The sexy undercurrent made me want to whimper.
“When do you think I can have it back?”
“Give me your number. I have a bunch of shit to take care of tomorrow, but after that’s all handled, I’ll look at it. Give me until the weekend.”
That was only three days. Aside from Math Theory, I should be able to make do until then. I rattled off my number and scowled when he didn’t pull out his phone to enter it in.
“You’re going to remember that?” I hated that I sounded like I was pouting about it.
“I won’t forget it, Bry. Everything about you is very memorable.”
Ugh . . . that kiss. It was going to haunt me forever. I shifted uneasily and pushed off the car.
“I have to take my little sister some ice cream and make sure she has her homework done.”
He gave me a considering look and tilted his head to the side a little bit. I didn’t want to be the object of Race Hartman’s attention; it made hiding the way I reacted to him too hard.
“You’re gonna have someone walk you to your car from here on out.” It wasn’t a question, just a blanket statement.
“I’ll try.” I would prefer it but life didn’t seem so inclined to give me anything I preferred right now.
“Do it, Brysen.” His tone suggested I listen or I might not like what followed.
“Yes, Race. I’ll make it happen from here on out.”
He grunted and turned to walk to where his bright red Mustang was parked. It was a supersexy car for a totally dead-sexy guy. Completely not fair.
“I’ll be in touch.”
He left without another word and I felt like I was going to fold in on myself. Every single person had limits to what they could endure. Adding Race into the mix of the mess I was already in the center of felt like there simply wasn’t any more room inside of me for things to stay stuffed down. Everything was coming to the surface, all the feelings and emotions I refused to acknowledge, refused to fret over, were popping the seams and threatening to spill out. That wasn’t a spill anyone was going to want a hand in cleaning up when I finally ruptured.
I sighed and called Karsen to see what kind of ice cream she wanted me to get for her.
Chapter 4
Race
THERE WAS A TIME in my life where the thud of heavy fists smacking into flesh, the smell of blood, and the agonizing sounds of human suffering moved me. It used to make my skin crawl and my guts go tight. Now it was a necessary evil, and as bad as it appeared it was just part of the job.
I was in the back room of Spanky’s, the strip club to end all strip clubs in the District. The girls who danced here were no run-of-the-mill strippers. They were gorgeous, professional, and served dual roles as dancers and hostesses when the stage lights were off and the club turned into an illegal casino. Spanky’s had been a cash cow for Novak. Now Nassir and I both had our hands in the pot and we were currently watching Chuck, the giant African American man who was the head of security for the joint, beat the living hell out of a client who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.
I had my arms crossed and was leaning against the wall while the guy, who could very easily be anyone’s dad, got the shit kicked out of him. He had already spit out teeth, and his face looked like hamburger, but Chuck didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to stop the beating, and Nassir wasn’t calling him off. Nassir had eyes the color of burned caramel and they were focused intently on the scene in front of him. He took the security of the girls who worked for him seriously, regardless if they were turning tricks or not—and Honor, not her real name of course, wasn’t a girl you were going to put your hands on and get away with it.
She was as much a part of the District as Bax was of the Point. We had a sordid history, and in all honesty, I was surprised she wasn’t back here kicking the shit out of Grabby Hands McGee because that’s the kind of chick she was. The victim grunted, his puffy and swollen eyes rolled back in his head as he listed over onto his side in an unconscious heap. Chuck gave him one more kick with the toe of his shoe and leaned down to wipe his bloody hands on the guy’s torn and ripped shirt.
Nassir lifted a black eyebrow. “Feel better?”
Chuck grunted and looked back and forth between the two of us. “Something in the air. Don’t know what it is, but people keep showing up and pushing limits. Had to make a point and make it clear.”
Nassir and I shared a look and he shrugged his shoulders. He always looked like he was off to some kind of high-powered business meeting. His suits cost more than my car, and his exotic looks and lethal way of carrying himself made him intimidating and domineering without any effort. I already treated him like he was going to shove a knife in my back at any second, but just being in his dark presence made me keen to make sure I was always on my toes.