Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(70)

“Yes, sir, he does. Um…tattoos?”

I sighed dramatically and turned around, then lifted my shirt to show her my back.

“Yes, sir.”

I watched her eyes get wider as she listened to the voice on the other end and stared unabashedly at me. Finally, she stopped and held the receiver in my direction.

“He’d like to talk to you…”

“No,” I responded as I looked back to her. “Just give me a f*cking room.”

She licked her lips nervously before relaying my message into the phone.

“The presidential suite? Um…of course, sir. I’ll take care of it…anything he wants...of course...thank you, sir. It was a pleasure to”—she pulled the phone away from her ear and scowled at it—“speak with you,” she finished. She hung up the phone and looked at us again. “I’ll have you all checked in momentarily, sir.”

It was pretty impressive that Tria managed to remain silent as we were handed key cards and given directions to the executive elevator of the Silver Springs Hotel. She didn’t say anything as we got inside, and I pressed the button for the eighteenth floor. She managed to stay quiet all the way down the hall and to the door to the room.

Once I opened the door, she was too distracted by the room to ask any questions.

I had to admit, it was a pretty damn fine suite, all leather and cherry with a large screen television, a computer set up on the desk, and plenty of room for your own laptop if you brought one, too. There was a small hallway with doors to a closet and bathroom. There was a dining area, a living room, and large double doors that opened up to the bedroom and master bathroom. It was probably about double the square footage of our apartment.

Tria halted in the doorway for a moment and then made her way slowly inside the room. She took it all in with a couple of big sweeps of her head to the left and the right.

“Are you going to explain all this to me?” she finally asked without turning around.

“Do I have a choice?” I walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of orange juice and a tiny bottle of vodka. I took two big swigs out of the orange juice, added the vodka to it, twisted the lid back on, and shook it up.

Tria moved to sit on the plush couch and continued to look at me pointedly.

I dropped down onto the couch next to her and took a large gulp of my screwdriver.

“Can we just make out instead?” I asked.

“Not a single lip until you tell me,” she responded bluntly.

Well, damn.

“My uncle owns Silver Springs Hotels,” I finally said.

“The entire chain?” Tria asked with surprise. “They’re all over the place.”

“A hundred and fifty or so in the States, yes,” I told her. “There are a couple dozen outside the US, too.”

“So, he’s rich.”

“Without a doubt.”

“What’s with the earrings?” she asked. “I thought you just wore them to look cool.”

“Are you saying they don’t look cool?” I smirked at her, and she blushed. “I bet they make you hot, don’t they?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” Tria said all haughty.

“You don’t have to,” I responded, “I can just tell.”

She snickered and then pondered for a minute.

“Wouldn’t he…you know…give you a job? I mean, if he’ll give you a suite for the night, he’d give you a job, too, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged and downed the rest of the bottle. I dropped it on the dark-stained coffee table, careful to avoid the coaster because I felt like being an *. “He’s offered.”

“Liam!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you realize what that means? You wouldn’t have to live like that anymore!”

“Like what?” I asked, knowing full well what she meant. I was baiting her, and I didn’t care. It was better she understood this now.

For a moment, she just stared at me.

“Like in that horrible neighborhood,” she finally said. Her face was tight, and her eyes narrowed at me. “You wouldn’t have to let people beat you up for cash.”

“They don’t beat me up.”

She reached over and touched the spot over my eye that still held stitches.

“Really?”

“It’s nothing,” I responded. I pulled back a little.

“You could live better,” she emphasized.

“I don’t care about any of that, Tria,” I informed her. “I’ve been there and done that, and I can tell you right now, it doesn’t mean shit.”

There was a long pause as I stared out the window and wondered who would be the most pissed off if I smoked in the room. There was a nice, big balcony—maybe I’d just go out there.

“What happened to you?” Tria asked quietly.

“Nothing,” I said automatically.

“Bullshit.”

“That’s my line.”

Another long pause. Just when I thought maybe she would give up, she spoke again.

“I want to know you,” she told me.

“Not much to know,” I replied with a little grin, which she did not return. I sighed, and then I was dumb enough to make eye contact with her. “I’m just me, Tria. I fight. I work out. I hang out with friends sometimes. That’s it. I don’t have anything else to give you.”