Page 13 of Sling’s Awakening

“What would I like hearing from Gin better?” Sling asks, cutting into the conversation as he casually leans against the bar with the sex on the beach I made him in his hand.

He says my stage name like it’s our dirty little secret.

Russ stands up straighter, puffing his chest out slightly in an effort to make himself look taller than the 5’8” he stands at. Sling towers over him, not even standing up straight.

“Mr. Huxley, I’ve heard a lot about you around town. I’m Russ, the owner of this place. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I was just telling Gin here that the champagne room is on the house tonight in honor of your friend’s birthday,” Russ says as he deepens his voice.

I watch the exchange, torn between being amused and confused because I still, for the life of me, can’t figure out what’s going on and why Russ is taking on this tone as if he’s in the presence of someone who is important.

One thing I’m not confused about is Mr. Huxley looks pissed. And it’s all aimed at Russ.

Sling leans in, his cold, hard stare aimed right at Russ. “Russ, is it? I’m Sling to you. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to or where you’re getting your information from, but if I hear you use my government name again, you’re going to find that bottle Gin is holding shoved so far up your ass you’ll have to have it surgically removed. Got me?”

Russ swallows. “I got you. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Sling’s hard stare doesn’t leave him. “Good. And about the champagne room, I’ll pass the word on to my brother.”

Russ recovers as he tries to match the flow of the conversation, but he still looks uncomfortable. “His pick of a girl. I was thinking we can have a meeting after?”

Sling’s eyes narrow, making me freeze. The look he’s giving Russ is cold, almost bringing the temperature down around us. “I didn’t take you for a goddamn fool, Russ, but apparently I need to spell it out for you. If and when I want to have a meeting with you, it will happen when I say so. But that won’t happen when you open your fucking mouth in front of people who have no goddamn business knowing.” His green eyes slide to me as he finishes.

Oohkay.

This isn’t a conversation for me.

Got it.

“I’ll make you another drink,” I tell Sling.

As much as I love to watch Russ squirm, my need to not be close to him and this conversation is greater.

He holds my gaze as he picks up his glass and downs the orange and red liquid before slamming the glass down and sliding it along the rail. On reflex, my hand reaches out, stopping the glass.

“If that was your idea of foreplay, baby, I accept.” Sling winks before schooling his expression and turning back to Russ.

Ugh.

My eyes narrow at him as I spin on my heel and get back to work. I’m out of earshot, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to read lips and body language as I make his next drink.

I’m a nosy bitch.

It comes with the job.

And lately, there’s been something going on with Russ that I can’t quite figure out. It’s past the usual ick he constantly gives off. It’s something more than that. He’s been on edge and more up in my business than usual. It’s starting to freak me out a little.

Trying my best to be discreet, I look at them through heavy-lidded eyes as I busy myself with pouring liquor into a shaker. Sling looks pissed as Russ tries to play it off like he does when a customer gets too drunk and turns on him.

What does Russ want with a motorcycle club?

Probably nothing good.

I strain the yellow-gold liquid into a martini glass as I internally laugh at making him drink something dirty.

I catch Sling telling Russ they’ll talk later before he casts me one last look that has every nerve ending in my body wired as he slaps his palm down on the bar and pushes off, heading back to his table.

“You forgot your drink!” I call after him, but his steps don't falter.

In fact, he doesn’t even turn around.