Chapter 2
2
DIARMUID “DEER” KILLOUGH AKA DEER MARSHALL, AN ASPIRING SUGAR BABY
Hot accent alert. In a city full of an eclectic mix of people, I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard an Australian in real life, but tonight was my night. At least, I thought he was Australian. He sounded a lot like Chris Hemsworth, which was a big selling point.
Huge.
My mind spun out as the sizzling older guy in a stunning navy suit stared at me. Hello, sugar cakes. Or should that be sugar daddy? Dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a hint of scruff? Be still, my heart. He towered over me and had a hot crooked smile. My throat felt tight and my face heated as I forced a chuckle that I hoped was sexy. It sounded more like I’d just smoked half a pack of cigarettes. Yep, I wanted to die. I’d gone down in a twirly ballerina swoon. Did guys like that?
Please let this one like me.
A laugh took me by surprise, and he winked as he set me on my feet once again. What would my brother Fionn say if he saw me this way? God only knew. According to Mom, he hated us, so I shouldn’t care. I would be better off if I never thought the name Fionn Killough.
“You all right?” The man’s brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, patting his solid chest. “I don’t think we’ve met. What did you ask me?” I touched my thumb to my bottom lip and hoped that made me look sexy and not psychotic. Judging by the way his eyebrows waggled, the jury was still out.
“What do you need the cash for?”
“Oh, butt implants.” I slapped my ass loud enough that the crack on the leather echoed above the voices and music. “Clearly.”
He snorted and pushed me away, leaning around me to ogle, and after a long night of jerks who wanted freebies and people who were just plain rude, he managed to tickle my funny bone. I snickered.
“Do you think I need them?” I asked, going for broke and batting my eyelashes.
“I’m looking. I’m thinking.” He pushed me, and I spun around, sticking out my ass with a hand on my hip. I tried not to think about the ridiculous spectacle I was making of myself.
“I need them, don’t I?” I pouted over my shoulder, feeling stupid, but Brynlee, who was in my Pharm D classes, had said I should just really ham it up because people on the hunt for a sugar baby weren’t searching for the normal, well-adjusted, run-of-the-mill hottie. They wanted something special—and, unbelievably, she’d convinced me I could pull this off. The back of my neck heated.
Was she wrong? I needed her to be right .
“Fuck, you know your arse is a bloody ripper,” he said with a laugh.
“A what? Excuse me, I didn’t fart.” I dodged out of the way when he tried to give me a smack. The rest of my face went into meltdown mode, burning up, and I cleared my throat.
“Is that blush for me?”
“Uh, no? It’s for that guy over there who told me I was too hefty,” I said, glaring at the man out of the corner of my eye. He’d already gone back to drinking. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for in a nighttime companion, but there was a special place in hell for him.
“Oh, well, humiliation kink your thing, then?”
“What?” I asked, whipping around to stare into his face. There was an amused twinkle in his eye that continued the fire raging under my skin. “Probably not, but you never know.”
He snorted. “Okay, keep your woes to yourself. I respect it. Out here trying to fix your problems with that arse.” The big man leaned around to glance at it again, and this time I laughed loudly enough that other people turned to look.
“How do you know this isn’t my all-the-time gig? Maybe this is simply my occupation.”
“Because you’re dressed all wrong for a place like this, aren’t you? Upscale here, isn’t it? You belong at the Virtue,” he said, waving a hand at the other men and women in here.
Scowling, I plucked at my mesh shirt. “I don’t look that different,” I muttered. “And what is the Virtue?”
He puffed out his cheeks, doing a horrible job of holding in a laugh, and guided me over toward a couple of open seats at the bar. I climbed up on a stool, but he merely stood next to me and slapped some cash down before holding up two fingers. He began chugging the bottle of beer he already had in his hand. How had he not dropped it when he caught me? A drink was slid in front of me, and by the time he was done, another beer had been plopped near him. He looked very proud of himself when he picked up the new one.
“That’s sexy. You win many beer chugging championships?” I tried to purr the words. My laughter snuck out and ruined the attempt.
“Oh yes, I’m a fucking champ at skolling grog, but I never remember the next day.” He tickled my chin and pulled his hand back before I could bat him away. He tilted his head to the side. “You won’t tell me why you need the cash, but I know you do. How much are you hoping for, gorgeous? You would look beautiful spread out on my sheets.”
My stomach tightened as heat settled low in my groin, taking me by surprise. “Well....”
“Must be a good bit, since you decided to hit one of the better spots in town.” He glanced around again, then peeked at me out of the corner of his eye.
Clearing my throat, I rapidly did some calculations. Mom needed at least fifteen grand. She was desperate for any cash I could hand her but wouldn’t tell me why. She always said that she didn’t need to justify herself to her child. My brother Fionn had been giving us enough money to scrape by but had abruptly said we were on our own. Uncle Sloan had stopped sending us money, too, which meant I didn’t have any way to pay the rent for my apartment.
