Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
RATTLER
Iswear this woman is going to be the death of me. The next words out of her mouth come exactly as I’d predicted as soon as I’d seen her jaw drop.
“I can’t pee in front of you.”
Now I might not have thought about it if she hadn’t mentioned the subject, but now she has, I realise I, too, could do with a piss. I stand, take just the step I need to, pull out the bucket, make sure it’s standing firm, and then undo my zipper…
“What the fuck are you doing?” Her outraged gasp has to be heard to be believed.
“Having a piss.” I take out my dick, point, and then let the stream flow. I roll my head back, relishing the relief that sweeps through me. “Thought you’d be less embarrassed if I went first.” I finally finish, shake myself off, then push my dick back into my pants and zip them up.
Turning, I see her hand covering her face. “It stinks now. Why does men’s wee smell so awful?”
“Doubt yours smells of roses,” I respond. But she does have a point. After the drinks I’d consumed last evening, I’ve left quite an impressive amount in the bucket.
Searching the shelves, I find the bottle I need, push and twist to break the childproof seal, then proceed to pour out bleach to cover up my urine.
“Stop!”
There’s no fucking pleasing her, is there? I halt, but throw out, “What’s your problem now?”
Waving her hand in front of her nose, she enlightens me. “Fumes.”
Fumes. Well, fuck. I concede she might be onto something.
This room isn’t well ventilated. I eye the door, considering whether I’m right, this really used to be a safe room.
Instead of wood, it was probably steel. But it’s been replaced, maybe because of a complicated locking system that had been there before.
That there’s a gap around it is obvious.
We heard her brother and his men outside talking.
But whether it's enough to allow sufficient air in to dissipate the poisonous fumes I’ve just poured out, I’m not at all certain.
“There’s not enough to bother us.” I hope.
I’ve just read the warning on the back of the bottle.
Irritation of nose, eyes, and throat, difficulty breathing.
Then, to get her mind off the thought I might have poisoned us, I remind her, “You need a piss. It’s all yours now.
If I wasn’t embarrassed, there’s no need for you to be. ”
“You’re a man. You just have to whip out your dick. I’m a woman. I’ve got to take off my panties and let my ass hang out.”
“I assure you, woman, I don’t give a fuck about your ass. And I’m certainly not going to be watching. I may have some kinks, but they don’t include golden showers.”
“You’re…you’re despicable.”
Now I’m wounded. I was only trying to help. But neither of us will get any sleep if she doesn’t piss now, so I go to the door, the furthest area from the bucket—which, of course, only leaves about seven feet between me and her. I pointedly stare at the solid wood that’s keeping us trapped.
“There,” I tell her. “I’m giving you privacy.”
I hear the shuddering breath she draws in and realise it’s a sign of her desperation when I hear movement toward the bucket, then the rustling of clothing as she pulls her Royals’ issued too-short skirt up. I wait for the trickling sounds to start, but there’s nothing.
“What the fuck is it now?” I snap when it’s obvious she’s not doing anything. I half turn…
“No, don’t look,” she yells. “I just can’t pee when you’re in the room.”
I snort a laugh. “Believe me, doll, I’d rather be anywhere else. But this is the situation we’re in, and we’ve just got to deal.”
The door gets pretty boring when you’ve been staring at it for a while. I bite my tongue, knowing if I say anything else, it will just make her tense up more.
Then, in a voice that sounds just as frustrated as I feel, she hesitantly asks, “Can you, like, sing, or something?”
Sing? “You want me to…” But I let my speaking voice trail off.
If I don’t do something, I’ll be standing here for the rest of the night.
Quickly summoning up the tune and lyrics from my memory, I launch into a rendition of Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life.
” I get to the second repetition of the chorus when I hear a tinkling sound.
Thank fuck. It seems to go on forever, but I finally hear a sigh, then finally the shuffling sound of clothes again. “Can I turn around now?”
“Yes.” She gives her permission, then adds, “You’ve got an amazing voice.”
“Really?” I raise a brow. I wouldn’t know myself, but I won’t turn down a compliment. “I normally only sing when I’m stuck by myself in a cage or in the shower.”
“It’s good,” she says. “You should be in a band.”
