Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(92)

“Ah. Not there,” she mumbles.

I smile against her skin. “You don’t like it?”

She breathes a little heavier. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then why stop?”

“Mmmm.” She twitches her neck and shoulder together. “Because if you keep doing that, I’m not sure I can continue focusing on what’s going on around us.”

Another kiss. A small suck. A tiny lick.

I slide a hand around her waist into the waist of her jeans.

“This is profoundly improving my day, Green. And you smell really f*cking good. Don’t rain on my parade.”

She hums again. Her chest rises and falls. Rises and falls.

“Stiles.” Her brain wants her to tell me to stop. She won’t say it, though. She can’t. Not any more than I can actually stop.

Not right f*cking now.

“Jackson.” It’s a whisper this time, and it makes me tense.

It makes my blood run hot.

Don’t get me wrong. Women have said my name before. First, last. Either, or. They groan. They pant. They demand I give them something they can’t find anywhere else.

There’s something about the way Green says it, though.

Something about the meaning behind the way she says it.

Like she’s promising me something.

Like she wants me to promise, too.

What scares me is I’d probably do it.

And I don’t scare f*cking easily, people.

An uneasy pang settles inside my chest, and I stop with the f*cking kissing.

The heat in this corner booth is making me edgy.

It’s making me a lot more than edgy, actually.

“I think we’re good.” She slides away from me. “I think that might be my contact over by the bar.”

“Why do you─” It doesn’t take a f*cking rocket scientist to figure out why she came to that conclusion when I see who it is she’s referring to.

“Fucking Walker. I f*cking knew it.”

“Shit. I have to go over there, Stiles.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I have to.” She’s gone before I can talk her into staying, and when I get up to follow her, I’m stopped by a waiter with a tray full of shots.

“Can I get you anything?”

One of everything. “No.”

He starts to walk away, and I grab him by the arm. “Patron Silver, straight up.”

“Right away, sir.”

While I wait, I make myself scarce in the crowd of horny people and think.

Graham Black is Anonymous. More than likely.

Walker works for Black.

Who’s working for Walker?

That’s when I see him for the second time tonight.

“Dad?” He brushes past Walker. Green doesn’t even notice, but my eyes are trained on him.

I saw everything.

The way he placed a hand on Walker’s shoulder, how he slid a piece of paper into his jacket pocket afterward. And how he is now making a decided play for the back of the bar.

Exit.

I’m pushed farther into the sea of people by a bunch of drunken sex addicts who don’t know how to f*cking say excuse me. As I pass by the bar area, I notice Green and Walker.

“Shit.”

I find Dad again and make a split decision to follow him.

I need to see what the hell is on that piece of paper. ’Cause something tells me that f*cker’s gonna give me some of the answers I’ve been looking for.

About the moment I’m heading off, a hand tugs at my shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I was expecting Green. What I got was tequila.

Same effect, if you ask me.

“Thanks.” I take the shot, hand him a couple twenties, and continue to stalk my father.

The farther back he goes, the darker it gets. Figuratively and literally. The people back here go in and out of curtained rooms. I pass one guy who’s naked, on all fours, and has a goddamn collar around his neck that’s chained to a door.

I don’t even wanna f*cking know.

I almost lose sight of Dad but find him again as he’s opening the back exit door.

I push through the crowd of people, frantic now. I can’t let him leave without knowing what the f*ck he’s up to. By the time I’m at the door and manage to get it open, I stop short.

About ten bodyguards surround a dark Mercedes. Dad’s nowhere to be seen and I slink behind a corner of the building before anyone can see me.

I watch the crowd carefully for a familiar face, assuming that’s Black’s vehicle. Since, you know, Dad can’t afford that shit. All the while, I want to f*cking hurl right now. Not to mention the fact that there’s nothing I can do about confronting the dickhead at the moment since that would most assuredly mean getting tackled by the linebackers he has working for him.

Jesus, I’m all for a good face-to-face chat about what a slime ball he is, but I’m not that f*cking stupid, no matter what Green thinks.

Speaking of Green, I wonder where in the hell she is when low and behold, my cell phone buzzes.

I check it to see a text from her.

Where are you?

My fingers take position to tell her, and I stiffen when I hear the distinct sound of a gun’s safety being unlocked.

Cold steel presses up against the back of my head.