Sinful Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 3)

He nods again and hurries to leave.

Now it’s just a matter of time before her sweet ass walks through that door.

And I’ll wait.

For something that sweet, I’ll play any game.

As long as I win, of course.

And we all know I will win.

6

Chanel

Fucking hell.

I swear, it’s just that I don’t usually swear this much. But with him, I just can’t help myself.

It’s the similar scene, different day. Lucas is waiting out front for me, his back leaning against his car with that stupid cigarette in his mouth. I walk straight up to him and pull it from his lips, throwing it to the ground. Guns are pulled on me from either side and aimed at my head, but I take no notice. Because I have a feeling he doesn’t want me dead, not just yet anyway.

“You really had to hire him?”

Lucas’ eyes skim me, then he licks his lips. “Yes, you are late.” That’s the extent of his reply.

I’ve gone a week without seeing him.

I would rather go a week more.

No scrub that, forever would be better!

But Brody is eighteen now, and legally, he can work. So why am I trying to stop him? It’s not like the money won’t help us.

“Fire him,” I demand, my hands crossing over my chest.

Lucas waves and the guys who had the guns trained at my head lower them and walk away, leaving us by ourselves outside the front of his club. It’s dark and no one is on the streets because everyone knows what danger lurks here.

Him.

It’s him they are all afraid of.

“What will I get in return?” he asks, the question pulling a smirk from his lips.

“I won’t fuck you. I know what you do to women you fuck.”

“Do you, now?” He quirks a brow. “What do I do?”

“Most wind up dead.”

“Only the bad ones.” The sick bastard winks. “Are you bad?”

“Yes. So what do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m not firing him.” He moves around me to go back into the club, but not before taking his time to give my appearance a thorough once-over. I’m dressed pretty much the same as I was the last time I saw him. I didn’t plan to work today, but someone offered me over five hundred bucks cash that I couldn’t refuse for a hand job. He was desperate. And it seems, so am I. But I plan on purchasing Brody a pair of Nike Air Force 1 shoes he’s been eyeing for months that we could never afford.

“Fire him.”

He spins and is in front of me in the blink of an eye. He’s taller, so his eyes look down as they lock on mine. It really is like entering the woods when you lock eyes with him; you know you should look away and run toward the light, but you’re stuck in there, lost in the dark.

“No one tells me what to do, not even my mother,” he spits out at my face in anger.

“Keir,” I state, knowing full well who his boss is.

“He knows better. Only when I’m with him do I listen.” I say nothing in return. “Even then, I choose not to. Remember that.”

“My brother’s just a kid,” I plead giving him my best doe-eyes.

“As I’m sure you were the first time you spread your legs.”

Damn! He’s got me there.

“I’ll do it.”

“Do what, please say?” Lucas asks, then he backs away from me, putting distance between us.

“Whatever it is you want.” The words leave my mouth in such a rush I feel lightheaded.

“Don’t act like it would be a chore to fuck me. I saw your reaction the other night. You want it, but you’re afraid.” He steps back up to me takes a strand of my hair and pushes it behind my ear before he leans in and whispers in my ear, “And you should be.”

Then he pulls away, and heads right back toward the entrance, yelling over his shoulder. “Offer denied! Tell your brother I’ll see him tonight. And not to be late. I once cut a man’s finger off for tardiness.” With that, he strides through the door to his club, leaving me standing on the street to wonder what’s next.

The asshole.

Trailing after him, I slide through the closing door and watch him disappear through the hallway to the back.

It’s then the bartender walks out, holding a carton of beer with a name tag that reads Marcus. He stops when he sees me and shakes his head. “You totally have a death wish, girl.” His eyes assess me, though.

“Or, you know, he’s just an asshole.”

“Oh, that he is. But most women don’t come back several times unless they’re fucking him. Which, clearly, you are not, considering you have no marks on you.” I look down over my body. I’m wearing a small red dress that shows plenty of skin. I got it from a thrift shop where Merci and I go once every few months, so we aren’t wearing the same things continuously. I don’t wear dresses unless I’m working. But when I do, it’s usually all the same style—short and sassy.