Page 65 of Cruel Debts
She pulled some colored jelly wristbands off a hook in the corner of the room, considering each one before making herfinal decision and putting back the rest. Then, she bent over again, ass facing in my direction, and stuffed a bunch of her paints in a pretty pink toolbelt that matched her lingerie. Next was her paintbrushes, then the palette that hung from a little hook on her hip, and finally, a hand towel that she hung off her other hip.
"Ready."
I'd say. I wasn't sure what this constituted as being ready for, but damn, was she ever ready.
To be fucked.
To paint someone's body from head to toe.
To drive me absolutely fucking bonkers.
On her way across the main room to the private areas, she greeted people she recognized, both patrons and workers alike. She gave her favorite bodyguard an arm squeeze, slapped a few women's asses, and took a shot from a patron who'd just ordered one. Everyone seemed to enjoy her presence, and she was positively beaming.
This was her home turf now, as much as it pained me to see her so at ease in a sex club. She felt safe here, comfortable. And these were her surrogate family members.
With us, she was a prisoner, and we, the jailers. With the people here, she was an equal.
She was free.
The difference was staggering.
I posted up along the far wall of her painting room for the next two hours as I waited for the others to join us. Hawke showed first, not one to disappoint, with a girl on his arm already. She looked like she was ready to fall into his lap when he walked into view, and he didn't bother to draw a line with her, content to let her hang on him like a leech while he watched Trinity work.
And work she did.
She ran circles around her patrons, many of whom tipped her extra because they were just so happy to have her back after such a long absence. She handled them all with grace and professionalism, tagging in her burly assistant to remove the one man who started to protest her ending the session early because of his wandering hands.
I had a hard time resisting the urge to break every one of his fingers while she watched.
Liam showed up last, but whereas Hawke was calm, almost content with the situation, he wasfuming.His eyes were filled with rage, and when he directed them at me, it was clear he blamed me for not talking to him first.
Too bad. I knew he'd shoot this idea down, and I wasn't taking that chance. I couldn't tell what direction Hawke would go, so without a guarantee of backup, I had to take drastic measures.
And that meant pissing someone off.
Namely him.
He sought me out with ease and leaned against the wall next to me, mimicking my pose. To an outsider, it looked like we were just two friends who'd stopped to have a chat and admire the view. Only I knew how pissed off, how dangerous, this situation was now.
"You brought her here alone." It was a statement, not a question. "After all the trouble we've had."
"She needed this?—"
"She needed to be safe. She needed to stay where we could protect her. And now she's in danger. Exposed. And so are we." He shoved one of the heels of his boots into my soft upper sole. "You're a lovesick, whipped asshole, and you're putting our whole operation in danger."
"Get fucked, Liam," I spat, eyes following Trinity as she finished up her last customer and promised to come back againsoon for another session. "She's happy. Tell me it doesn't make you feel better to watch her smile."
He couldn't. As much as he wanted to play the stubborn mule, he, too, had something there for her. He could deny it and play the fool all he wanted, that was fine. But he couldn't lie to me. We'd been friends for far too long.
"She's better off unhappy and alive than happy and dead."
I looked over at her and froze. There were two strange men on the dias with her, and they looked too interested in the nearly-naked woman we were responsible for.
We moved in sync, the two of us like prowling predators as we inched closer to them, on high alert. Off to our left, Hawke is also watching, but he's content to hang back unless we need him. It's part of his Ghost persona. Hidden in plain sight. Always there but not.
It worked well for us.
When we were close enough to hear the conversation, my heart skipped a beat.
