Page 36 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
Not from the alcohol, either. From orgasm overload.
"What do I care?" Arsen quips, stepping back and looking at me from those pale blue eyes of his like I've lost my damn mind. He slams the spatula into the palm of his hand like he wishes he was hitting me with it instead. "I don't care at all, except for the fact that if you hadn't been a part of that mess last night, he'd have already halved Weston's and Colt's pay for the month and made them scrub this shitty, old house with toothbrushes. But because you were involved, where's the punishment? Nothing except for him snarling and griping and stomping around like a pussy-whipped little bitch."
"Shut your fucking mouth, Arsen, and make me some goddamn pancakes." Hawke looks at his—err, friend?—like he's this close to strangling him. "How I handle my recruits is none of your business."
"Only it is when it's quite obvious that you're not playing fair," Arsen growls back, and I notice he slips a tiny bottle from the front pocket of his apron and attempts to add a little something extra to the pancake mix. Hawke notices, too, and grabs his wrist so hard that I'm not sure it isn't broken.
"Do not test me today with your psycho bullshit." Hawke tears the bottle from Arsen's hand and scowls at the label. "Laxative, really? How goddamn juvenile. Did you put some of this in Natalia's food as well?"
"Seeing you shit your pants would've been funny, not so much in the woman I'm fucking three or four times a day." Arsen lets this information slither past his lips like a curse, enjoying the shocked look on Hawke's face. It only lasts a split-second before he schools it away, but I saw it. Guess he didn't know about all my secret rendezvous with Arsen, huh?
"If you were so pissed last night, why didn't you confront us when we got back?" I challenge, trying to distract our fearless leader from Arsen's words. I meet Hawke's gray eyes, swirling like a tempest, and I try not to feel intimidated.
Only … maybe I am, just a little.
Last night was a good reminder that even with months of hard training under my belt, I'm not a god. I have a long way to go. And even then, it'll never truly be a fair fight between me and some mountain of a man with tree trunks for arms.
I should've taken a knife last night. And a gun.
Hawke slams a palm down on the table, shaking my plate of pancakes and knocking a piece of bacon off the side. I pick it up and put it to my lips, keeping my gaze focused straight ahead instead of on his face.
"Do you know who that man was last night? The one you ended up in the bathroom with?" I flick a surprised glance over at Hawke, and find his hard, chiseled jaw clenched so tight it looks like his teeth might shatter into shards. He knows everything then, does he? I wonder who told him. Not Weston, not after offering to cheat on their stupid little bet. Colt then? "The vice president of Shady Cove Motorcycle Club, the very club our client has asked us to investigate." My gaze slips over to Arsen, seeking ... well, not help exactly, but like the enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, right?" Oh, and before you think your nutcase of a lover is all on your side, remember that he followed you guys last night and reported back to me like a good little soldier." Hawke growls this last bit out with the clear intention of enraging Arsen.
It works.
He tosses the pan with the half-cooked pancakes on the ground, flips the batter all over the stove, and storms out of the room. I'm surprised he doesn't pull a gun again and try to shoot Hawke in the head.
"Why am I not getting paid like everybody else?" I blurt, hating the way the tension in the room is building, and seemingly helpless to break it. I give him an accusatory look, but it's like glaring at a wall of steel. Well, a wall of steel might have more emotion …
"Because you haven't earned it," he snaps, and then he stands up, moving over to turn off the gas stove. "Get to the gym. I'm going to highlight every single mistake you made last night, and drill it into that thick skull of yours, so that you might actually wake up and realize we're not playing a game here."
"Let me finish—" I start, gesturing at my plate, but then Hawke whips around on me, fury blazing in his expression.
"Now."
I don't dare argue with his tone, shoving the rest of the bacon into my mouth and shoving up from the table. He really does think of himself like the father of the group, doesn't he? It's starting to get annoying. Did I leave one controlling asshole daddy for another?
