Page 13 of Property of Rattler

Dangerous ones, one-percenters, men who live outside the law.There’s no doubt in my mind they wouldn’t hesitate to kill when it suited them. I only have to recall that weekend bartender who was dipping his hand into the till. He justdisappeared one day, and no one’s heard from him since. No one talks openly about it, though I’ve heard whispers in the corridors.Nobody fucks with the Kings.

He leans back again and closes his eyes once more.

But if the Kings won’t help me end my problem with Malachi permanently, there’s a huge hole in his plan. “I’ll need to stay hidden for the rest of my life unless I have a husband. Otherwise, at any point, Malachi will kill me to get my money.”

“Then you’ll just have to find some sucker to marry you,” he says, offhandedly. “I’m sure there’ll be someone who’ll be tempted by your fortune.” He pauses, then adds as an afterthought, “Though, of course, any husband might get so sick of living with you that he tops you himself. Bonus for him, he gets the whole ten million.”

My mouth drops open. “You are a fucking… asshole.” I’m trying to find a worse word but can’t immediately think of one.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He even sounds proud to own it. “Now let’s get some fuckin’ sleep.”

The only thing he’s said that I can agree with is that it’s going to be hours before anyone’s around to open the door. And I really don’t want to talk to him anymore. Have I ever met a more disagreeable person—except for Malachi, of course? I don’t think so.

When I try to lean my head back, it bangs into a shelf, which proves to be an uncomfortable pillow. I take the alternative option, lowering myself down, curling into a fetal position with my head resting on my arm. The floor’s hard and unforgiving, but I’m tired as hell. My eyes grow heavy, but I still can’t relax. While I try my best to ignore it, there’s a need my body has that’s more urgent than sleep. I’ve been trapped here since last evening, and my bladder is full. I shift, trying to find a position that eases the pressure on it, but only succeed in rocking theshelving behind me and sending something clattering to the floor.

“For fuck’s sake! What’s wrong now?” Rattler rears up.

Tears form in my eyes at my predicament as I’m forced to admit, “I need to pee.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re in a closet stacked full of cleaning shit. There’s a bucket over there.” He points to it. “Use it for fuck’s sake.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

RATTLER

Iswear this woman is going to be the death of me. The next words out of her mouth come exactly as I’d predicted as soon as I’d seen her jaw drop.

“I can’t pee in front of you.”

Now I might not have thought about it if she hadn’t mentioned the subject, but now she has, I realise I, too, could do with a piss. I stand, take just the step I need to, pull out the bucket, make sure it’s standing firm, and then undo my zipper…

“What the fuck are you doing?” Her outraged gasp has to be heard to be believed.

“Having a piss.” I take out my dick, point, and then let the stream flow. I roll my head back, relishing the relief that sweeps through me. “Thought you’d be less embarrassed if I went first.” I finally finish, shake myself off, then push my dick back into my pants and zip them up.

Turning, I see her hand covering her face. “It stinks now. Why does men’s wee smell so awful?”

“Doubt yours smells of roses,” I respond. But she does have a point. After the drinks I’d consumed last evening, I’ve left quite an impressive amount in the bucket.

Searching the shelves, I find the bottle I need, push and twist to break the childproof seal, then proceed to pour out bleach to cover up my urine.

“Stop!”

There’s no fucking pleasing her, is there? I halt, but throw out, “What’s your problem now?”

Waving her hand in front of her nose, she enlightens me. “Fumes.”

Fumes. Well, fuck. I concede she might be onto something. This room isn’t well ventilated. I eye the door, considering whether I’m right, this really used to be a safe room. Instead of wood, it was probably steel. But it’s been replaced, maybe because of a complicated locking system that had been there before. That there’s a gap around it is obvious. We heard her brother and his men outside talking. But whether it's enough to allow sufficient air in to dissipate the poisonous fumes I’ve just poured out, I’m not at all certain.

“There’s not enough to bother us.” I hope. I’ve just read the warning on the back of the bottle.Irritation of nose, eyes, and throat, difficulty breathing.Then, to get her mind off the thought I might have poisoned us, I remind her, “You need a piss. It’s all yours now. If I wasn’t embarrassed, there’s no need for you to be.”

“You’re a man. You just have to whip out your dick. I’m a woman. I’ve got to take off my panties and let my ass hang out.”

“I assure you, woman, I don’t give a fuck about your ass. And I’m certainly not going to be watching. I may have some kinks, but they don’t include golden showers.”

“You’re…you’re despicable.”

Now I’m wounded. I was only trying to help. But neither of us will get any sleep if she doesn’t piss now, so I go to the door, the furthest area from the bucket—which, of course, only leaves about seven feet between me and her. I pointedly stare at the solid wood that’s keeping us trapped.