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The hulking, dark-haired Russian made a noise of acknowledgement from his seat in the corner, with his tattooed forearms folded across his chest. His skin was etched black with crows in mid-flight, soaring from his wrists and fading into mist at his biceps. As our Enforcer, his skillset involved breaking bones and breaking up brawls. He’d earned his road name, Vlad the Impaler, for good reason.
The clatter of metal echoed in the stillness of the room as Vlad pulled out his handcuffs. I looked away from the thief just long enough to catch the cuffs as he tossed them to me.
Worry flickered across the thief’s eyes for a moment. Before she could dart for the door, I scooped her up into my arms, bridal-style. She wiggled, squirmed, and howled protests, but I ignored her and proceeded to the bathroom at the back of our clubhouse. I plunked her in the tub. In one smooth motion, I locked one cuff around her wrist, and the other around the shower pipe.
“Wash up. We’ll figure out what to do with you after that.”
She yanked at the cuffs. The metal rattled against the pipe but held firm. Even if she managed to get out of the cuffs by some miracle, there were no windows in here. She’d have to escape through the door, and I intended to have someone on guard duty to make sure that didn’t happen.
“What kind of bullshit is this?” she hissed. “Do I have to make myself presentable before the rigged jury out there declares I’m guilty without a fair trial?”
“God, you’re really good at being a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Every damn day of my life. If that’s supposed to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to try harder than that, tough guy. Sorry to disappoint you.”
I stepped closer and grabbed her chin, tilting her head up to look at me. She clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring, seething with anger.
“If you don’t get cleaned up on your own, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll strip you down and scrub every inch of you myself. Every. Naked. Inch. Your choice.”
For a split second, I could have sworn her pupils dilated.
Oh.
Was the little spitfire turned on beneath that venom? Did she like being manhandled and told what to do? Was she the type to push boundaries and act up in order to get the attention she craved?
Too young, my conscience whispered in the back of my mind. She’s too young for you, so get your head out of the gutter.
Then she yanked her chin out of my grasp and huddled in the tub, curling in on herself like a cornered wild animal, scared, hungry, tired, but willing to lash out if I pushed too hard.
So, I backed off. For now.
“I’ll check on you in about twenty minutes,” I said as I turned to leave. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears. And if you’re still a filthy little fucker by the time I get back, you’ll find out that I’m a man of my word. I don’t give a shit if you scream your goddamn head off for half the neighborhood to hear, I’ll get you clean, one way or another.”
Chapter Two
Liss
I strained at the handcuffs, furious with myself for getting caught. The memory of Gideon’s promise echoed in my memory.
If you don’t get cleaned up on your own, sweetheart, I’ll strip you down and scrub every inch of you myself. Every. Naked. Inch. Your choice.
I hated the way my body clenched with need at the gravel-rough timbre of his voice when he said it. I hated the way I imagined his large, callused hands on my bare body, touching everywhere I needed him the most.
Fuck, why was I thinking like this?
Was he hot? Absolutely.
Were his tattoo sleeves sexy and distracting as hell? No doubt about it.
But his salt-and-pepper beard indicated he was older than me. Much older. Possibly old enough to be my father. That realization alone should have filled me with repulsion, but I could still feel the low heat of arousal pumping through my body. When I shifted, the seam of my jeans rubbed against my core with just enough friction to indicate Gideon had awakened something in me that I really, really liked.
“It’s called daddy issues,” I mumbled to myself. “Now get over it and focus.”
I studied the metal pipe that led to the shower head. It was a bare bones setup, with soap scum on the tiles, and a rusty faucet. Maybe the pipe was weak enough that I could pull it loose.
Wedging one foot against the wall, I tugged on the pipe with all my strength until I could have sworn my shoulders were about to pop out of their sockets.
No luck. It didn’t budge.
