Page 71 of The Bloke

Chapter 33

Sienna

THREE WEEKS AGO.

Every group I instructed went through hell today. I took my rage out on my classes, and while everyone left complimenting me for the best workout they’ve ever had, I was still in a pissy mood.

Colby had been ignoring me, and I assumed intentionally, not wanting to talk about the night at Fallout and what happened between us—what he did in front of me.

I shouldn’t be pissed off at him; I should be happy that he’s finally leaving me alone and feels more like an unwanted roommate than my husband, but no… All because my dumbass wants what it can’t have, and now that he isn’t fucking me, I want him like a fucking drug.

Fuck! I smashed my fist on the front desk just as the door opened.

“Carter.” Double fuck… I knew that voice. One I had hoped to forget and never hear from again, and yet here he was, standing before me in full tactical gear as if he had just returned from a raid.

“Officer Landon…” I crooned, glaring daggers at him as he approached the desk. “To what do I owe this unpleasant visit.” Please fucking leave.

The last thing I needed today was to deal with one of Las Vegas Special Forces assholes.

“Well, aren’t you always just a ray of fucking sunshine.” He grunted, removing his dark sunglasses and nestling them in his short blonde hair. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“I told you I was done working for you.” I snapped, standing from my seat.

I was only five-five, but I knew how to make a six-foot-tall man feel small.

“And we told you that if we ever had a job that you—and only you—could perform, we would be in touch to collect the last payment of your debt.”

“What the fuck kind of job could the LVSF possibly have that only I could do?” I shot him a skeptical look just as he glanced down at my hand.

“Married now? I’ll have to tell Officer Travis; he’ll be devastated.” He smirked, arching a brow. Oh, fuck… don’t tell me…

“My life is none of your, Travis, or the LVSF’s fucking business,” I growled. “Now get the fuck out of my studio.”

“It is our business when you are married to a member of the Men Under Revue.”

“The fucking what?” I sarcastically laughed, rolling my eyes at the ridiculous name. “You’ve got to be joking. My husband is a male revue dancer, not… whatever the fuck you just said.”

“Didn’t you ever question how a guy who dances for a living could afford a penthouse with a skyline view of the Strip and, let me guess, a nice car?” He offered. “I know you aren’t that dense, Carter. Your husband is a walking red fucking flag—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I cut him off. “After all the shit you pulled with Travis. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare. Tell me what a red fucking flag looks like.” I sneered with aggravated venom. “You have no fucking right.”

He covered up for Travis once upon a time when he attempted to take advantage of me—using his job and title to abuse the system and use me like I was some fucking toy. He never actually did, but his threats left their mark on me all the same. Like them, I was supposed to be a highly regarded LVSF Officer, but they drove me away from the career, and I was better for it now that I look back on it.

“You do this last job for us, and we won’t come near you ever again.”

“That better be a goddamn promise, and I want it in writing.” I knew how these men played their games and wouldn’t help them without insurance this time.

“Deal.” He agreed without pause.

Landon knew what I would want; I’m sure he had the agreement already tucked inside his vest, ready and waiting for me to sign on the dotted line.

“What is it you need me to do?” I asked, raising a curious brow.

“That all depends. Have you had your test as a wife?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Test? What test?” I scoffed. “Why would I need to be tested to be his wife?” For STDs? A stupid thought…

Landon sighed and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb before pinching the bridge of his nose.

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