Made: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boy Games) (2 page)

Still, the pawns are not my issue. My job is to hand the woman the phone so she can accept or decline the offer. Period. It’s her last chance to back out.

From the way this sweet morsel studies the phone after I hand it to her, I’m thinking she’s going to turn around and leave. She looks too young to drink, let alone sign on the dotted line a contract she likely didn’t read or understand. De Hainault must have a kink for girls gone wild.

“The red button or the blue button—I have to push one of them—isn’t that right?” She blinks up at me with her doe eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What if I want to think about it for a while?” She swings the phone back and forth between two manicured fingers decorated with sparkly stars.

“That is an option, ma’am.”

She sidles closer to me, close enough that her tits brush against my chest. “What do
you
think I should do?”

Silence.

I make the mistake of glancing down as she slips the phone into her impressive cleavage. Only a few millimeters of dress keep her tits from popping free. I can’t help myself; my tongue slides over my bottom lip. Her hips ripple in a micro-shimmy and our thighs make contact.

We’re starting to attract attention, and I need to get her off the floor.

“C’moooooon, baby, tell me what you want me to do.”

“It’s not my decision, ma’am. I’m here to be of assistance no matter what you decide.” The fact that such pencil dick words know how to trip off my tongue feels like I’m committing a crime against who I used to be.

My cock, however, suffers no doubt about its place in the world and jumps to attention. Nevertheless, it’s against house rules for employees to attempt to influence the red shoe girls in any way. So I stand there with my fingers laced behind my back, waiting for her to push one damn button or the other.

“Waiting too long is also a decision. It might be interpreted that you’re declining the offer. Is that what you want?” I pause, studying her more carefully. No way is this babe over twenty-one. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

She frowns, and her full pink lips form a pout. “If anyone thinks I’m too young, they’re just dumb.” She sidles closer and her hand slides between us, fumbles for the bulge in my trousers. My cock twitches at her touch, which is surprisingly bold and strong if not exactly experienced. I give her points for enthusiasm.

“See?” Her sweet, alcohol-scented breath gusts under my nose. “I know what I want. Who needs a dumb phone? This whole thing is too complicated. I don’t like complications. I like you.”

Then why did you sign the fucking contract?

While my brain is telling me to back the fuck away, she rubs me and my cock swells. I know damn well what I
should
do. I should walk away from her and list all the rules and terms she’s ignoring, but that would put me in the shit with Tucker. The red shoe girls don’t end up here by chance; this little brunette was likely chosen and lured here based on a list of qualities the French dude desired. My stomach clenches at the thought of that fucker putting his hands on the girl. No time for me to turn into a white hat. For all I know, de Hainault is still in the control room watching this scenario play out in HD. If he’s getting off on the show, I figure I’m safe as long as I don’t touch the brunette.

“What if I want you?” she croons. “Tell me your name.”

“I’m not your date, ma’am.”

“I don’t care. You need to fuck me.”

“That’s not to happen, ma’am.”

Her fingers tighten on my cock. My blood roars in my head. It’s all I can do not to groan.

She giggles and increases her attentions, rubbing and stroking me. This situation isn’t going anywhere that’s healthy for me. Or for her.

“This is your last chance, ma’am. Please step away, use the phone, and make your choice.” I wait, praying a few cells in that brain of hers are firing.

She leans in, never stopping the motion of her business hand, and whispers against my neck. “I’ll do anything they say as long as you fuck me, right here and right now. In front of God and everyone. I want you to be my first. What do you think of that, big boy?”

Her first. . . and big boy?
Seriously?
A strangled sort of sound escapes my mouth.

More giggles erupt from the brunette. “What can I say? The idea of being watched turns me on.” It’s like she’s watched too many porn movies.

I take a deep breath and drag my mind up and away from my swollen, aching cock. The brunette is a pretty thing who’s slightly drunk (judging by the way she’s swaying in her stilettos) and hasn’t got the first clue what she’s about to become involved in.

The thing is, technically speaking; I could take her out of here right now—
if
the VIP had turned her down. When clients refuse a girl, the security guys get first dibs on the rejects. We call it
picking up the ticket.
Nice employee benefit. We get off; the girl gets her money, and H&S never has to list a failure in their books, which is exactly how they view a VIP rejection of a girl.

