Pound of Flesh

Raider lets his displeasure over my illegal order show on his frowning face, but I widen my eyes to keep him from commenting that I’m not old enough for liquor. “Coke for me. I’m driving,” he mutters. “Burgers sound good?”

“Yes, please. One for me. Five for him,” I answer, giving the waitress my sweetest smile. “He’s a growing boy.”

She turns on a heel and disappears into the kitchen so fast, I start to giggle. And then something incredible happens. Raider laughs, too. It’s nothing more than a rusty rumble tumbling around in his chest, but it makes him beautiful for a brief flickering moment, before his face rests back into its grimace. Immediately, I want more of that laugh. Want it so bad, my stomach hurts.

“There’s only one good thing about people staring at me,” Raider says. “It means they’re not looking at you.”

“Don’t pay them any attention.” I turn my head toward the bar and stick out my tongue. “They’re just jealous that you’ll know when it’s raining ten seconds before they do.”

His lips twitch, but his eyes start to look a little sad. “You were scared when you first saw me.”

Beneath the table, I kick off my ballet flat and rub his shin with my bare foot. “That’s before I knew how gentle you could be.”

“Gentle doesn’t call for ice packs, doll.”

I reach his knee and slide my foot into his lap. “Your type of gentle does.”

He catches my foot and rubs a thumb along my arch, slow and sensual, so it catches me off guard when his fist locks around my ankle in a firm grip. “For a long time I was locked inside a place where manners don’t exist, Delilah. Please, don’t tempt the beast. He’s right below the surface wanting to play daddy.”

Heat gathers in my tummy, running down along the insides of my thighs, but the dark plea in his expression makes me take my foot back, sliding it into my shoe once more. It dawns on me that he doesn’t want to make a scene. Especially in a room full of people who already made him feel on display. That realization makes my heart ache for him. “Earlier you called your Pontiac GTO a she.” The waitress returns, setting down our drinks, and I take a long, burning sip of whiskey, handily ignoring Raider’s disapproval. “It sounds like you two are in a serious relationship. Should I be jealous?”

“You’ll never spend one goddamn second jealous while I’m your man.” He pauses, as if wanting that statement to sink in…and boy, does it. Right down to my toes. “My Pontiac. Yeah, she’s a beauty. Red leather interior. A convertible, which means my big ass fits inside.”

Hearing his voice warm with enthusiasm, seeing his green eyes sparkle, is showing me a whole new side to Raider. A side I like a lot. “You going to give me a ride in it?”

“Of course.” He nods once and glances away. “If I decide to keep her.”

“Why would you sell a car you love so much?”

“Money.” The scars on his cheek pull taut. “I planned to use the money your brother was holding to open a garage. Classic car repairs. Detailing.” He shrugs. “Might have to sell the Pontiac instead. I’ve already got offers, but I’ve been turning them down.”

“Roger will—” Automatically, I start to say my brother will come through with the cash, but I cut myself off. Because if my brother does cough up the money, I’ll no longer be considered collateral. My relationship with Raider will be based on free will. What will happen then? Moreover, what will happen if Roger doesn’t make the deadline? Will Raider keep me forever…or is this temporary, just like every other relationship I’ve ever been around?

I start to change the subject, but a group of four men walks into the bar. Right away, I know something is odd about their arrival. When they trade looks with the bartender, who nods in our direction, my theory is proven correct. Raider sees it happen, too, but merely watches from beneath hooded eyelids as the newcomers take a seat near us, leaning back in their chairs like they’re paying a social call. And they stare from beneath the brims of their trucker hats. Right at us. There’s a tick in Raider’s cheek that seems to match my rapidly increasing heartbeat. Scratchy honky-tonk music wails from an old jukebox, but not a soul is saying a word.

So I decide it’s my job. “You want to take a picture, assholes?”

“Delilah.” Raider’s voice is firm. “Come over here by me.”

I stand to do as he says, but the four men stand at the same time. “Now, hold on one second, little lady.” Raider starts to growl, and the speaker flinches, one hand disappearing to the back of his waistband. “We’re just here on behalf of a few concerned souls. If you’re in trouble or this fella is keeping you against your will, just let us know and we’ll handle it.”