Page 15 of Hide and Keep

Rich bitch.

The technician holds up one finger and continues spraying.

“What the fuck?” I bark, my voice evaporating much quicker than the VOCs in the paint.

This close, it’s clear he’s almost finished, and despite the space being well-ventilated, the fumes are still strong, so I stalk over to the corner, folding my arms over my chest as I watch my Bronco become unrecognizable.

Paint can be fixed. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things. I did the math on the way over. In three years, I’ll leave the Munreaux estate having earned close to two million dollars. After taxes, I won’t have that much in my account, but I should still have around a million, especially with living expenses covered.

With one final horizontal stroke, the technician turns off the gun. Just as he’s heading my way, a door to my left opens, and Ever appears, a mirror and sink behind her.

She pauses when she sees me but is quick to recover, pasting on a fake smile. Down to her crude baby tee again, she has my flannel balled in her hands.

She gives it back to me with a sweet, “Thanks.”

I feel myself scowl even harder as I turn it over in my hold. It’s all wet.

“Didn’t have any toilet paper,” she answers without me even asking.

Clogging my nose mid-inhale, I immediately spread my fingers and let the shirt fall from my grip. Son of a bitch. I’d demand she wash it but doubt she even knows how. People like the Munreauxs have staff for that.

The flannel pooled at my feet, I debate whether the money’s enough to handle someone else’s bodily fluids or not. Technically, I’m not being paid at all yet. Not until tomorrow.

As long as I don’t strangle the fuck out of Ever before then.

I kick the material away from me. These motherfuckers are already on Arthur’s payroll. Let them clean up his daughter’s piss.

Pulling his mask down, the tech says, “I just stocked that bathroom with toilet paper this morning.”

Ever shrugs unapologetically and glances at me with more of that challenge.

I glare at her, tempted to pin her ass to the floor in a wrestling move called the banana split until tomorrow morning.

My dick jolts at the fucking prospect of having Ever in that compromising of a position, legs spread as wide as they can go, pussy in the air.

I shake the image away before I get any harder.

As soon as I do though, more images filter in. Worse images. Images of other positions I could put her in because as much as I’d like to think I could, there’s no way I’d keep her in a banana split thewholetime. She’s a cheerleader. She’s gotta be flexible. I could twist her body into a fucking pretzel and—

Fuck.

I shove past her into the bathroom and wash my hands under scalding water before turning it to freezing, the piercing coldwaking me the fuck up. I only met the girl a couple hours ago and she’s already insulted me, scratched me, defaced my car, and pissed on my clothing. The last thing I should be thinking about is stuffing my cock in her. Creatively. And repeatedly.

Ever comes up behind me, her eyes on mine as I track her approach.

“It doesn’t have to get worse. Quit now and it won’t,” she says quietly.

I don’t remove my gaze from hers until after I dry my hands and spin to face her, my ass pressed to the counter’s edge to create as much distance between us as possible in the cramped bathroom.

We regard one another for a few tense moments, those bruises marring her otherwise flawless skin pulling my attention away.

“Is slutting yourself out really that important to you?”

The muscle in her jaw twitches as her azure eyes fill with flames brighter than the ones on my hood.

“Yes.”

Damn. I didn’t expect her to cop to it so easily. Most women wouldn’t.

---