curtain. I crunch my teeth together. Adding sunlight hasn’t helped the situation. This place is a fucking dump.
“You’re not staying here,” I advise again.
Seizing her elbow, I drag her to the door we only just entered. She tries to pull out of my embrace, but I stay holding on tight, refusing to relinquish her. She can dig her claws into my arm all she likes, sue me for harassment, or knee me in the balls, but I’m not leaving her here.
My quick strides only stop when Clara whispers, “It is the only apartment available in my price range.”
Even knowing she has never lied to me, I can’t hold in my retaliation. “Come on, Princess, cut the bullshit. Even if you weren’t dripping in wealth in your thousand-dollar dresses and shoes, I know what you get paid since I’m the man who pays you.”
I don’t mean to snap at her, but my mind is spiraling, unable to adapt to what is going on in her life. First, her car was towed, then she got an eviction notice, and now she’s moving into an apartment that is smaller than the storage closet at Inked. I don’t know if this is all some fucked-up rich-person joke, but I ain’t laughing. I’m all for branching out and trying new things, but this is taking it a step too far. She’s not only experimenting with a new lifestyle, she’s risking her safety, and that’s something I won’t stand for.
Clara takes on her fighting stance. Her hand is splayed on her cocked hip, her eyes narrowed. “You may pay me, Brax, but you don’t pay my bills.” Her words come out like hot lava spilling from a volcano. “I know what I can and can’t afford.” She nudges her head to the shoebox apartment we just vacated. “That is all I can afford.”
“Then I’ll give you a fucking pay rise,” I snap back.
Anger envelops Clara’s entire body, flushing her skin with a red hue. “I’m not a charity case,” she snarls through gritted teeth, her words rickety, hampered by a sob she’s barely holding back.
I scrub my hand over the stubble on my chin, giving myself some time to calm down before I say something I’ll later regret. “I’m not saying you’re a charity case, but you won’t be anything if you live in this area of Ravenshoe. It isn’t safe, Clara.”
The anger lining her face softens when I use her real name. She knows I only ever use it in dire situations. This is a dire situation.
Her hand slips off her hip as the harshness in her eyes fades. “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself,” she replies, her words not as callous as earlier.
I ball my hands into tight, white-knuckled fists when she ambles back into the rat-infested apartment. It’s the only defense I have to fight the urge to scream my frustration into the street.
I want to drag her away from here kicking and screaming, but instead, I stay standing on the graffiti-painted path. I need a few minutes to contemplate her predicament. I’ll never win an argument with a woman who is as stubborn as Clara, but I have to do something.
Call me a chauvinistic pig, but just like she was wrong about catching the one a.m. express, she’s wrong to believe she can look after herself in this part of Ravenshoe, and no amount of arguing will change that fact.
After a few moments of silent pondering, an idea formulates in my overworked brain. Instead of dragging Clara to a safer location, I’ll bring the safety to her. With a grin, I yank my cell phone out of my pocket and call in a favor with a long-time client.
Forty-five minutes later, Hunter Kane pulls his security van onto the curb at the front of Clara’s apartment building.
“Brax,” he greets me, slapping his hand into mine before leaning in for a man hug. “What the hell are you doing in a dump like this?”
“Long fucking story,” I mutter while returning his embrace.
Hunter’s eyes assess the apartment in great detail when I gesture for him to enter before me. “What type of security system are you after?” he queries, intuiting why I requested his help this afternoon.
It wouldn’t take a genius.
“The best you have.” I walk over to close the door of the main bedroom.
When I saw Hunter’s security van pull down the street, I suggested that Clara start unpacking her boxes of designer clothes and shoes. For the first time ever, she did as requested without a single qualm escaping her lips. I’m not hiding her away as I don’t want her to meet Hunter. It’s the fact I know she will put up a fight when she discovers the amount of coin I’m going to hand Hunter to have her apartment wired with the world’s most advanced security system. Considering there’s no chance of me budging on this term to feel comfortable having her live here, I’d rather keep our argument on the back burner until Hunter leaves.
The fewer witnesses to my pussy-whipping, the better.
After running his hand over his scruffy beard, Hunter shifts on his feet to face me. “I’ve got a new system I’ve just designed that will be ideal for a place like this. Motion sensors, burglar alarm, sirens, voice command, but it will cost you a pretty penny. I’m happy to give you wholesale prices, but the equipment itself is expensive.”
“I don’t care how much it costs.” I shrug. “All I care about is when can you get it done?”
Hunter smiles a broad grin. “How free is your tattooing chair this month?”
“As free as you need it to be.”
His smile widens. “Then I’ll have this wrapped up before the sun goes down.”
The heaviness that’s been sitting on my chest for the past hour lessens. “That will be great. Call out if you need any help.”
Hunter nods before making his way to his van parked out front to gather some equipment while I head to Clara.
The smell of damp, moldy carpet filters into my nose when I prop my shoulder against the wall of the main bedroom. Since she is sorting through boxes of shoes, she doesn’t notice my presence straightaway.
I stay quiet, relishing seeing a side to her I rarely get to see—her outside the walls of Inked.
There’s no doubt Clara is a girly type of girl. If the cute dresses, high-altitude shoes, and glossy hair aren’t enough of an indication, her fascination with color coordinating her shoes is a surefire sign.
I give myself a few more minutes to quietly absorb her before pushing off the wall and stepping deeper into the room. “Not enough room in your closet?” I ask when I notice she has several boxes of shoes and garment bags sprawled across her queen-size bed. Because her apartment is so small, the movers were in and out in under thirty minutes.
She screws her nose up. “Not exactly.” I follow her gaze to the half-empty closet. “I was considering giving them to the women’s shelter three blocks down from Inked. ”
My lips purse, not only shocked by her generosity but also wondering if couture dresses would be suitable for homeless women. It seems pretty pointless. I’ve worked in the soup kitchen numerous times over the past three years. From what I’ve seen, the women and children who live there only want food in their bellies and warm clothing. They don’t need designer dresses worth thousands of dollars.
“But I’ve decided to sell them instead,” Clara continues, lifting her wintry-blue eyes to me. “Half the money I make from the sale will be donated to the shelter. The other half will be put toward the security system you’re getting installed in my apartment.”
I balk, faking innocence.
She doesn’t buy my woeful attempt at candor. Not in the slightest.
“You heard that?” I gesture my head to the living room of her apartment.
“Yeah,” she replies with a nod. “Just like I knew you were stalking me for the past ten minutes.”
I give her a cocky wink. “So that’s why you kept bending over to reach the shoes in the furthest corner.”
A hearty chuckle scuttles through my lips when she picks up one of the shoes off her bed and pegs it at my head. You can laugh. You haven’t seen the size of the heels she wears. They could kill a man.
After picking up the stiletto that airport security would class as a lethal weapon, I step closer to Clara. I’m shocked when she doesn’t cite an objection to me having a security system installed. My surprise only lasts as long as it takes for me to see the width of her pupils. Although she’s putting on a brave front, she’s just as petrified as I am about her staying here.
Nothing typically scares me, but the idea of her being hurt scares the shit out of me.