Chapter Three Hundred Eight
KENDALL
Fired me? Firrrreeeed meee?
For what? Falling down the stairs?
Oh no. Oh hell no!
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Shake yourself Kendall, it’s time to let this bastard have a dose.
“You can’t do that!” I snap, desperation tingling through my system and pushing to the surface. “I haven’t done a motherfucken thing wrong!” I quip, sliding out of the booth to my feet, and getting up in his face.
But Timmons isn’t looking at me, although he’s still standing exactly where he was just a moment ago, when he dropped me onto the seat, his face is turned away and his eyes are on Charlie. “You can’t date the help and manage it, Chuck. Sleeping with the employees is not allowed, and promiscuous blondes are not only bad for business, but they carry disease.”
What. The. Fuck?
My eyes heat as they fall over this handsome bastard as if seeing him for the first time. “You should know something else about promiscuous blondes-” I hiss shoving him in the chest as I do – nevermind that he doesn’t budge “-they are also prone to violence.”
It’s almost too perfect, the way his face snaps toward me at the exact same time that my left hand goes flying for his stupid mug. I’m suddenly in that mode, you know, that fuck it mode you never seem to see coming. The one that doesn’t give you even a moment of foreplay before you hop on and ride. My hand connects with his skin and the sound cracks across the space to bounce along the walls.
It was a damn good slap.
But my hand just might be broken.
A loud shatter sounds as Charlie’s mouth drops open along with glass in his hands. Shock and fear for the next few moments of my existence shine in his eyes and a strangled, incoherent cry warbles from his mouth.
Yeah, I know.
It was nce meeting you too Charlie.
Timmons‘ eyes swirl with a glowing yellow light, firing around the orbs that coil his pupils like an electric current. The view is enough to cause me step to back in fear, especially when both of his hands shoot forward and fist in my hair. Sparks of pleasure explode across my scalp where his fingers tangle in my roots and my head tilts back. Despite my predicament, a heady moan escapes my lips, my common sense unable to override the cataclysmic fantasy of this leading somewhere other than behind bars. In the back of my mind, I’m allowed to notice how absolutely delicious his forearms look this close up, and some pathetic part of me tries to imagine he’s about to kiss me, instead of what he actually does, which is flip me around, bend me over the table, and yank my arms behind my back.
Damn it.
Now, I am going to jail…
Shit.
Timmons chuckles humorlessly, wrenching my wrists together with so much force that I cry out and drool slips from my mouth and out onto the table. From behind me, his body pressing roughly into mine. In a way that I might enjoy if we were anywhere else but here, but…we are here, and…I’m fucked,
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Chapter Three Hundred Eight
“You stupid fucken bitch,” Timmons snarls, his words smarting as his head dips down next to my ear. “Have you lost your fucken mind? Assaulting an officer? Oh…you are so fucked.”
Yeah, I know.
I have an extremely clear view of the sidewalk through the window, and from my vantage point on the polished wooden tabletop, I am allowed the humiliation of the locals pressing their faces upon the glass to bask my moment of greatness.
As Timmons continues to pin my wrists together, I hear the unmistakable sound of handcuffs hitting the table behind my head. However, why he has yet to put them on me, I couldn’t say.
“Wait! Tim, wait!” Charlie beckons, coming around the bar and nearly tripping over a chair as he gallops toward us. “Be careful with her! She-
“Sorry, Chuck,” Timmons snipes. “You’re going to have to find yourself a different slut to stroke at night. This one for five to ten.”
probably won’t be back
“Huh? What?!” Charlie spews.
“Fuck you!” Ispit, and I mean, I literally see it fly out of my mouth. “God how I hate you! I hate you so much!” I whimper, the stupid fanciful girl in me finally rising to the surface as I think of all the times that I simply watched him from afar. Imagining all sorts of stupid, idiot, scenarios that might bring him a little closer, or make him finally notice me.
Well he definitely sees you now
Did you get what you wanted?
“What?” Timmons chokes out, his grip on my wrists easing. I don’t know what did it, my declaration of hate or my tears, but I hear the disbelief in Timmons voice when he asks, “Did you say that you hate me? Is that what I heard?”
It’s almost as if he never expected to hear it. Like he really imagined there wasn’t anything he could ever do to me to inspire the loathing/ am feeling for him now. With a breath like a shudder, he releases me and steps back.
