On The Ropes (Tapped Out 3)

Slater was right. Olivia wasn’t the one currently hassling my sister. It was this crazy bitch.

“What the hell are you doing in my office?”

“Pendejo, shut your face.” Vanity didn’t seem up for answering questions. She had some of her own to ask, however. “Who does she think she is, sleeping with every guy in this place?”

“Who you calling a cuntcake?” I stepped forward. I might spend most of my time wearing an apron, but I could fucking throw down if I had to.

Plus, I still had that pepper spray in my purse, and I’d blast the shit out of this chick.

“You, punta, you! You and your cheap tramp sister.”

“You need to be quiet. Now.” Fox grabbed her flailing arms and pinned them behind her back, immobilizing her faster than I would’ve given him credit for. Maybe it was good he’d gone on steroids, if only because he could calm this lunatic down without much bloodshed. “I asked you a question, and I’m still waiting for an answer. What were you doing in my office?”

Vanity smirked. “Why don’t you go see for yourself? Stupid pussywhipped bastard.”

Fox pushed his way into his office, still maintaining his hold on a struggling Vanity, and I followed, making sure to keep my distance from her kicking legs. I’d never liked her, and it wasn’t only because she had obvious contempt for my sister. Her brief thing with Giovanni had nailed that coffin shut.

Now apparently she’d added breaking and entering and vandalism to her list of attractive qualities. And once again, the target of her frustrations was the newly replaced heavy bag in the corner, spilling out its guts like a chewed up scarecrow.

“Christ almighty, woman, what is wrong with you?” Fox nudged her none too gently over the desk. I half expected him to whip out the cuffs. “Call the police,” he said over his shoulder to me, indicating the phone on the desk.

I blinked at it. I didn’t even realize they had a phone in here. With cell phones, landlines were harder to find. But I wasn’t going to look a handy horse in the mouth. I picked it up and started to dial, then glanced back at the sound of footsteps. A guy with super short dark hair and shrewd blue eyes appeared in the doorway, his toothpaste-commercial smile disappearing as he took in the scene before him. “Hey, Fox, sorry I had to—what the hell’s going on in here?” He rushed forward to help Fox restrain Vanity.

“We need the cops,” Fox managed through gritted teeth, trying unsuccessfully to pin Vanity in place.

“I’ve got her,” the other guy said, pulling her to a standing position and shooting me a distracted smile. “Hey. I’m Emerson.”

“Hi.” I tried to smile. Normally, I’d be all up in my flirt game with him, because he was super cute. Now that I’d been infected with the love plague, men equaled nothing but trouble. “I’m calling the cops.”

He reached out and put the phone receiver down.

Okay, then. Guess we aren’t calling the cops.

“What happened?” he asked gently, still helping Fox while he spoke to me. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

Maybe they were all on steroids in this joint.

“Take a look at the bag in the corner,” Fox panted, twisting Vanity’s wrists up to the center of her back and yet again bending her over the desk with his knee against her ass. Bent over like that was the only safe position for her.

Heat rushed into my cheeks. The same position I’d been in on Saturday night, for much different reasons.

“Holy shit,” Emerson said under his breath. “You did that, Van?”

Breathing hard, she craned her neck to look back at him. “Who wants to know?”

“Me. And I think we’ll go have a little chat, you and me, if you want to avoid the cops. Because you do want to avoid the cops, right?”

“I don’t think we should avoid anything,” Fox began. “She has a history of hassling Mia, and she needs to be stopped.”

“Tell her to stop fucking with my man, and I will stop.”

“What man?” Fox and I asked at the same time.

Then the duh stick smacked me in the forehead.

She was doing all this because of Giovanni and his penis. And I hated that we both knew the wonders of it, and the resulting madness that arose when denied.

Not that all my madness had to do with sex. As if. He’d made me fall for him, all the while holding back the truth from me. Claiming he cared, that he wanted me safe, then ditching me the second I asked him for anything more complicated than wheat flour.