Since I can’t remember the last time I picked up a ticket, the idea seems better and better with each passing minute. My cock and my lizard brain take over, forgetting she wasn’t rejected and telling me I could do it.

I could take her here and now and hope the French dude is kinky enough to believe I was warming her up for him. My cock likes this option. A lot. It’d be an asshole move, but it would save the girl from whatever devious fuckery de Hainault has planned. Then again, de Hainault might take offense and kick up a fuss, which could be dangerous. I’m no knight and wouldn’t know what to do with shining armor if someone stole a set from a museum and delivered it to my house.

“It’ll be so good between us, baby,” she whispers. “I know it, deep down.”

“You want my cock deep inside you right now?”

“Oh yes, oh god, I want you so bad.” Her voice is breathy and so fake I have to choke back a laugh. The fact that she sounds like a lame porn star helps clear the sexual fog from my brain.

I make sure my head is tilted, so the security camera catches my face as I speak. I don’t want there to be any doubt in Tucker’s mind about what I’m doing. “Then you’ll need to come with me.” Touching as little of her skin as possible, I extract the phone from her cleavage and hold it up for her. “But first, please make your choice.”

“You’re not going to fuck me until I do this?”

I nod, not looking at her and instead scanning the club floor. I’m late delivering the girl. My boss might have lost patience already. If that’s the case, he’ll send one of the other guys, Seth or Hunter or Marco, out to see what’s causing the delay.

Relief floods me when I don’t spot any of them, but my gaze lands on a tall redhead framed by the entry doors on the other side of the club. She’s mostly in silhouette with the overhead lights turning her gorgeous hair into an auburn halo. Even though I’ve recently had a luscious pair of tits grazing my chest and a hand working my cock, I’m instantly all over that redhead in my mind. Probably a defense mechanism from the remote-but-sane part of my brain that knows fucking the brunette will get my ass kicked. For my sanity, I look down long enough to confirm that the redhead is not wearing a pair of the infamous red shoes, thank Jesus. Now
she
is a piece I could get into, one that doesn’t come with more trouble than any man needs. Time spreads out, and I’m thinking this redhead is an angel come to save me from myself.

“Hey!” The brunette pokes me in the chest with a sharp nail. “I’m talking to you, buddy!”

“Please make your choice, ma’am.”

After a long, exaggerated sigh, she stabs the phone and looks back at me, her gaze full of resentment. “There. It’s done. Are you satisfied?”

“Only if you are, ma’am.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m not satisfied at all. This isn’t going the way I was told it was supposed to, and I’m going to—”

Her mouth keeps moving, but I stop listening. I drag her bratty ass across the club floor and through the door at the back that leads to the VIP section. Now that I know what’s waiting for me out front, I can’t get rid of the pawn fast enough. Nobody forced her to stick her feet in the red shoes; nobody forced her to push the red button on the phone. And who knows? Maybe de Hainault really is a prince of a guy and this chick’s got a Cinderella kind of night ahead of her.

What can I say? I’m an optimist.

At the end of the hall, Hunter mans the desk next to the door leading to the inner sanctum—the luxe club-within-a-club exclusively for the use of VIPs. As I approach, dragging the pawn, he shoots me a smart-ass grin. “Didn’t think you were going to make it there for a minute.”

“Shut up, asswipe.”

“That’s Mr. Asswipe to you.” Hunter never loses his enthusiasm for reminding me that even though I’m a better shot, have a more impressive kill record, and outweigh him by twenty pounds; he has seniority in the organization. He’s what, in the old days, they used to call a
made
man—trusted and respected by the bosses.

He consults a tablet and then glances at the girl. “Miss Booty? Miss Deja Booty?”

I choke back a harsh laugh.

She nods and says, “That’s my name,” while shooting me death glances. Her skin is still flushed from our encounter, brief as it was, and her chest heaves as if she’s been running. “This is all your fault, you know,” she grumbles under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

She directs her words to Hunter and jerks her thumb my direction. “I thought
he
was my date. Then he turns around and forces me back here with him. I don’t even know where I am or what’s going on. It’s not fair. I call that bait-and-switch. I don’t think that’s allowed in my contract. And I did read it very carefully, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure you did.” Hunter rakes me with a dismissive glance before turning his attentions back to the pawn. “My sympathies, ma’am. Our procedures are designed to be as transparent as possible under the circumstances. We regret any confusion and apologize if you were unsettled in any way.”

