My body goes unnaturally still. The air seems to freeze. Static crackles as I try to process his request.
Many months ago, a random guy who crossed my path was in a generous mood and begged to go down on me. He was hot and I was curious. Nobody had ever done that to me before. But just as he was about to get after it, I shoved him away. Something about it didn’t feel right. Most likely accepting that level of intimacy.
“Hey,” Byron whispers. “What’s going on up here?”
My temples are throbbing to an erratic beat. “I’m having entirely too many intrusive thoughts at once.”
“Tell me a few.”
A tremble rolls through me from tit to toe. “I have the urge to threaten you with bodily harm while simultaneously riding your face.”
Lust darkens his gaze. “That can be arranged.”
I lick at my suddenly dry lips, trying to drag in a full breath. “Deal.”
And then we’re on the move. My hand latches onto his for the sole purpose of dragging him to the opposite end of the bar. Byron doesn’t question me. The devious plotting reflected in my expression is frightening enough to remove innocent bystanders out of my way. But our path is suddenly blocked.
“Is this man bothering you, babe?”
I lurch to a halt when met by a burly chest the size of a barrel. My gaze climbs a long, gravelly path to the rough planes of a weathered face. The man’s scowl looks more deadly than a loaded weapon.
A breezy laugh wisps from me. “He’s the one you should be worried about. I’m taking him to the office.”
A chorus of mock fear erupts from our audience. The guy still acting like a noble speed bump assesses me coldly. I treat him to the same offense. We’re locked in a standoff that he’ll lose. After ten more dreadfully long seconds, he decides to not let the gaudy bling fool him and steps aside.
My punishing glare slices across the captivated gawkers. “Don’t even think about following us.”
I yank on Byron’s hand and set us in motion again. He’s quiet, but I can feel the question burning into my back. We turn into the short hallway that brings us to a soundproof door.
“What’s in there?”
I smile while grabbing a particular pin from my hair. “You’ll see.”
Byron coughs on his surprise when I pick all three locks in under a minute. “Tight security.”
My shrug is casual as I push into the dark room. “If you can’t get yourself in, you don’t have permission to use it.”
I walk a line forged from memory. A single lightbulb dangles in the middle, flickering on from a pull of the string. The windowless room looks the same. Beer kegs and other random crap are piled against one wall. The other three hold an assortment of weapons. There’s a chair bolted into the floor. Chains and ropes wait at the ready beside it. Nothing else is worth notice. My pulse skips a beat while I give every surface a second glance. It’s a mixture between torture chamber and storage closet.
Byron spins in a slow circle. “What the fuck?”
A flash of movement slams us together. My knife is pressed against his throat in the next second. One wrong move and his jugular is at risk of severing. I’m volatile and unapologetic. If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t tolerate me.
“I’ll be the one asking questions,” I seethe.
He gulps, but his body language is calm otherwise. “Whatever you say, menace.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“You.”
“Will you let me carve my name in your chest?”
He blindly rips at the top buttons of his western shirt. “Do it.”
I cluck my tongue. “You have to earn it. Are you going to behave?”
There’s a naughty curve on his mouth. “Yes.”