“Changing of the guard,” I declared. “Bruiser will keep an eye on me, so you have been relieved of your duties.”
A muscle clenched in Pretty Boy’s jaw. But he didn’t say anything as Bruiser escorted me out to his bike, lifting me onto the back seat as if I weighed nothing at all.
Ever since puberty, I’d been a pear-shaped, plus-sized gal, with thick thighs, rounded hips, and tits that were too small to balance it out. But a big guy like Bruiser didn’t have any trouble tossing me around like a rag doll.
“You two better not be bitching at each other again,” he said. “Because I’m not getting into the middle of that bullshit.”
I shook my head so vehemently that I nearly lost my balance. I grabbed Bruiser’s forearm to prevent myself from toppling over. He grunted as he buckled a helmet on my head.
“Not fighting,” I said.
Not fucking either,I mentally added.
Deep down, I wasn’t pissed at Pretty Boy for putting the brakes on our makeout session. That’s why my father took him under his wing in the first place. There was somethinggoodin Pretty Boy, under the layers of fuckboy attitude, and that sarcastic mouth.
We got carried away in the heat of the moment. And I was clear-headed enough to fully realize what we were getting into.
But Pretty Boy knew me better than I knew myself.
I didn’t need a drunken fling on top of everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Pretty Boy wanted protection for me. And that’s exactly what he was doing—protecting my physical safety as well as my heart.
Despite my threat to find someone else to sleep with, I didn’t follow through. Instead, I just directed Bruiser back to my apartment. Stumbling inside, I headed for my bedroom, thinking of nothing but crawling under the covers with my vibrator to get rid of this damn ache of need that was torturing me.
I flicked on the light and froze.
“Hello, Lila.”
Seated in a chair by the window was Edgar Sweeney. He wore one of his expensive tailored three-piece suits in jet black, but those fancy threads did nothing to hide the fact that he was still a bloodthirsty shark.
I fumbled with my purse—too late, too slow,too goddamn drunk—and grabbed my pistol, aiming it at him.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demanded.
He fixed his cool gray eyes on me without flinching, measuring out a spoonful of sugar into a steaming cup of coffee like this was a social visit.
“I thought I’d pop in for an update on my money,” he replied.
“Get out,” I said. “It hasn’t been forty-eight hours. I still have time.”
Sweeney clucked his tongue.
“That doesn’t sound very promising, pet. I heard your Da is out of the hospital. I could talk to him—”
“No,” I cut in. “I’ll handle it.”
A deadly silence settled over the room. Sweeney’s eyes turned hard and cold. He sighed and set his coffee aside, rising to his feet. He stepped closer, gazing down at me imperiously.
“You better not be thinking about screwin’ me over, Lila. That pretty face won’t stop me from putting a knife between your ribs. Or a bullet in her dear old Da’s chest.”
I shifted my aim a few inches south, trained on his crotch.
“And I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
He chuckled.
“You’ve got one hell of a spine, love. You should leave these biker heathens behind and join the mob.”