Mastered (The Enforcers 1)

She blushed. “I didn’t say any such thing.”

“No, but you should have. Remember the man who intervened when it could have gotten ugly? And, Angel, it would have gotten ugly very fast were it not for my man. The one who gave you a hundred-dollar tip? He was one of mine. Now think about it for a minute. Did anyone else there offer to help you? What if my men hadn’t been there?”

Humiliation flashed in her eyes and she turned her head sideways in an attempt to hide her reaction from him. But he caught the flash of tears and it nearly ripped his insides out.

“I’ll give it back,” she whispered. “I had no idea it was a setup. I didn’t earn that. I refuse to take pity money.”

He flinched at the look in her eyes, the evident blow to her pride, the one thing she held fast to when it appeared she had nothing else. Damn it. That was not what he wanted.

She dug into her pocket, several twenties and smaller bills falling out as she yanked. She retrieved the folded hundred-dollar bill and thrust it at him as if she couldn’t bear to touch it a second longer.

“I don’t want it. I won’t take it,” she said, revulsion twisting her lips until he wanted to kiss them back to the sweet, luscious state they had been in mere seconds before.

Drake swore, making her wince. Then he collected all of the scattered bills, folded them carefully and stuffed them back into her pocket.

“My men were there at my order to check the place out as a potential investment. It’s for sale, or did you not know that?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “No. I had no idea. What does that mean? Am I going to lose my job? Oh my God, Drake, what am I going to do? I know it doesn’t look like much, but the tips are good, and I make more money working there than I did working two jobs back home.”

The fear in her eyes was very nearly his undoing. The thought of her working two jobs made him want to smash something. He was sure her tips were very good. Far more than the average waitress working there. Hell, on a good night, she probably pulled in as much as his girls did in his club. With that inherent innocence and bone-deep sweetness? A smile that lit up a city block? The fact that she was so fucking . . . nice? And that wasn’t even taking into account her looks. Those big blue eyes, the long silken mass of hair that made a man itch to run his hands through it, and that ass. God, that ass. Delectable. Plump. Just enough jiggle when she walked to make a man lose his mind. And her tits. Fuck, he could recite all her good qualities all night and never get to the end. She was the total package, and when men looked at her, they did a double take, especially after talking to her for just a few minutes, because they were all wondering how the hell such a perfect woman existed. And then they set their sights on how to get next to her. In her bed, between her legs, and how to stay there, because who the fuck—other than her dumb-ass ex-boyfriend—would be stupid enough to ever let her go once he’d had a taste of all she offered?

Jesus, he had to stop because she was staring at him oddly, obviously waiting for him to say whatever he had been about to say next, and he was too busy extolling her virtues and mentally covering her with NO TRESPASSING signs because he was staking his claim and he’d kill the man who tried to take what was his.

“You’re missing my point,” he said as patiently as he was able when he wanted to smash something, dispense with the niceties and drag her home and keep her there under lock and key. “Only Maddox knew about you, and he remained outside so you wouldn’t see him and bolt. Whatever tip my man gave you was because he wanted to and felt you earned it. He had no idea you belong to me.”

“What?”

“I’ll ask you a third time, and Evangeline, I am not used to having to ask more than once. Ever. Why the hell are you working yourself to death in a place like that? Subjecting yourself to that kind of treatment from men who have no respect for you and treat you like an object. Who harass you, put their hands on you and disrespect you on a nightly basis.”

She sighed, closing her eyes, but not before a single tear slipped down one pale cheek.

“I have to have that job,” she choked out. “I’m not from here, the city I mean. As I’m sure you can tell. I come from a small town in the south. I’ve had to work my entire life. I had to drop out of high school and get my GED so I could work. College wasn’t an option.”