Page 10 of Property of Rattler

“He’s my ex, not Satin’s.”

Could be true, but probably not. The story I’d gotten from Freak was that it was Satin’s problem, and Ames had just been caught in the crossfire.

Why lie to the club? We’re used to girls turning up with a sad backstory. We’re not suckers, but if they can dance, it’s to our mutual benefit to afford them protection while they’re earning for us. There’s no need to tell us untruths.

There’s something more that she’s not telling. “This ex, whether he’s your sister’s or yours, what’s he do for a living?”

Nervously, she bites her lip, then offers up, “He’s an accountant?”

It would be laughable in any other situation. She can’t tell a lie convincingly to save her life. “Bullshit,” I rasp. “That asshole got through our security, took out the power, and disabled the alarms. That was no fuckin’ accountant who fiddles with numbers. The men with him deferred to him.” Again, I shake her. “We took you in, gave you a job. What that asshole’s done, coming boldly into one of our businesses, means he’s attacked the Kings. You better start talking about who or what we’re facing. Mafia? Cartel? Another fuckin’ club?” Though I doubt it was the latter, the tone and language didn’t sound like any bikers I’ve ever come across. “Goddamnit, Ames, start talking, or I’ll fuckin’ make you.”

Her body’s taut, and tears appear in her eyes. She whispers softly, “I never meant to bring trouble to the Kings. I don’t like working here. I never wanted to, but I thought it would allow me to stay under the radar. If we get out of here, I promise I’ll disappear.”

“You disappear or not, he fuckin’ knows you work, or worked here. He’ll be back, and from what I heard, he’ll have backup. Who is he, Ames, and how many men has he got?” My temper rising as I think of the implications, I take hold of her shoulders and roughly move her back and forth. “He wants you dead? You can start worrying about me, because right now I fuckin’ want to end you myself.”

“Rattler…”

I slash my hand through the air. “Time’s running out.” Suddenly, I lurch forward, using my body to turn hers. In seconds, she’s lying on her back under me, and I’m looming over her. My hands go threateningly around her neck. She tries to buck me off, but I’m stronger than her. She can’t move me. I apply a little pressure, the kind the club girls seem to like, but in this very different situation, it makes her eyes go white with terror.

“Malachi, it was Malachi,” she finally stammers out. As I raise my brow, showing that means nothing to me at all, she continues, “He’s my brother.”

Before I’d joined the club, and even after, with the Kings, I’ve seen some fucked-up family shit. Just take Short’s woman, Bronwyn, who was raped as a young kid by her dad. But I still find it hard to understand why a brother should want to kill his own kin? Sure, Ames can be annoying as fuck, but to offer a reward for her death? There’s got to be a lot more to it.

“You better come up with a fuckin’ good explanation.”

She tugs at my hands. Knowing I can easily overpower her and put them back, I take it as a sign that she’s at last goingto give me an explanation and remove them. Though my hold hadn’t been tight, she takes in a deep shuddering breath as if I’d starved her of oxygen. Of course, I hadn’t. That had all been in her silly head.

“Our parents died in a plane crash when I was just five. Malachi was fifteen.” She grimaces. “I was the bonus baby, and according to him, I should never have been born.” When she stops, I slide one hand back to her neck. It makes her continue. “We lived with our grandparents.” Her tentative smile suggests that it was a good time for her.

“Go on,” I snarl, bringing her back to the present.

Her eyes fasten on mine. “Rat, you’re an asshole…”

I rear back. I never expected those words to come out of her mouth. Yeah, I’m not blind to what people think of me, and I don’t give a shit. But her? She’s in a glass house, in no position to throw stones.

“And you’re a clumsy bitch with a stick up your ass.”

Undeterred by my insult, she shakes her head. “Before I tell you more, I’ve got to know I can trust you.”

“You don’t need to know fuck, except that you’re living on borrowed time. It’s not only Malachi you need to fear if you don’t explain why he’s after you and why he came to Royals tonight.”

Her eyes blink rapidly. “Does your club offer protection?” she suddenly asks.

I bark a laugh. “If we did, I doubt you’d be able to pay for it.” Then an idea hits me. We don’t, as such, but other chapters do. Could be another moneymaker, and something I could bring to the table as a business opportunity. For Ames, though? She’s tapped out, if she had money, she wouldn’t be working for us. “But just saying we did, we’d have to be convinced that you’re worth it. And know exactly what we’re protecting you from.” That thought might get her spilling what’s actually going on, and why her brother wants her head on a platter.

There’s a slight up-and-down dip to her head. She takes in a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh, and I can feel the fight go out of her.

“As I said, my parents died. But they’d been savvy and had had their wills drawn up. Apart from a few small bequests, they’d left everything to me and my brother. Half to me, half to him. But there were conditions. Neither of us could claim it until we were twenty-one. If either of us died before inheriting, then all the money would go to the surviving sibling. If I die before I receive mine, Malachi would get my share.” She pauses and swallows before saying one last thing. “There is a caveat. If I’m married and something happened to me, Malachi wouldn’t be able to touch it. My money would be released to my husband on what would have been my twenty-first birthday.”

I narrow my eyes. If Malachi was ten years older than her, he must have already received his portion of the inheritance. A suspicion raises its ugly head. In Arizona, people can legally work in a strip club once they’ve turned eighteen. Kings want this business as clean as possible, as we use it to launder money. Hence, we want to give nobody a reason to start interfering. In our rules, we’ve raised the age limit to avoid drawing inquisitive eyes if someone appears too young to work here. We only employ people over the age of twenty-one. From the way she’s speaking, she hasn’t reached it yet. “How old are you, really?” My hands dig into her shoulders.

She blushes, a real red flush that covers her cheeks. “Nineteen.”

I don’t really want to ask for confirmation, but I do anyway. “You’re saying the reason Malachi wants to kill you is to get the money you’d otherwise receive.”

She breathes out her answer. “Malachi gets everything if I don’t live until I’m twenty-one. Unless, as I said, I’m married.”

Curiosity takes hold of me. “How much are we talking?”