Page 27 of Broken
She winked and drove away. He’d never beenthatattracted to anyone.
She lives three thousand miles away. Move on.
Back inside Asylum, he paused at the scanner before making his way down the hall to Rebel’s office.
Knock-knock.
Prescott opened the door, stepped into Rebel’s office. “Yo—” His brain skidded to a halt.
Leaning back in his executive chair, Rebel was getting a hummer. A woman knelt in front of him, her head bobbing over his cock, her long hair obscuring her face.
“Don’t you lock your fucking door?” As Prescott pulled the door closed, he said, “I’ll be at the bar.”
Back in the front room, Prescott pulled up a stool at the bar.
One of the bartenders moseyed over. “Hey, Mac, we had last call,” he said.
“I got this,” said Rebel’s GM. After taking his order, she made him a dry martini.
“Thanks.” Prescott sipped the cocktail.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy,” he replied. “You?”
The small talk continued until Rebel slid onto a barstool next to him.
“Yo, babe,” Rebel said.
“I don’t need to ask how you’re doing,” Prescott replied.
Rebel shot him a grin. “I’m feeling no pain.” After instructing his GM to pour him a whiskey, neat, he turned back to Prescott. “How long has Jack been back?”
“Weekend only. She moved to California.” After sipping the martini, he said, “You gotta lock your office door.”
“That member swung by to bitch about something. Next thing I know, my dick is in her mouth.”
Prescott laughed. “There’ve gotta be parts of that story you’re leaving out.”
“She was pissed, I let her rant. She was grateful.” Rebel grinned.
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Rebel pulled out the hair tie and raked his fingers through his wild, blond hair. “I heard they gave up looking for Maul,” he murmured. “You shoulda let me come with you.”
Prescott shook his head. “No fucking way.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I work alone.”
“We would’ve gotten that job done.”
Prescott glared at him. “Ididget that job done. Drop it, will ya?” That sex high that had brightened Prescott’s normally dark mood evaporated, replaced by the constant agitation that hounded him all the damn time.
Prescott drained the martini glass. “I love you, brother, but you piss me off. If I wanted to work with you—or anyone else—I’d say something.”
“Don’t get your hackles up. We were a great team.”
