Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Bane
Sitting on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees and my head down, I can’t stop thinking about the little troublemaker currently in my bathroom.
She’s nothing like I thought she’d be. Of course, I hadn’t been expecting the man who stole my fucking money to be a chick.
That was a curveball I hadn’t seen coming.
But it’s more than that. She’s different.
There’s something about her, something in those honey-brown eyes has me forgetting why she’s here in the first place.
She’s no wilting daisy, though. She’s a fighter through and through.
Most people would be pissing themselves if they were dragged to the Kings’ clubhouse against their will.
But not Frankie.
My lips twitch thinking about how feisty she is. She reminds me of Foxy. She’s tough, but not in an ‘I’ll kill you and hide the body’ kind of way. She’s got that quiet steel in her spine that you don’t expect.
I never would have thought it possible, but I fuckin’ like her.
She intrigues me.
The click of the bathroom door pulls me from my thoughts, and I lift my head.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
My eyes travel from the tips of Frankie’s red, polished toes up her long, tan legs, over the towel concealing her pussy and small breasts to her flushed pink cheeks, and long, damp blonde hair hanging in thick ropes around her shoulders. I swallow hard.
She’s beautiful.
Rising to my feet, my fingers itch to touch her. To unwrap that towel and trace every inch of her with my tongue. To—
Jesus Christ. I need to get a fucking grip.
Frankie clears her throat, her cheeks crimson under my stare. “I, uh, don’t have anything to put on.”
I just nod, my brain apparently forgetting how to form words now that I’m seeing her without the baggy clothes concealing her perfect body.
Smooth, dickhead. Real fucking smooth.
Her lips turn up in a hesitant smile. “Could I maybe borrow a t-shirt and some shorts or something?”
Or…
“This arrangement doesn’t have to be completely miserable, ya know,” I smirk, my eyes traveling down her body, eating up the sight of her again. My dick perks up, liking that suggestion very much.
She tightens the towel around her chest, clutching it like a shield. “You’re such a pig.”
My eyes jump to hers. “Just saying, baby. We could make this a helluva lot more enjoyable.”
Eyes narrowed, she opens her mouth but is cut short when a hard knock sounds at the door.
Shaking my head at her not seeing the genius in my suggestion, I move to the door and swing it open wide.
Noble holds up a brown paper bag from Burger Barn. “Got your food.”
Thank the gods. I’m fucking starving.
“Calista put it on your tab, VP.” The prospect starts to hand me the bag, then his eyes flick past me.
What the fuck?
I glance over my shoulder to see Frankie standing there in her towel, cheeks bright red. Noble’s eyes heat, and something hot and possessive slams into my chest.
An overwhelming feeling of jealousy washes over me, and I growl low in my throat. “Thanks,” I snap, snatching the bag from his hands.
“We didn’t—” Frankie rushes to explain, but I cut her off by slamming the door in Noble’s face.
Frankie’s mouth drops open. “He’s going to think that we—”
“So what?” I shrug, moving past her to put the food on the dresser. I don’t give a shit what a fucking prospect thinks. He’s a bootlicker. They do what they’re told and don’t ask questions.
“So what?” she sputters. “I’ve never even had sex!” She waves her hand spastically at the closed door. “And he’s gonna think I’m a...” Flustered, she covers her face with her hands and groans.
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “What the fuck?”
She uncovers her face, and her brows pull together when she looks at me. “What?”
“You—you’ve never had sex?”
I watch as she plays back what she just said in her mind, and her cheeks go red. “Well... not exactly,” she waves me off. “But that’s not the point.”
Not the point? Not exactly? What the fuck does that mean? “How does one ‘not exactly’ have sex?” Pretty sure you’re either fuckin’ or you’re not.
She ducks her head, avoiding my eyes. “B.O.B.,” she mumbles.
Bob? “Who the fuck is Bob?” I growl. Why do I suddenly want to track this douchebag down and kick his ass for ‘not exactly’ fucking her?
She slowly blinks like I’m the dumbest asshole this side of the Mason Dixon line. “Bob. B.O.B.” Her eyes are blazing with defiance despite the clear embarrassment her cheeks are relaying.
I shake my head because I seriously have no fuckin’ clue what she’s talking about.
“My battery-operated boyfriend,” she says, again talking in a slow tone like she’s explaining why the sky is blue to a kindergartner.
My brows go up. “Oh.” Her vibrator. I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. The mental image of Frankie getting herself off is hot as fuck, but the fact that she’s all embarrassed and defensive is honestly fucking hilarious.
“Laugh all you want, asshole,” she says softly.
The tone of her voice has me instantly sobering.
“I’m not making fun of you.” I shake my head, meaning it. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
I look her up and down again. How the fuck has nobody tapped that ass yet? She’s fucking gorgeous—all soft curves and delicate features, with those big innocent doe eyes that make me want to corrupt her in dirty, dirty ways.
She looks up through her lashes. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
Is she for real? Has she not looked in a mirror... ever? “Because you’re...” I wave my arm up and down, gesturing to all of her.
