Page 76 of Broken Wheels

“Cowboys use a variety of tools in their jobs. Ropes. Soft bandanas. A type of cuffs.” He kissed the top of Josh’s head. “That is, if you’re up for it.” He reached down between Josh’s legs and gripped his stiffening cock. “Well, it looks like you have the most important tool ready to go for another round. What do you say, cowboy?”

A shiver rippled through Josh at Dixon’s soft, seductive tone.

“Giddyup, pardner?”

Chapter 23

Mordaunt regarded the man behind the huge oak desk who perused a document.

He acts as though he owns the world.

Maybe having that attitude had gotten Mr. S to this point. Maybe that was also why being summoned to his presence was intimidating as fuck.

It crossed Mordaunt’s mind briefly that Mr. S might be compensating for something, considering that desk was worth at least twenty thousand dollars. And that was a conservative estimate. Knowing his boss, Mr. S had probably spent a hell of a lot more on it.

He peered at his boss. The man was cool as a goddamn cucumber. Even though Mordaunt had been in his employ for six years and had seen all kinds of shit go down, he didn’t have those kinds of nerves. Hell, even the best of his associates didn’t. The man was in a class of his own.

A fucking scary class.

Mr. S looked up from his document, peering up at him from beneath those dark lashes, and that glance chilled Mordaunt to the bone. It was like staring into the eyes of a pit viper. Dark, dangerous, hypnotic. Mordaunt could see why he was able to convince so many people to work for him.

Mr. S twirled a hand. “I can see you want to ask me something, so please, feel free.”

And Mordaunt knew he had to choose his next words very carefully.

He also knew what happened to those who didn’t.

Mordaunt regarded him with a frown, and an air of trepidation clung to him.

He’s afraid. Good. A healthy dose of fear might keep him alive.

“Is there a problem?” He arched his eyebrows.

Mordaunt hesitated before speaking. “Are you sure about this, Mr. S?”

He blinked. “I could ask you the same thing. Changed your mind?” He hadn’t thought it likely that Mordaunt would get cold feet. It wasn’t in his makeup.

“No, no, of course not.” Mordaunt’s reply was instantaneous.

He smirked. “Good. Because if you had, maybe I need to rethink this.” The intercom buzzed, and he pressed the button. “Yes?”

“He’s here.” The guy on reception spoke in a low voice.

“Send him up.” He sat back in his chair, surveying his wide desk. A line from a Thomas Harris novel came to mind, and he smiled. It’s my moat, what separates me from them. The polished surface was devoid of clutter, containing only a monitor and an ornate carved receptacle that held his pens. Except today there was something else. A tray containing a bottle of whiskey and three squat glasses sat on it, along with a silver bucket for ice. Usually he didn’t approve of alcohol in the middle of the day, but this was a special occasion.

When the knock came, he pressed the button under his desk. Vreeland entered with his habitual confident air. That tiny jump when the door locked behind him betrayed the nerves he hid, however.

“You wanted to see me, sir.” Vreeland’s gaze flickered to Mordaunt, and he pressed his lips together into a thin line.

Ah. You sense you have competition, and you don’t like it, do you?

“Indeed.” He didn’t offer Vreeland a seat. He didn’t want him to feel comfortable.

Besides, it was going to be a very short meeting.

He leaned forward and perused the document in front of him. “I’ve read your report.” He tapped it with his fingertip. “Not exactly impressive.”

Vreeland flushed, and he adjusted his tie with a slightly trembling hand. “Dr. Malone hasn’t left CrossBow once during the last two weeks, and access to the building has proved?—”

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