She folds her arms under her tits. “I don’t like your
procedures
. I think I want to go home now.”

Flipping the tablet around, Hunter presents it to her and says, “Is this your signature?”

She leans forward, squinting. “Yes.”

“The contract you signed does not expire until 12:01 pm on Thursday. At such time, we will be happy to escort you home. Until then. . .”

Your ass belongs to Harley & Sweet
; I finish for him in my head. As if anyone cares that she’s under twenty-one and using a false name. The contract is worth less than the electrons and phosphors that display it on Hunter’s tablet. She doesn’t know that; none of the pawns realize it. They’re blinded by the promise of more money than they’ve ever dreamed of before.

“I don’t think I like the way things are going. It’s not what was described to me,” she says. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Hunter puts down the tablet and starts to come around the standing desk. I hold up a hand. He halts, unspoken questions all over his face, but he gives me the benefit of the doubt.

“Give me a minute with her, all right?” I say.

Hunter hesitates and then shrugs. “Okay, but only a minute and then I’m coming for her. Don’t get any stupid ideas.”

There aren’t any cameras in the hall or any of the nearby offices. I open the door to the nearest one. They’re all the same. I have no fucking idea what they’re used for and don’t care. After shoving her inside, I kick the door shut. I must have a furious look on my face because she shrinks from me.

“If you touch me, I’m going to scream my head off.”

“Knock yourself out. Do you have the faintest clue what you’re doing?” When she doesn’t answer, I continue, “Do you know the kind of people you’re dealing with?”

If I think my words have any affect on her, guess what, I’m an idiot. Her eyes narrow and her expression shifts from fearful to calculating. “Oh, I get it now. You want me, don’t you? But you’re shy. That’s why you didn’t want to fuck me out there in front of everyone. You brought me back here so we could fuck in private. That’s sweet.”

“Miss . . .” I can’t bring myself to voice her stupid name. “I’m serious. You signed a contract with Harley & Sweet, remember?”

“Oh, that.” She waves a hand airily. “So what? It’s just paper or whatever they’re called now that everything’s electronic. It’s probably not even legal, just part of the game, right?”

“Right.”

“You ask me, it makes the whole thing more fun.”

I shake my head. “The people who run Harley & Sweet are serious, and the contract is not a joke. You do not want to mess with Tucker Voss. He’s my boss. If you try anything screwy, he will make it his life’s ambition to ensure you fulfill every word of that contract or die trying.”

“You make it sound like they’re mafia or something, giving me an offer I can’t refuse.” She giggles. “Didn’t the FBI arrest all those guys a long time ago? I think I saw it on TV.”

One last shot: “I can get the phone back from Hunter and you can—”

“That guy out in the hall? Is he mafia?” A knowing smile curves her lips. “Because if he is, that’s kind of hot. I’ll fuck him and the whole time, I’ll pretend I’m fucking you. How would that make you feel?”

I am out of my fucking mind if I think I’m going to get through to this girl. “I’m trying to help you, but if you’re too stupid to listen,” I pause to point at the door, “go. They’re ready for you.”

“Now you’re being mean!”

“You’re going to get hurt.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain registers what I’ve said. This is what coming in from the cold has done—turned me into a damned Boy Scout. My fingers curl into fists. I want to hit things. A lot of things. Hard.

“Oh yeah? Watch this and see just how stupid I am.” She marches to the door, whacking me on the arm with her black satin clutch as she passes. “What did you say your boss’s name was? Fucker?”

“Tucker. Tucker Voss.” This, through gritted teeth.

“Fucker Ass, thanks. I’ll be sure and let him know that’s what you call him. If he’s as serious as you claim, I’m sure he’ll love your little pet name for him. Or maybe that’s what he’ll do to you. Either way, you boys have fun!” With that, she yanks open the door and sashays back to Hunter’s station, head high and hips swaying, and announces, “I’m ready now.”