Page 23 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
"You're such a hot, young thing, why wear moth-eaten diapers?" he asks, completely oblivious to the fact that I might be pissed he's gone through my private things.
"Because I'm here at Hawke's mercy," I snap, feeling my frustration bubble up inside of me. "I have no money, and no way to get to a store. No phone, no computer, no access to the outside world whatsoever. I get what he gives me, and what he gives me are ..." I sigh as I look at the awful lump of fabric. "These."
Both of them just stare at me for a long moment, before busting up laughing. Like, not even polite chuckles. Proper, bent over, wiping tears away laughing.
Assholes.
"I'm sorry," Colt wheezes after way too much fun at my expense. "I'm sorry, babe, tzarina, we're not laughing at you, I promise."
Glowering, I fold my arms over my chest—making sure to tuck the offensive knickers under my armpit and hold my towel up all at the same time. "Oh no? Sure looks that way."
"Of course not," Weston snickers. "We're laughing at Hawke. He's developed some kind of weird split personality with you. One minute he looks like he's going to go all caveman and nail you on the training room floor, and the next ..." He starts laughing again, waving a hand at the saggy bloomers which are probably secondhand. Shudder.
I wrinkle my nose, but then again, the bet was all Hawke’s idea, wasn't it?
Smells a bit like self-sabotage. The idiot really doesn’t know what he wants, does he?
"Well, it'll be a cold day in hell when Hawke gets back into my granny panties," I snap, narrowing my eyes at the two of them. I’d go completely without, but chafing during workouts is sort of a thing. Gross, I know, but I prefer panties—but only when working out. Otherwise, commando works just fine for me. "Are you both in here for a reason? Or is this hotel suddenly not big enough for all of us to steer clear of each other?"
Colt gives me a lazy smile, trailing a teasing finger over my bare collarbone, collecting a droplet of water and bringing it to his mouth. Weston watches us with hungry eyes, and I take a precautionary step back.
"Why would we want to steer clear of each other, little princess?" Colt asks me with a predatory smirk. "In fact, West and I were just saying how we should be spending more time together."
I just fucking bet they were. Can't win a love bet when we're barely even coexisting.
I snort. "No thanks."
"Don't be a prissy bitch, Nat," Weston says in a bored tone, blowing another plume of smoke out of my window. "We're going out, and you're coming."
My eyes narrow, and I tighten my arms over my towel. "Like I said, no thanks. Now get out of my room."
"Why?" Colt challenges me, still standing way too close for comfort. "You expecting company? Maybe the crazy kind?"
Ah. So Arsen and I haven't been as subtle as I'd thought.
I take a moment to think about whether that bothers me, then shrug. Fuck them, and not in a good way. I don't have to care what they think of whose dick is between my legs, and god knows I'm not confessing love to Arsen anytime soon, so who gives a shit?
"So what if I am?" I reply, raising my chin and meeting Colt's eyes without flinching. Of all of them, though, he was the one I was least pissed at. He'd actually stood up for me, which was a hell of a lot more than anyone else. Weston included. Then again, neither of them have exactly come forward to fess up, now have they? That’s probably why they’ve all been avoiding me, isn’t it? They’re ashamed. Or at least, I hope they are.
Colt's green eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, then he clicks his tongue and turns back to my dresser. "You're coming with us. It'll be fun." He looks over his shoulder, giving me a cocky smile. "You remember fun right?"
I don't bother responding with anything more than a glare. Weston is still reclined on my bed, smoking, and the way he's looking at me ... ugh. Why did these fuckers have to ruin a perfectly good situation by lying to me? And yeah, I do see withholding information as lying.
"Here, get dressed." Colt throws a bundle of my shitty shapeless clothes at me and I just barely manage to catch them and hold my towel in place. "We leave in five."
He stares at me a bit longer, running his eyes over my towel like he can see through it, then smirks and heads out the door.
Weston puts out his half-smoked cigar on the roof tiles (we’re a bit sans screens over here) then rises from my bed with cat-like grace. "Don't tell Daddy we're going out," he whispers as he passes me, his breath warm on my ear and the heady, cloying smell of cigar smoke invading my nose. "He'll just ruin all the fun."
