Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(70)

“So, I opened up a small club called The Bank. It wasn’t anything flashy or huge. I was just learning about the industry. Hell, I was too young to be opening up a club to begin with. But it did well because I put no restrictions on the girls, as much as I hated it. I still do. I let the girls do anything that is legal but nothing more, and I make sure they’re safe.” Damn, was there ever a painfully steep learning curve over those first few months of owning The Bank! Luckily, I’m a fast learner and I had a great source of information—a Vegas strip club owner. In exchange for one arranged fight—which I won and he made a boatload of money from—he let me essentially live in his club for a month, learning the ropes. He wanted to partner up with me when I left for Miami but I declined. Instead, John fronted the business as the owner, on paper, until I turned twenty-one. I knew I could trust him.

“So I try to do right by my employees, at least. Like I didn’t do right by my little sister.”

“So this is all about a second chance?”

“No. It’s about trying to balance out the good with the bad. I don’t believe in second chances, Charlie.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then she asks, “China reminds you of your sister, doesn’t she?”

I nod slowly. “I get so much grief for keeping her around.” With a sidelong glance, I admit with what I’d imagine is a sheepish smile, “I know she probably hasn’t been great with you.”

“That’s an understatement.” Charlie chuckles.

It’s probably time I let her relax and stop slamming her with my shit. I know I can be intense. In one night, she has learned that I was bred and raised by criminals, that I’m no stranger to brutal violence, that I lie to women and then f*ck them, and that I was the world’s shittiest brother.

And she’s curled up against me like she still wants to be here.

I can save the worst of it for another day.

She stands and walks over to lean against the railing of the pier, barefoot. If not for the full moon, I likely wouldn’t be able to see much of her but thanks to it, I can enjoy the view of her silhouette with the ocean in the background. There’s a breeze, just enough to send a few strands of her hair into disarray and the material of her short skirt swirling.

I miss her warmth next to me already. “Have you had enough of me tonight yet?” I murmur, and I hear the gloom in my voice. It’s after three and I don’t want to leave, but I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. I imagine she didn’t get much sleep last night. Ginger told me she came home a few hours after the incident with her assailant with a tear-streaked face.

Turning slowly to face me, Charlie says, “I know you’re telling me all of this to scare me away. But it won’t work. Nothing you’ve told me so far makes me think badly of you.”

An unexpected wave of relief crashes into me with her admission.

I watch her brow knit together as she hesitates, as if she’d deciding whether she should say something. “What if . . .” Again, she pauses and I see her jaw tense. She suddenly looks away, blinking repeatedly. Are those unshed tears I see?

“Charlie?” Worry begins to bubble inside, all thoughts of getting under her clothes gone. “You can tell me, Charlie. Anything. I won’t judge you. God, if you’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that I won’t judge you.” Ronald Sullivan’s name is on the tip of my tongue. I want to ask her, Who is he to you? What did he do? Do you want me to get rid of him? But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to pressure her and I sure as hell don’t want to send her running from me like I did yesterday.

Just as quickly, whatever it was—the fear, the indecision—disappears. The intensity of her gaze now reminds me of Charlie onstage. The bold temptress. My mind is still reeling with worry, but now my body is back on high alert.

Unavoidably, my eyes drop down to those tits that I’ve seen bared on twenty-two wonderful occasions and I inhale sharply. Yes, I’ve kept track of her shows. What I haven’t kept track of is the number of times I’ve jerked off to the visuals firmly emblazoned on my mind, afterward. Just the thought has me adjusting myself before I can help it.

And of course she catches me doing it.

She smiles. The coy smile that she gives me as she’s peeling off her top for me at Penny’s.

I believe that I won’t ever be saying no to Charlie Rourke.

I swallow as my blood begins pounding through my veins, as my breathing turns ragged.

As a spider web of tingles skitters over my skin.

I can’t believe it. I’ve never felt this. Not even with Penny.

I’m actually nervous to be with a woman.





chapter twenty-four


■ ■ ■

CHARLIE

Would Cain understand?

Would he see my situation for what it is—that I continue helping Sam in order to survive? To give myself a chance to break free? Or would he see me as weak?

I was so close. It was on the tip of my tongue. But I just couldn’t form the words. I can’t risk it. What would he do? After everything I’ve just heard tonight, I don’t know. Perhaps he’d help me because he craves fixing things, or perhaps he’d walk away because it’s too much of a reminder of his past.

He can’t fix this, though. He can only put himself in danger by trying. No, Cain needs to remain in the dark. And I’m leaving tomorrow, so there’s no point shattering this illusion of me he has created—the abused runaway, looking for a fresh start. Half of it is true, in any case. Or will be, tomorrow.