My arms come around, and I moan into the wood, turning my face so that no one can see my tears as they gather and drop uselessly from my eyes. My heart rate is skyrocketing, pumping pain into my bloodstream like poison. My stomach turns, and as a sudden burst of moisture sprouts across my brow, I know…I am about to be sick.
Oh fuck.
“Tell those fucks outside that the bar is closed tonight,” Timmons says in a cold, empty voice.
“Tim, please…” Charlie starts, and I feel his hand on my shoulder, stroking across my back in a soothing motion. “She’s-”
“No!” I protest, pushing up from the table, just enough to peel my forehead away from the wood and straighten my back a bit. But I keep myself pressed away from Timmons, because I won’t be letting the bastard’s nearness swindle me ever again. I really n–need the money! P–please!”
“Tell them CHUCK!” he snaps. “Now! I want them gone.”
Charlie sighs heavily and I watch as he exits out the front of the bar. A chorus of boos and whys follow as I work to control the rise of bile in my throat.
I feel Timmons heat as he closes in on my back, his gloriously chiseled arms coming around either side of me and caging me in from behind. The dude is so big that he doesn’t even have to touch me to do this. Hot breath flutters into my hair and I listen to him inhale a deep breath, slow and steady, and I slightly angle my head so that I can gaze at his pretty boy profile.
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Chapter Three Hundred Eight
His light brown curls coil over the front of his brow, draping over the wrinkle there and making him look almost vulnerable. Even with his gaze locked on some point straight ahead of me, I can see the regret in his eyes.
Then again, I may be imagining it. I happen to do that quite a bit with everything that concerns him.
But what I’m not imagining, is the way he gently presses up against my back, lining the hot steel of his powerful frame up against the softness of my behind. Or the sudden disappointed huff he spouts out before he shakes his head and tilts his face to the side to look at
- me.
Cinnamon eyes flicker across my face before settling on my mouth and pulsing into the black of his pupils. And me…being the loser I am…I can’t help but taste my bottom lip, drawing it in between my teeth to bite down on a moan.
Oh God!!!!
Is that his dick I feel pulsing somewhere along the base of my spine?
It has to be… right?
It can’t be his gun, because guns don’t swell and harden. At least, not that I’m aware. If I push back against him with my cutie–pa–tootie,
then I will know.
No Kendall, do not do that, he already thinks you’re the town tramp.
But he smells like lemon candy.
And I am suddenly dying for a piece.
“Tell me this,” he says softly, his minty breath caressing my face and his eyes still on my lips. “Why Charlie? Why him?”
“Why Charlie, what?” I reply dreamily, almost too enamored by him to focus on his words.
His gaze throbs, his head drawing nearer to me, along with his arms that I can almost feel closing in on both sides. “I mean…first Bartlett, now Charlie…who else? Huh?”
My spine straightens, the shock of his question pushing my back completely into his bulk as I try and turn around. Widening his stance so that his thighs can keep me locked against the table, he doesn’t let me, causing a growl of frustration to erupt from my lips.
“You think I’m fucking Charlie?” I quip. “Are you kidding me?”
I mean, I love Charlie, I do. He’s great. But he has about as much sex appeal as a rabbit in the glen. Gentle and soft, cuddly and sweet, but still much too tame to start any fires in the valley. Sooo not the one for me.
Timmons jaw clenches and he looks away from me, seemingly to study the drink menu clipped along the wall ahead of us. “Then what the fuck were you doing up in his apartment?”
God bless an honest woman, right? “Taking a shower.”
Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Yeah, no, it definitely was. He glares, his head snapping in my direction so quickly I almost don’t see it when his eyes flash a startling yellow before dissipating back into a cool cinnamon brown.
“Un–fucking–believable,” he snarts, shaking his head before shoving away from me. “Fuck this,” he says, heading toward the back door as 1 spin around and reach for him.
“No! Wait! Timmons, please!” I can’t help it, I can’t.
There’s a sudden throbbing in my chest that crushes and burns, but it only gets worse when I grab his arm and he says, “Touch me ever
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Chapter Three Hundred Eight
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again and I will take you to jail.
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With a whimper, I release him, watching as he stands frozen for the barest moment, his jaw ticking, his eyes blazing straight ahead. When he shakes himself then proceeds out the door, my entire body shudders with loss, feeling weighted, like wet tar has just been poured over my head, and suddenly I cannot breathe.
So…I don’t think that I do…and in the next moment, I am tumbling toward the floor and into a sea of blackness that feels a lot like rest.
God, I’m so tired.
