Page 36 of Violent Little Thing

“You think she’s still with your ex-boss?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I blocked Chris. And I try really, really hard not to involve myself in anything that remotely resembles Seraphina’s life. It’s better that I don’t give myself a reason to kill her in broad daylight.”

His lips quirk. “Prison’s not fun. Zero stars, do not recommend.”

I shrugged. “It might be worth it to see the life snuff out of her eyes.”

He studied me for a long moment, likely to see if I was being serious or not. When he saw the sincerity in my words he changed the subject. “What were you really going to do on your lunch break?”

“I was going to eat in my car and then go to the country club and get Seraphina kicked out,” I answered.

His brows rose, then he gathered up his mess and said, “Let’s go then.”

Ten minutes later we were pulling into the stupid country club that Seraphina loved going to.

It was a beautiful golf course with heated pools, simulators that gave you digital access to any golf course in the world, and catered to the richest of the rich.

Those rich people were usually people that came in to go ski, and wanted to get the full experience of the area.

Seraphina liked it because she had unlimited access to the rich and the booze.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked.

“I’m about to lie out of my ass,” I answered as I bailed out and headed for the front walk.

It was shoveled free of snow and looked like it was done with a fine-tooth comb.

That, or the sidewalk was heated.

As I got closer to the door, that was what I decided.

The sidewalks and the drive were heated so they didn’t have to clear it at all.

Makes sense when you were trying to impress rich people…

Court followed me, giving me the space to move where I wanted while also staying close enough that one would know that we were together.

I looked over at him to see the protective steel in his spine.

He didn’t like this place, and fully expected someone to fuck with him.

“Sir, can I help you?”

Ten

Charleigh: What do you call a hooker’s fart?

Court: I don’t know, what?

Charleigh: a prosti-toot

—Text from Charleigh to Court

Court

“Sir, can I help you?” she mocked, batting her eyes at me. It was damned cute, and I hated myself for falling into those bright blue eyes.

She turned to the woman who’d come up to us in her tight little skirt that was wholly inappropriate for near-freezing digits outside and smiled, though it was a smile of a shark, not an approachable woman. “We’re here to talk to the director.”