Her body stiffens, which only makes the towel slip a little, revealing more of her chest. “I’m what? Finish that sentence,” she demands, her voice suddenly stronger.
I feel my lips twitch. I don’t know what it is about her bitchy attitude, but it makes my dick rock hard. Everything about her does, which is a fucking problem I’m going to have to deal with at some point.
“You know,” I start pulling out the food from the bag. “Hot and smart. The whole package.”
When she’s quiet for too long, my eyes go back to her. “Thanks,” her voice is barely above a whisper.
Why does she seem so surprised? She has to know she’s pretty. “See. That’s why it’s so hard to believe that nobody’s ever fucked you.”
Her nose wrinkles. “And... you ruined it.”
“Whatever.” I grab the roll of paper towels on the counter and pull off a couple of sheets for napkins. “It’s the truth.”
“I went to an all-girls school until I graduated at fifteen, and then I went to college.”
My brow furrows. What the fuck does that have to do with anything? College kids have sex. Probably a lot of it. That’s like half the reason people go to college.
“I was underage,” she says slowly, like I’m dense.
Fuck. I keep forgetting she’s only nineteen. Basically a fucking kid still. Sorta. Definitely too young for me, that’s for damn sure.
“Right. I forgot you’re like a prodigy or some shit.” I move to my dresser and pull out a black Harley-Davidson t-shirt and a pair of navy blue boxer shorts with a bright orange octopus on them.
“Release the Kraken?” Frankie lifts a questioning brow.
“Christmas gift from Foxy,” I explain as I toss them at her. “She thinks she’s fucking hilarious.”
Without missing a beat, she shimmies the boxers up her legs and under the towel, then pulls the shirt over her head and shoves her arms through the holes, letting the towel hit the floor once her body is covered.
“That’s impressive,” I admit, handing her a sandwich.
Blushing, she avoids my gaze and opens the wrapper. When she lifts the bun, she frowns. “I can’t eat this.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I grab the burger from her hand and look at it.
“I can’t eat cheese. I’m lactose intolerant.”
Well fuck.
I glance down at the chicken sandwich in my hand. “Here.”
She takes it and asks, “What are you going to eat?”
I pop the bun back on the burger and bite into it. “This.”
A hint of a smile plays on her lips as she shakes her head and digs into the chicken sandwich and crinkle fries.
We eat in silence while the dogs watch our every move, praying something hits the floor. Frankie yawns halfway through her sandwich, her eyes drooping. She’s fucking exhausted. Not surprising after the night we’ve had.
“Go lie down,” I tell her, nodding toward the bed. “Get some sleep.”
She eyes me warily. “Where are you going?”
I glance down at the dogs. “Gotta take them out.”
Nodding, she throws her trash in the empty food bag and walks over to my bed. She climbs in, pulling the covers up to her chest.
Fuck.
The sight of her in my bed, wearing my clothes, her blonde hair spread out across my pillow—it’s doing things to me. Things I shouldn’t be feeling for the woman who stole my money. For a woman who’s barely legal.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
Blowing out a breath, I call for the dogs and open the door. They trot out ahead of me, and I pull the door closed behind me. As soon as I’m outside, I light up a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the nicotine calm my nerves.
I’m halfway down the steps when the phone in my back pocket starts to ring. Pulling it out, I glance down at the screen and see Cyber’s name flashing.
“What’s up?” I answer, taking another drag off my smoke.
“Another girl’s been taken.” His voice is tight with stress. “Sixteen-year-old from Gulf Breeze. Her name’s Heather Mitchell. She was walking home from her friend’s house. Never made it.”
My blood runs cold. “Fuck.”
“I need Frankie’s help, man. We’ve got a forty-eight-hour window at best before she disappears for good, and that’s being optimistic.”
Forty-eight hours.
Jesus Christ.
The thought of what they could do to a sixteen-year-old girl in that time makes me sick to my fucking stomach. These girls are being sold to the highest bidder. Trafficked. Raped. Beaten. Killed.
“We’ll be there soon,” I say, tossing my cigarette on the ground and stomping it out with my boot. I disconnect the call, then whistle for the dogs.
They come running, and I lead them back up the steps, my mind racing. Every second we waste is another second that girl doesn’t have.
When I push open the door, I’m surprised to find Frankie sitting on the edge of the bed. She lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, seeing the fury on my face.
“Another girl’s been taken.” My voice is rough. “She’s only sixteen years old. Cyber needs your help. Now.”
She’s on her feet immediately, heading for the door without hesitation. No questions, no complaints about being too tired, nothing.
I stand there, watching her move, and it hits me that she’s nothing like her cokehead father.
Nothing like that greedy bastard who only cared about himself.
Tom Camden was a piece of shit who sold out the people in this town for a quick buck and a line of coke.
But his daughter? She’s something else entirely.
Here she is, ready to jump into action to help someone she doesn’t even know, no questions asked.
Fuck.
“Are we going or what?” She’s at the door, looking at me expectantly.
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “Let’s go.”