Page 3 of Boomer
“Hey, kid.”
He stopped. Looked down. A hand had fisted the waistband of his jeans.
“You gotta be eighteen to be in here. Beat it.”
He turned and found a bouncer looking him over with a grin that saidI’ve bounced prettier punks for less.
Breakneck gave him a tight smile. He shifted his six-two frame and narrowed his eyes. “I’m twenty-five. I work for Uncle Sam killing terrorists. Let go of me before I show you how I do that.”
The bouncer released him fast, palms up.
“Whoa, all right, even if you’re lying, that earns your entry. Go on.”
Breakneck kept moving, but another obstacle stepped into his path, a woman, hips cocked and smile fixed like she’d practiced it in the mirror a hundred times. She was wearing a silver thong, platform heels tall enough to violate OSHA standards, and a halter top made of chains and rhinestones that did nothing to hide her luminous skin or the glitter in her cleavage. Her heels clicked against the sticky floor like she owned it, sparkle catching the red neon as she moved. Her perfume hit him before her voice did, sweet, cheap, and aggressively floral.
When her gaze landed on him, something in her expression shifted. Her rehearsed script went out the window.
She blinked once, hard, like she had to reset her focus.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes dragging up his chest to his face. “You’re gorgeous. Like, actual trouble. Those eyes...thoseeyesshouldn’t be legal.” Her gaze lingered, hunger creeping in. “You’re like a Calvin Klein ad made a baby with a gladiator.” Then softer, like she forgot she was selling something, “Are you even real?” She reached for his arm, like touching him might answer the question.
He got that a lot. The black hair. The blue eyes. The lean, earned-every-day, muscled frame that made strangers forget their drinks mid-sip.
But the boyish face? That’s what really threw them. Like God had gift-wrapped a man’s heart and a soldier’s rage in the body of some teenage fantasy.
She let out a breath. “Come in the back. I’ll give you whatever you want. No charge.”
Breakneck stared at her, aware of the intelligence, the substance that spoke to him, gently peeling her hand from his arm, clasping it, and bringing it to his chest. He stepped in close, and her breath caught. “You should be thinking about what you want.” He held her eyes. “You don’t belong in here, and potential can only be expanded if you expand. I’m sure you need a paycheck, but there are ways to get the fuck out of here. You deserve that.” She blinked several times, her expression stunned. “Pen.”
“What?”
“Pen, babe. Writing implement.”
“Oh.” She grabbed the one off her tray. He cupped her hand and wrote his number on her palm.
“Call me. We’ll talk about ways out of here.” He glanced back at Boomer. “My buddy needs me.” He turned to go, paused, met her eyes again, voice low and smooth. “I’m looking forward toseeing you without the mask.” He softened his expression. “I’m not a slave to my dick by the way, so no pressure.”
Her brows rose. “Who the hell are you?”
“A decent human being…” His eyes went over her. “Mostly.” He smiled. “If you want to turn me on, wear something demure.” All that skin. All that practiced provocation didn’t impress him.
Give him a buttoned-up librarian with her blouse fastened to the collar and glasses she pushed up with one finger. Hair in a knot. Voice calm, maybe even a little bossy.
Thatdid it for him.
Prim and proper didn’t hide anything; it just promised secrets. Promised layers. Promised that the real show didn’t start until the door was locked and the lights were low.
Yeah, he’d have a boner for days with a woman like that.
The bait for his cash was selling the mystery, but she'd already given everything away.
Then he turned and saw what he’d feared.
Boomer was already in it, chest squared, words flying, one fist clenched, the other guy matching his posture with drunken bravado. The moment before ignition.
Breakneck surged forward, faster than the beat of the bass.
Boomer’s punch launched wide and wild, and Breakneck moved into the path like a shadow, absorbing the blow with a twist of his chin. It clipped him, enough to light up his vision with stars, but he took the brunt on the roll.
