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“Fuck off, Urie.” I slam the door in his face.
I can’t believe I underestimated the little hellcat twice in one night—shit, the woman is resourceful. I drop my pants and glance down my thigh, where the bite mark is already turning an angry shade of blue.
“Jesus, she really was trying to rip out some flesh.” I run my hand over it before pulling my pants back up.
My mind flashes back to how Isabella had tried to explain what she was doing, but I wouldn’t listen. And I hate to admit it, but she was right about me losing my temper with her. But it was more than just anger driving me. It was something else, a carnal desire Isabella had sparked in me.
I give myself a mental shake. Stop this shit, I tell myself. Now is not a good time to lose my head over a woman, no matter how infuriating, gorgeous, sexy, or goddamn exciting she is. I need to get to the bottom of who sent a container load of trouble. I’m hoping to get my father or me arrested tonight.
I’m leaving the bathroom when an image of that green-eyed predator that gave Isabella his Tom Ford bomber jacket slips into my head. Alarm bells go off. I knew instantly the man was dangerous, and the look in his eyes told me he knew who I was. His demeanor told him he didn’t give a fuck either.
That is a lot of confidence for someone who’s either casing the joint or me to make his presence known and in my domain. When my men went to find him, the man had seemingly vanished into thin air.
“I poured you a vodka,” Urie tells me, pointing to the glass on my desk. “I thought you could use one to numb the pain a bit.”
I glare at him and try my best not to limp over to my office chair. “Did Olaf find out who that man in my club was?”
“When he got outside, the man had vanished, as you know,” Urie tells me. “Other than the back of his head, we have no clear shot of his face on the surveillance feeds.”
“Not even a CSI thing, you know his face reflecting off the bar mirror, a glass, Isabella’s eyes?” I ask, and my stomach clenches when I remember the way the fuckhead had looked at Isabella with such familiarity, and I could’ve sworn a flash of affection. “Fuck I’m going to rip his head off.”
“What did he do?” Urie asks, and I realize I said the last part out loud.
“Looked at Isabella!” I say, my eyes narrowing as I realize if Urie had seen what happened in the bedroom, he’d seen Isabella naked.
“You know I didn’t see anything!” Urie picks up on my meaning, as always.
He knows me better than anyone else as we grew up together. Best friends. He is also the only one I’d ever trusted with my life, even before I trusted my parents.
“Only her attacking me,” I say.
Urie pulls a face. “I have to say, my friend, you deserved it.” Sitting back in his chair. “You were being kind of a dick.”
He’d also be the only one who dared speak to me like that.
“You weren’t here tonight to witness her daring escape,” I tell him.
“I saw it on video,” Urie says, grinning. “Goddamn man, what did Marco teach her? Fuck, she was swinging down those balconies like she was hopping downstairs.”
“Don’t remind me,” I growl, taking the ice and putting it against my aching balls.
“You know, with some more training…” Urie starts, and I cut him off.
“I think I need to establish what kind of training Isabella had first,” I tell Urie. “It’s clear Marco has ensured she can fend for herself. Christ, she got a fucking handbag as a weapon.”
“I reckon it’s definitely custom-made or has been modified,” Urie points out the obvious.
“Can we change the subject now?” It’s more an order than a question. “Was Hannah able to get any information for us about the fucking client that sent us a container load of trouble?”
“Yes.” Urie nods, and I see by the look on his face that I’m not going to like what he has to say.
“I checked and saw that whoever placed the order used the old codes,” I tell him. “I didn’t know our clients could still use them.”
“They can’t,” Urie replies. “The order came from an employee code inside Velvet Transport.”
I go cold. My brows raise, and I look at him. “Someone inside Velvet Transport has been doing this?” The implications of it hit me between the eyes. “Fuck!” I clench my teeth. “This is going to cause a war because now it looks like it’s us who have done this.”
“To make matters worse,” Urie tells me, “the containers were packed by…” He takes a breath. “Strategic Movers and Packers.”
