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Hard.
His entire body… hard.
Thick and hard. Big muscles. Strength. Danger. Control. Power. Singular words rushing through Nelle’s head.
“And you think that’s it, sweetheart?” Slade whispered. “I’m going to take that at face value? You’re like a fucking model. A perfect body. Perfect tits. A beautiful face. Your sisters the same. The three of you could take a dead man’s breath away. And that’s it? You’re hidden away, huh? Your one sister works as a waitress at a pizza place. Your other sister is some whore for rock stars. They’re dead. You’re not.”
“Oh, you are such a bastard,” Nelle said. “So much to unpack there. What’s wrong with being a waitress? And Calista was not a whore!”
“Yes, she was,” Slade growled. “I could have fucked her myself. Maybe I should have. Maybe that would have saved her.”
“Oh yeah? Why didn’t you?”
“You seemed more appealing, if I’m being honest.”
Nelle’s stomach did a backflip.
So you’re telling me that because this biker would rather fuck me instead of Calista… that’s why she’s dead…?
“You do know I’m fucking around when I say that,” Slade said. “Anything can happen at any time. And I know you’re full of shit right now because these two attacks were planned out. Want me to go into details, sweetheart?”
Nelle’s body jumped and she put her hands to Slade’s chest and pushed. Slade read the writing on the wall and started to step back. Nelle curled her hands around his leather cut and hunched forward, throwing up. Vomit splashed all over the tips of Slade’s boots.
He stood there and stared forward, curling his lip, now wondering himself if he should have just fucked Calista. Maybe he could have kept her close and safe. Probably for only one night though. It was pretty evident whoever wanted these sisters dead was smart and calculated.
“I’m so sorry!” Nelle cried out. “I threw up on you. I’m sorry.”
Slade touched Nelle’s back. “Not the first woman to throw up on me, sweetheart.”
“I puked on myself too. Oh, fuck, what is happening to me…”
The wave of emotion that had been hanging high over Nelle’s head suddenly crashed down. Her grip loosened on Slade’s leather cut and she fell to the floor. Hands and knees, right in her own vomit.
Slade gritted his teeth. This was the opportune time to call Chief Dick to come get his best source of information. Or just go out there and tell Monte he could have Nelle. Honestly, both of those decisions made Slade fill with rage.
A voice somewhere in his body—most likely from his still throbbing cock—called out…
She’s mine! I claimed her for tonight! Mine!
Just what he needed though. A mess of vomit at his feet, along with a beautiful woman. Slade reached down and scooped Nelle up off the floor. He stepped out of his boots, then carried Nelle to the bathroom.
“You need a shower,” Slade said. “Or a bath if you can’t stand up.”
“I think there’s something wrong with that whiskey,” Nelle slurred.
“Yeah. You’re not used to slamming it like that, I bet.”
“I’m a wine girl.”
Slade curled his lip. “Fucking wine women.”
“Shut up, you bastard.”
Nelle’s body jumped again.
She wanted to tell Slade she was going to puke again but she feared opening her mouth. Plus, Slade wasn’t a moron. He knew she was going to throw up. He quickly dropped to one knee and held Nelle over the tub.
As he turned the water on, she began to vomit once more. Splattering all over the inside of the tub. At least that part of the mess was easy to clean. The water and the drain did its job.
