And I’m starting to get that feeling again. That twitchy feeling that says a storm is coming. That says I need to prepare.
Because not only do I have to worry about keeping Ronin and Ford safe, now I have to worry about Rook. And Ashleigh. And Kate.
But thank f**king God, my Bombshell is safe. No one knows about us. No one knows how much I love her. And that’s the whole reason I continue to break her heart, time after time after time.
I never want this shit we’re in to touch her again.
Chapter Ten
VERONICA
“Well,” I say back, still standing at the base of the stairs. I should be walking up them, going inside. But this stranger has stopped me dead. “You found me.”
He adjusts his coat. It’s a long black trench, pressed crisp, and looks like it cost a million bucks. In fact, this guy screams money. And then he steps towards the stairs and descends. Slowly. Like he’s trying to make an impression on me.
It’s working. I’m just not sure what kind of impression he’s leaving.
Handsome? Yes.
Intimidating? You bet.
Dangerous? Absolutely.
When he reaches the bottom he looks me over. Like, not just the look-over. I get that a lot. That look says I’m a pervert and I’m imagining my dick between your tits right now.
No. Not this guy. This guy gives me a look that says pay attention.
And right now that look he’s giving me is making me wish he was just leering and looking for a mental image the next time he wanks himself off.
He stands there like he’s waiting for something, and I have time to take him in. Short, styled brown hair. Green eyes. Expensive suit that looks like it was designed specifically for his body. Which is large, easily the same size as my brother Vic’s. I bet he’s got muscles for miles underneath those clothes. He extends his hand. “I’m Mr. Mansi, owner of this”—he waves another hand towards the building in a dismissive gesture—“lovely piece of property.”
“Oh.” I laugh a little with relief. “Got it. I signed the monthly lease with Mr. Golden when I rented this place. So sorry, I just didn’t realize who you were.” I look around at the chaos of workers and take stock the way Spencer taught me back when we first started dating. “Where is Mr. Golden?” I drag my gaze from the commotion and stare Mr. Mansi in the face. “I don’t see him.”
It’s only then that I realize I’m still shaking his hand. For several seconds. He’s looking down at our grip with an amused smile and I pull my hand back self-consciously.“He’s been… relieved of his position. I’m taking over from here. And that’s why I needed to talk to you. He should not have rented you an apartment in this building, Miss Vaughn. The first floor is contaminated with asbestos.”
I gasp. Holy shit, asbestos! That’s as bad as hepatitis in my book.
Mr. Mansi puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s OK, it’s not airborne. It’s not been disturbed. But it needs to be cleaned out, and I’m afraid that means you can’t stay here. You can’t go back inside now until they’re done. They’ve already started ripping it out. I’ve been trying to call you for several hours, and well, we couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Oh.” I breathe out some relief. “OK, so how long will it take? I guess I can stay with my dad.” He smiles an indulgent smile and all of a sudden I get it. “You’re kicking me out, aren’t you? For good?” I turn and kick the wall. “Goddammit.”
“Your lease was month to month and—”
I shove my helmet on my head and walk over to my bike and swing my leg over. I’m just about to twist the key when he places his hand over mine. I look up at him and he’s smiling. Asshole.
“Miss Vaughn, can you take the helmet off so I can explain your accommodation arrangements?”
“My what?” I echo through my helmet.
He knocks on the helmet and I slip it off and rest it in my lap. “My what?” I repeat.
“I own several apartment buildings in the area. I’ve arranged for one to be provided for you. Would you like to see it?”
“Uh…” What am I supposed to say? “OK,” I manage after a few silent seconds.
“Come with me, I’ll drive you there.”
“No,” I say with a small laugh. “I don’t think so. I’ll follow you on the bike.”
He looks up at the sky and makes a face. “It’s getting cold.”
“I’m good,” I assure him as I push the helmet back down on my head.
And then he nods and walks over to the alley. I start the bike and back out, then meet up with him at his big black Dodge Challenger. He revs the engine a little, making the whole car sway and rumble with power.
That is sorta hot.
He nods at me and pulls out slowly. I catch him checking his rear-view to make sure I’m following. We cross College Avenue and weave our way up a few streets, not far from Spencer’s new shop. He pulls up to an underground parking garage and we wait for the gate to open for us. I follow him inside the dimly lit garage and he parks the car in a reserved spot near the door to the elevator. There’s a few other cars, sporadically spaced. But the place is pretty empty. Everyone must be at work. I pull up next to him, shut the bike off and engage the stand, pulling off my gloves and then my helmet, before swinging my leg over the bike.
I feel sorta badass while I do this. I mean seriously, I’m riding a custom Shrike Bike. I’ve got my old faded blue jeans on. I’m wearing Spencer’s painted leather jacket, and my four-hundred-dollar Frye boots are the biker icing on the cake. I’m like one hundred percent hotness. I know this because this Mansi guy’s eyeballs never leave my body.