Page 80 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
Gaz, in particular, comes to my attention.
Crown is tapping a pen against the corner of his mouth, sitting in a chair beside the bed where I’m watching this all unfold on his phone screen. Beast is here with us, but he’s sitting beside me. Guess he has more self-control than anyone else in our ragtag little alliance. Grainger is with Sin in the motel office with the girls, and his clear disgust at being hit on by them proves to me better than anything that he also isn’t a connoisseur of for-hire pussy. Not trying to be a prude or anything, but I could never get into a guy who paid chicks to fuck him. Can’t get laid on your own? Like, is there something wrong with you? For the life of me, I can’t think of many things less manly or more pathetic than that.
“What was that one girl’s name?” I ask, leaning close to the screen. The strap of my satin nightgown falls down my shoulder. You’d think I’d just launched myself on the bed and done a striptease for the way the four of them look at me—two guys on either side of the screen. “Get yourselves under control; this was my grandmother’s nightgown.”
“Hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but that isn’t your grandmother’s nightgown anymore.” Grainger smirks at me as he lights up a cigarette, his gaze tearing me apart, even with the glass of the screen between us.
“Which girl?” Sin asks, sounding exhausted. I’m not quite sure that he’s gotten any sleep in the last several days. “The blonde? Something about her was off.”
“She was high as a kite,” I say matter-of-factly, thinking of my brief brush with that sort of thing. It isn’t something I intend to make a habit of. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever touch anything harder than alcohol or pot again. “I meant the one with the fake tits.”
“Shouldn’t you be in science class or something?” Grainger quips under his breath, and I suddenly see his insults for what they are: fears. He doesn’t like that I’m sitting here, doing this. He maybe didn’t feel that selfless need to eject me from the club’s orbit the way Sin did, but he isn’t a fan of me spending my time interviewing sad, broken girls either.
As much sympathy and empathy as I have for these women, there’s always that one who just manages to make you pity and hate her in equal measures.
That’s the girl I want to see, the one with the fake tits, the one that my brother apparently prefers.
What I find most disturbing is that she almost, sort of, kind of looks like me. Dark hair in a raven wave down her back, full breasts (even if hers aren’t real), hips for days, thick-ass thighs. I curl my lip a little and shove the implication back.
“Bring her in,” Crown warns, giving Grainger that special, trademarked VP look of his. “It was Rhea, right? Her name.” I give him a look, and he hooks a deprecating sort of smile. For himself, for me, for the hooker, I’m not sure exactly. “Like a ray of sunshine,” he repeats in a mocking voice, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s right. It was Rhea Bundy.” I sigh as Sin opens the door to the hotel lobby and calls her back, taking his seat in the chair behind the desk. The boys have borrowed the manager’s office, this haphazard nightmare with stacks of old paperwork and bags of empty recyclables that’s clearly all for show.
The club is much more organized than it looks. As with the mafia, nothing here is accidental. We just hide behind gruffness and decay the way they duck beneath jewelry and tuxedos.
The little ray of sunshine takes a seat not on the chair set before the desk, but on the corner of it, her fishnet tight-covered legs disturbingly close to Grainger’s denim clad thighs. He continues to smoke his cigarette, but he doesn’t move.
My jaw clenches with irritation.
“Tell us a little more about your time with Gaz,” Sin begins, using his status as an officer to outrank my brother. This girl has little choice but to answer the questions. I feel sorry for her, actually, considering the tight spot this puts her in. She knows better than to lie to two DBD officers, but if she reveals too much, she’ll face Gaz’s wrath.
If the situation were any less dire, I wouldn’t even bother. I’d let her go to spare her the pain. But sorry, Rhea, Reba is much more important.
“What’s to know? He likes anal, and he tips well.” She shrugs her bare shoulders and gives Grainger a long, studying look before hooking a coy smile. “I’ve never seen you around before.”
He just stares at her. I’m surprised she’s pushing so hard; he doesn’t seem amused.
