Fall (VIP 3)

“You guys want to come up for a beer?” I ask. Surprisingly, I’m okay with being alone right now. Frankly, I’m feeling pretty fucking great in general. I have a date with Stella tomorrow, and the fact that I get to touch her, that I get to spend the whole day with her simply because we both want to, makes me giddy as a kid waiting on Christmas. But Rye looks like he could use some company, and I’m never leaving my guys to deal with shit on their own when I can offer a hand.

Rye brightens. “Yeah, sure.”

“I could go for a beer,” Bruce says with a shrug.

We’re halfway to the door when a guy approaches, his gaze locked on me as if I’m a target. Instantly, Rye and I stiffen. We know how to defend ourselves, but if this guy has a weapon, fighting won’t do shit. In my peripheral, I see Bruce stalking close, putting himself between us and the unknown.

The guy, a wiry older dude with shaggy, reddish-gray hair, halts, his pale blue eyes going wide. “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” he says, wisely reading the situation. “I only wanted to talk to Jax.”

“Then talk,” I say, standing at the ready. I could tell the guy to piss off, but it’s easy sometimes to let the person speak their piece and say no thanks to whatever they’re selling. Unfortunately, this could also be about one of the women I slept with. This guy could be a pissed-off father. Hell.

“Saw a picture in the tabloids of you with a girl.”

My back stiffens. “I’m often pictured with women. If that’s all you’re interested in, I suggest you take up another hobby.”

I start walking, and Rye moves to my left, Bruce taking my other side. They’re flanking me, which is nice but unnecessary.

Unfortunately, the dude is undaunted. “You were carrying her across a puddle.”

My steps falter. I’ve only carried one woman. Ever. Someone took a picture of that? Fucking hell. There goes my Clark Kent disguise. The thought of Stella’s privacy being taken then makes me queasy.

“Old news, man. That was weeks ago.” I wave the man off and start walking again.

His raspy voice follows. “There was another picture of you two from yesterday. Looked real cozy coming out of Milk Bar. I thought you’d like to know who you’re dealing with, is all. Stella Grey isn’t what she seems.”

Ice flows through my veins, and I halt, turning to face him. “What did you say?”

Dude shrugs his bony shoulders. “She’s cute, but she isn’t as innocent as she looks.”

The ice turns to hot steam, a red haze clouding my vision. I’m advancing on him before I even think. Bruce steps in front of me, blocking my path, as Rye’s big mitt grabs hold of my elbow.

“Easy, man,” Rye says low and hard.

My attention is on the little rat who stares back defiantly. “You stay the fuck away from Stella,” I grind out, pushing at Bruce’s back. My bodyguard is unmovable, though. “You want to hound me like some nutter fan, fine. But stay away from my friends.”

The guy just smiles, and the sight is oddly familiar. “Friend, is she? Looked cozier than that. Stella has a way about her. Very effective in sneaking under a man’s defenses.”

I surge forward, trying to break past Bruce and Rye. They both hold firm.

The guy holds up his hands. “Easy now. I’m trying to help you out here. The information I have for purchase might spare you some headaches along the way.”

“Like hell,” I spit out. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He stares back at me, totally placid. “I’m her dad.”

All the fight goes out of me as I gape back at him. I feel sick. Sick on Stella’s behalf. Her dad is trying to shake me down for money. The fucker who abandoned her as a teen and she hasn’t seen since.

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” I say through clenched teeth. “Because these guys aren’t going to be able to hold me forever, and I really don’t give a shit about repercussions if I pummel you into a pulp.”

Rye’s grip on my arm eases. “We might even help him,” he says in a cold voice.

Stella’s so-called dad shrugs again. “Beating me up won’t change the truth. I’m not asking for much. Ten grand should do it. If you change your mind, call me at this number.” He tosses a battered card at my feet. “You’ll thank me later.”

I stare at the card like it’s a bomb, the sick feeling in me growing.

“Fucking hell,” Rye mutters, glaring at the little weasel walking away. “That really Stella’s dad?”

“They have the same smile,” I say dully. Though Stella’s never looked that … soulless. But the shape and movements are the same—down to the small, oddly placed dimple that appears just below the left corner of their mouths. My heart kicks hard in my chest. “That asshole tried to shake me down.”