“Nah.” I shut that down fast. “No one wants to hear that shit.” Then, before we can start a fresh argument about whether I can hold a tune or not—I mean, this girl seems able to argue about absolutely anything—I politely remind her why we had a pissing contest in the first place. “Now will you fuckin’ go to sleep?”
Instead of answering, she returns to her position on the floor, curling up into a ball.
Something about the way she looks so uncomfortable gets to me.
Fuck knows why, but instead of retaking the position I’d been in opposite, I slide down to sit beside her and bring her head to rest on my thigh.
Stunned, she tries to pull away, but I keep my hands tight where they are.
Finally, she relaxes and accepts the gift she’s been given. After a while, her breathing deepens, and, now fully asleep, her hands flail at my leg. With a grin, I realise she’s trying to plump my thigh as if she would a pillow. Even though there’s nothing soft about me, she finally relaxes again.
Before the piss scenario, I’d been tired as fuck.
Now, though, I can’t drop off, no matter how hard I try.
The shelves behind me dig into my back. To distract myself from my discomfort, I find myself stroking her hair.
Studying it this closely, I see she’s a natural blond.
Yeah, that figures. She’s as ditsy as her hair colour would suggest. Then, I realise I’m being unnecessarily judgemental.
She’s studying forensics or was. And it was she who realised the folly of pouring bleach in such a small space.
Guiltily for a moment, I study her breathing, trying to make sure she’s really asleep and not passed out from asphyxiation.
I needn’t have worried. She makes a murmuring sound and turns over. This time, her head moves further up my leg, until her face is close to my groin. My dick stirs, as it would when any available female gets close.
Fuck my life. Now I can’t fucking rest because I’ve got a hard-on. And she’s the last woman I’d want to fuck.
Or is she? She’s dead to the world, little feminine snores coming from her mouth.
I let my hand wander, holding it just over her breast, then stilling in case I wake her.
But she makes no move, so I lower my fingers to fondle it.
She’s got the firmness of youth that still lingers, nice fucking curves, and all topped by a nipple I’d just love to get into my mouth.
I close my eyes, not as a precursor to sleep, but to envision her in my mind.
I estimate she’s around five feet four or five, short enough to balance out my not considerable height.
Her legs, shown off by the minuscule attire she's forced to wear at Royals, have already shown me that, relative to her size, they seem to go on for miles. She’s got a cute ass.
I’ve never questioned whether she’s pretty.
Up to now, I’ve let my annoyance at her ineptitude when working in the club cloud my mind.
I hadn’t been fucking with her when I’d told her, her offer of cash for services rendered had left me cold.
Being a member of the Kings was worth more than any money she could offer.
I mean, if I had five million dollars, how could I still be a brother?
Sure, I could use more money. Who couldn’t?
But that amount? It would fuck up the life I’d earned, even though I have to admit, somehow, I keep stepping on toes and am well aware the other members would not call me their favourite brother.
What if I offered to bring in a few million dollars to bolster our accounts?
I can’t help the shit that comes out of my mouth, but would that make up for the transgressions they appear to think I’ve committed?
I’ve never wanted an old lady. Fuck knows, my nightmare is tying myself to a wife.
But what if she came with a monetary bonus and a time limit?
Of course, she’d have to understand my dick wasn’t hers, and I was free to sink it into any available pussy.
Would we even have to live together, or could we just sign a certificate and then go our separate ways?
Could I put up with anything for eighteen months?
Maybe I’d been too hasty to dismiss her proposal earlier tonight.
Wiser minds might prevail if I get an opportunity to talk to them.
One thing’s for certain—I’ve got to step up.
Once we’re freed, she’ll probably go straight back to the place she’s sharing with Satin, and I’m becoming more and more convinced that Ames has been too trusting of her supposed friend.
While I admittedly didn’t pick up that vibe when Malachi was talking, it could be that Satin had still betrayed her in some way.
It was suspicious that tonight, of all nights, she went home early.
No, Ames can’t go back to her home. She’ll have to come back to the club. And while I know she’ll hate me sharing her problems—and the money that’s at the end of her rainbow—she’ll just have to suck that up.
I don’t care for the bitch, but even if we set her up with a new identity and send her off to another chapter of the Kings, she’s so fucking na?ve she’s likely to fuck up, and her brother might find her.