“Bump. Outside.” I snap out the order, and the closest thing I have to a little brother shoots me a shitty glance that no one else could get away with.
“But—”
When he starts to protest, I shut him up with a slicing glare.
The scrawny kid I’ve known most of my life creeps toward the door and slinks out before closing it silently. He’ll be waiting with his ear pressed against the crack, trying to overhear everything like a six-year-old, but hopefully he’ll keep his mouth shut until I get Scarlett Priest to agree to what might be the ballsiest proposal I’ve ever made.
When my attention goes back to the woman sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap, I can’t help but marvel at the calm she wraps over her fear. She wears self-possession like a shield.
I had no idea that could be attractive, but damn me if it’s not.
She’s not wasting the opportunity to study me either. Her gaze rakes over me like I’m one of the tigers behind the bars of the Bronx Zoo. Fear lingers there, even though she puts on a good front. She’s not stupid. That’s for sure.
While I’m choosing my next words, she opens her mouth and dives right in.
“You want me to use my influence to bring people back to your club, don’t you?”
Brass fucking balls on this one.
I lift my chin. “That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“By appointment only. Not kidnapping.” Her jaw tilts up, like she’s ready to argue the point, andfuck me, but I want to see her riled up.
Stop, Gabe. Fucking quit. Twenty-five to life. That’s what’s on the line here. Remember it and get your shit together.
“Consider this your appointment, Scarlett. Unless you can’t do it. Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.” I add the taunt out of instinct. I have a feeling the duchess of Manhattan doesn’t like to be doubted. Her ego probably can’t handle it.
As her lips purse into a pout, I block out the thought of how fucking good they’d feel on my cock.Ha. Right. Doesn’t matter.Fifth Avenue and a New Jersey transplant from a trailer park in Mississippi don’t exactly mix. Besides, I can find a willing woman any time of the day or night. That’s never been a hardship. However, none of them could fix what Scarlett Priest can.
She sits up straighter in the chair. “I told you, I’m even better. I just don’t normally do this particular sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” I’m damn close to offering her anything she wants just for her word that she’ll try. I’m fucking desperate, and it’s a feeling I hate.
“Theget kidnapped, and in exchange for not dying, save someone’s businessthing. So, forgive me if I’m on shaky ground, because this is all new to me.” The sound of her skin sliding across the leather zings through the electric air as she crosses her legs.
Stop fucking staring at her legs, man. That pussy might be gold-plated, but it’s not for you.
I shift, leaning more weight against the edge of my heavy wooden desk. I have to choose my words carefully. I need her fucking help, so I go for the one thing that I think will gain her compliance.
“The alternative is what you should be worried about. This is a cakewalk job for you. Do what I need, and you never see me again. Not even in your fucking nightmares.”
She bites down on her bottom lip again, and I want to tug it free.
Goddammit, she shouldn’t be allowed to do that.She’s a whole new level of off-limits. The kind I can’t even think about touching. No matter what.
The rest of me doesn’t get the memo, and my body tenses when she leans forward.
“What’s a successful outcome to you then? I need to know before I can give you an honest answer about whether or not it’s possible.” Her hands separate, and her perfectly manicured fingers wrap around the wooden ends of the chair’s arms as she explains. “If your club is on life support, waiting for someone to pull the plug, it could be beyond my help. And I’m not going to work my tail off to try to save it just to have youoff meat the end because I couldn’t do the impossible.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we’re not the mob, we don’toffwomen, and that Bump has never kidnapped anyone before, but was just trying to help. I can’t tell her that it’s really not his fault his higher mental functioning isn’t all there anymore. Because that’s just more evidence that’ll get us both locked up.
If anyone takes the blame for what happened to Bump, it’s me. Which is why I keep my mouth shut and let Scarlett Priest think the worst. I have to protect him—even when I want to fucking kill him for getting us both into this mess.
Except it’s not really his mess. It’s my mess, and I’m going to fix it. So I shoot straight with her.
“I need to make my payments to people who loaned me money, or they have the right to take everything I own to satisfy the debt. A successful outcome is me making those payments and them not taking my shit. You come once a week—on Saturday nights—and bring your friends, take your selfies, post that you’re here. Get people in the doors so I can make some money and do what I need to do.”
“Once a week?” Her voice rises as her eyes widen. “Anyone who follows me will realize that something’s up. I don’t ever go to the same place every week. Every other Saturday night at most, and no more than three or four times.”