But I couldn’t tell a stranger all that, could I?
“Come on. You can whisper it?” he said, tilting his head toward me with a grin.
Ugh, why couldn’t I have met this man on a regular night out with my friends? Regret twisted me up for a few seconds, but then I remembered I was a Killough, and I did the things I had to do for my family. “I need twenty grand to cover my woes . For my apartment and car and stuff.”
Guilt boiled in my gut because I was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them, and I didn’t like this. Mom had said I shouldn’t tell anyone she needed the money, though. Not that this guy knew us, but I’d learned the hard way it was a small world.
He let out a whistle and leaned a hip against the bar, blue eyes staring steadily into mine. “You that far behind? That’s not small change.”
“Go big or go home.” I tried to smile but failed.
He snorted and clinked his bottle against mine. “Drink up. Sounds as if you need it. It’s my shout.”
Rolling my eyes, I did as he said; although, the beer was a lot lighter than I normally enjoyed. Some sort of Belgian white.
“Tell me,” he said, walking his fingers along the bar toward me. He studied my face, and I picked up his wrist and dropped his hand on my knee. His fingers splayed, and heat tangled in my gut as he gave me a squeeze. “What are your plans to stay safe?”
“Excuse me? I know how to protect myself,” I said with a glare. “Plus, I’m a man. What do I need to worry for?”
A real frown took over his face and he dropped his bottle on the bar. He leaned in and pressed his lips against my ear, and I shivered. Hell, wasn’t I supposed to be doing the seducing?
“Listen up, pretty boy. What if I’m a bad man? What if I chop people up and make meat by jingos out of ’em?”
“By jingos?” I frowned.
He laughed, the guttural sound coming from deep in his chest. “You call them popsicles here.”
“Ew, graphic,” I said, turning my head enough to glare at him.
He smirked. “You’re looking for cash, but you’re not looking for the Daddy game are you? Not really my thing.”
“What is your thing?” I asked, then sipped my beer politely.
“This and that.” He grinned.
“You’re what I like,” I said, licking my lips as I set the beer down. “But I’ve been just fine without an actual daddy. I’m not interested in a fake one.”
“Left your mum, did he?”
“Dead.”
He swiped a thumb over my right nipple, and I nearly toppled off the stool. He snagged my waist and held me in place. “Jumpy. Daddy issues got you here, I think.” He toyed with my nipple, and my dick decided to stretch out in the hopes of getting to know him. The leather pants weren’t very forgiving, though.
Get it together. “Honey, cash flow issues got me here.” I rested my fingertips on his wrist, and he tweaked my nipple, tugging lightly. I bit my lip and leaned into the attention, thrusting out my chest.
“Let me see that rear again. I’m thinking about it.”
My face burned as I hopped down and twirled for him. Embarrassment swamped me as some of the men who’d already turned me down stared at my antics while elbowing one another— judging . My stomach twisted.
“Fuckin’ hell, that blush sold me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you really have twenty grand?”
He shrugged. “How do we do this?”
“Cash up front,” I said in a rush. My heart took off racing because he didn’t flinch or laugh at the suggestion.
“Five grand up front.”
Shit. “Um.” Come on, brain. Negotiate!
He rested a hand on my cheek and preemptively gripped my waist, waggling his eyebrows so it was clear he thought I was going to tip over again. “You didn’t think this through.”
“I did!” Frustration leaked into my tone, which was a nightmare scenario since I hadn’t clinched the deal yet. “I swear.”
“Come on. You’re bloody lucky. The dingos would eat you if I left you.” He took my hand and tugged me to his side, then began to fight the crowd to the door.
“Are you my big, strong hero?” I asked, remembering I should embrace any scenario my sugar daddy showed interest in. Although, without a credit card with my name on it, was he a sugar daddy or just a john?
A supremely well-paying john. As if I could afford to be picky.
“Where are we headed?” I asked as we left into the blustery November night. I shivered—instantly regretting my decision to leave my coat at home so I wouldn’t have to keep track of it—and pressed close against his side. He wrapped an arm around me with a grin. God, the man radiated heat. A job like this was supposed to test my patience and my ability to convince my dick to get hard without medication. So far, though? This was better than the last three regular dates I’d had. I splayed my hand on his hard bicep. Yes, those were some tasty muscles hiding under there.
“A place I know,” he said cheerfully.
Frowning at him, I followed along behind. At least I was able to enjoy all the holiday lights gleaming in store windows and on lampposts. We hopped into a taxi, and I was a little confused when we passed the Empire State Building. Where was he taking me? The vehicle stopped near the entrance to the Long Island Rail Road concourse at Penn Station.
