Page 46 of Broken Discipline
“One song,” he said. “That’s all I ask. I’ll even throw in a new set of tires. But if you don’t, well,” he chuckled to himself, “the tires won’t be the only thing I slash.”
What the hell was he going to do next?
“Everyone wins, Kylie,” Blister said. “No one goes to jail. You get new tires. And I get my lap dance.”
“Why do you want a lap dance so bad?” I asked.
He rubbed his lips together. “I’ve got a business proposition for you. It’s an opportunity to test out your physicalpotential,see exactly how you can make it up to me. Killing those two cost me a lot of money. You know that, right?”
I huffed through my nostrils. Blister gestured toward the bench and Finn’s gaze glared across the room, his jaw rigid. His balled fists rested on top of the table like he was ready to fight. He reached down to his pocket, tapping the fabric, as if he had a syringe in there, ready to sedate me this time.
Or was the syringe ready to kill Blister?
I swallowed my nerves, then nodded at Blister. If shit hit the fan and we had to bolt from The Raw, then he might find out about the twins, and I couldn’t let that happen.
It was a lap dance. A single, three-minute song. I didn’t want to cause a scene, and part of me wanted to protect Finn. He said he owned the police, but that didn’t necessarily mean he ‘owned’ the police in Oakmont too. He had rescued me so many times; this way, we would be even. I wouldn’t owe him anything anymore, and we could part ways for good.
I didn’t think about it anymore. I took Blister’s hand, leading him to the lap dance bench.
CHAPTER 11
Finn
Heat flushed through my body, my jaw clenched so hard that my teeth rattled in my ears. Ramona led the way to the lap dance bench, and I swear that she was swaying her hips, taunting that ponytailed bastard, as if heneededmore reasons to want her.
This is her way of taunting you,I thought.She’s trying to control him. She’s trying to control you! And you can’t let your emotions get to you like this.
I repeated those lines to myself, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Blister sat down on the bench, sprawling his arms across the backrest, and Ramona stood in front of him, waiting for the next song to begin. Her arms were crossed over her chest, like she was trying to hide from him, and that damned bikini top was smaller than two triangle tortilla chips, barely covering her breasts. Blister was soaking up every inch with his leering eyes.
I was going to kill him.
No.This was what Ramona did to me—made me lose every last ounce of discipline I had until I was a feral caveman clawing to get her back. I ripped my eyes away and held every emotion behind a gate. If I let Ramona get to me, then that meantshehad the power, and I couldn’t let her control me. I tried to focus on the bartender, tried to check out other women, tried to do anything to remind my dick that there were other pussies in this world, other tits, other asses. There were even other women with the same exact stretch marks as Ramona.
But they would never be her.
Her spirit. Her drive to protect her kids. Her loyalty to those few people that earned it. Her willingness to do what was right. Even if ‘the right thing’ was giving a lap dance to a piece of shit, just to spill the least amount of blood.
Even if ‘the right thing’ was running away from me.
Ramona tapped her foot on the floor, antsy to get the dance over with. I should have killed Blister before I even took Ramona from Bruce’s mansion. The only reason I had kept him alive was to see if she wouldaskme for help, but she hadn’t.
She refused, even now.
If you respect me, you’ll back the hell off,she had said. Like it was the only way to earn her trust.
Respect. I did respect Ramona.
But I also expected hernotto give lap dances like this.
The song changed. Ramona’s ass was in his lap, Blister’s grubby hands inching up her thighs. Ramona quickly grabbed his hands and made him sit on them.
Good girl.
I made a promise to myself: if he behaved for the rest of the song,respectingher boundaries andbacking the hell off,then I’d make his death quick and painless. But if he touched her—if he even shook her hand to give her a tip once the song was over—I would make sure he felt every last second of his life.
But what the fuck was I thinking? Murder was never supposed to be about emotion. It waswork.
I pushed myself away from the booth, forcing myself to turn my back on them, and went to the bar.
