Page 142 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“What did you expect?” she chortles. “You dropped a box of candy on a bunch of rowdy boys, and you’re surprised they’re running on a sugar high?”

Great.

Cade is still nowhere in sight—probably still outside with Phoenix—so it’s just me, on my own.

“Fuck it.” I stand, step onto the bench, and climb onto the table.

The room detonates. Cheers echo, whistles pierce the air, and rough hands shoot up in mock worship. The energy slams into me like a live wire, and I can’t help grinning.

“Alright, boys and girls,” I drawl, tapping my chin like I’m giving a lecture. “Let’s start with the basics.”

Bodies shift closer. I hold up a finger, my grin wicked. “For the ladies—”

Hoots interrupt me, and I wait them out, smirking. “Settings go up to ten. The detachable rabbit ears? They flick, lick, and suck—individually or all together—with a thrust mode for the G-spot.”

“Sweet Jesus, I think I just came.” A woman with flaming red hair fans herself, deadpan.

The clubhouse roars with laughter. Even the hardest-looking patchholders are grinning now, some barely containing it.

“My job’s done then!” I shoot back, riding the high. “Now, for the boys—”

The words stick in my throat as I spot Phoenix leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. Glowering.

Why does he hate me?

For one- awful moment, I consider crawling off the table. But the crowd starts chanting for more, and something snaps. Screw him.

I turn my back to Phoenix, square my shoulders, and face my eager audience. “Moving on to the boys—let’s talk about the prostate massage feature, shall we? Trust me, the reviews arelegendary.”

Groans ripple through the crowd, but there’s genuine interest gleaming in their eyes. They’relovingthis.

“Does Bliss Xtra come with a soundproof guarantee?” A blonde woman perched on Razor’s lap yells, waving her beer. “My man’s a screamer!”

The room loses it, fists pounding the tables, bodies shaking with laughter. My pulse races as I toss her a grin.

“No guarantees, sweetheart, but maybe keep an extra pillow handy—and bite down hard, Razor.”

Cheers explode. The energy crackles so hard it feels like the walls are shaking. I’m ready to drop the final mic moment—the simulated release feature—when a vibration buzzes against my thigh.

Cade’s phone.

We’d been tweaking the settings earlier to scan my fingerprints before Phoenix pulled him away.

I pull it out, ready to ignore whoever’s calling, but the name flashing across the screen stops me cold.

Jacques Dev’s Girl.

Jacques Dev as in Devereaux? What the hell? Is that . . . Reese?

How does she have Cade’s number? How does Cade have hers saved that way? Why the fuck would she be calling Cade?

I force a smile, holding up a hand. “Sorry, boys, duty calls. Give me a minute.”

Groans and playful complaints follow me as I hop down, but my mind’s already racing as I head for the door.

The night air hits my face as I step onto the porch, and I press the phone to my ear and wait.

“Agent Quinn?” I’d recognize that fake vocal fry anywhere.

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