“We don’t need to take a train to this place you know, do we?” I was hesitant on the sidewalk out front. This was starting to seem dangerous, and he’d put the idea in my head that someone might hurt me. Hopefully, it wasn’t because he wanted to make me into gross frozen food items.
He tugged me forward. “Don’t get cold feet on me now.”
“My nipples and everything else are chilly, so they would match,” I said with an eye roll.
My future sugar daddy-slash-potential serial killer chuckled as we went inside. I held his hand while we sailed down the escalator, and I winced at the sensation that we were descending underground. We passed people clustered around the electronic departure board and several restaurants and stores. A group of men wearing police uniforms stood drinking coffee together outside a doughnut shop, which had me snickering.
He elbowed me.
We kept going.
The exposed pipes in the low ceiling above us started to feed into the feeling that I was trapped in a closed-in space. As we walked along, glowing panels overhead made things feel better. The ceiling mimicked the colors of sunset—pink blushing over a cloud-dotted blue sky. We passed signs for Madison Square Garden and wandered toward track seventeen.
“Nearly there.” He brushed his lips over the back of the hand he was holding, and my stomach fluttered.
We went down a crowded stairway that was a tight squeeze, and to our left, a silver train sat waiting with its doors open. We took a left at the bottom of the stairs and there was an industrial gray door leading to a space underneath.
“Now, you want to see a magic trick?” He smirked and appeared far too pleased.
Frowning, I glanced around. People were laughing and talking nearby. There was a low chance his trick was going to be deadly. “This isn’t a good place to murder me, so sure.”
“I agree. Check my hands.” He held them out. “What do you see?” He wriggled his thick fingers. God, his hands looked strong. They were big and had a couple of veins running along the back that let me know he probably lifted regularly—as if his arms didn’t already do that.
“Nothing. This better not be something gross.”
His eyes sparkled with barely contained glee as he produced a key and pushed open the door. Inside were row after row of silver lockers. He opened one and tugged out a black duffel bag, then took the luggage and slung the strap over my shoulder.
“This is the opposite of a disappearing act. Peek inside.” He turned and locked up before leading us back out onto the train platform.
“Again, this better not be gross. If it is, I’m going to have to withdraw the offer to be nice to your dick.” I unzipped the bag, and my heart almost stopped. Green, as far as the eye could see—or at least, from side to side in this fucking bag. “This is cash,” I hissed at him, glancing around. “A lot of it. What the fuck?”
“Sure,” he said casually, then turned to face me with his hands in his pockets. He rocked on his heels. “You think it’s enough to get me a nice piece of you through Christmas?” He grinned. “This feels like a holiday present to myself.”
“But, this is cash ,” I said again, feeling dazed.
“Well, yeah. You had no plan, reckoned I’d come up with one. Don’t deposit it all the same day. Spread it around. If you do more than ten grand, they make you write it up at the bank. Tax reasons.”
“Sure,” I said, licking my lips. “How—how much is in here?”
“Little more than you asked. Figured, you deserve a tip if you work as hard as I’ll need.” His mouth twitched, and I had no idea if he was joking, screwing with me, or some other thing I couldn’t even fathom.
“Are all Australians this weird or just you? You are Australian, right?”
“Damned right I am.”
“What—”
“Oh, goddamn it. Hold on, gorgeous.” He stared at something on the crowded platform.
I turned and thought I saw a man ducking onto the train.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His hand on the back of my neck startled me. I would’ve dropped him to the ground if it weren’t for the fact that he sneak attacked me with his lips. He covered my mouth with his, and I fumbled, not quite sure where to put my hands. How was this so good? His stubble grated against my skin and had me shivering as he swiped his hot, slick tongue against mine, then gave my ass a slap.
“I’ll find you.” He took off along the train in the direction I’d seen the man vanish.
“What the hell?” I called after him.
Did that just happen? I lifted the top of the bag and did a quick estimate of the cash. Shit, it was more like forty thousand dollars. My gut plummeted. Normal people didn’t keep forty grand in a train station locker. What had I just agreed to and with who?
I hadn’t even caught his name.
“I’m Deer Marshall!” I called stupidly.
I hoped this didn’t come back to bite me on the ass, but this bag full of money almost guaranteed it would. Heaving a sigh, I wriggled out a hundred-dollar bill because I’d started the night without two nickels to rub together, and I would need it for the cab ride.
The roar of gunshots echoed in the train terminal. Screams erupted, and everyone started running up the stairs.
“Shit!” I took off with the rest of the crowd because?—
One, I didn’t want to get shot.
And two, a duffel bag full of money would look pretty suspicious to the cops.
A weird night I could handle. A night in jail? Fuck that.
Killoughs weren’t made for prison.