Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(89)

And better not be a hot young tramp in a French maid outfit.

I’ll ask him about that later.

“Well, you’ve been giving me blow jobs every night before the club opens for weeks, so I don’t see what the problem is,” he teases dryly. And those rumors will likely become reality . . . “You’re not going on the stage anymore, so it works out well for both of us. In fact,” he says, suddenly standing up straight and turning to face me, “I don’t want you behind the bar, either.”

I frown at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking.

Cain heaves an exasperated sigh. “Just because we haven’t talked about that f*cking * the other night doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about him, Charlie.”

I avert my eyes but feel Cain’s harsh gaze still on me. “I’m trying to respect your privacy and give you the chance to tell me about it when you’re ready. That doesn’t mean I won’t do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”

Panic stirs as my brain processes his words. What does that mean? Swallowing the small scream in my throat, I ask in a decidedly shaky voice, “What did you do to him?”

Cain studies me—more likely, my reaction—for a long moment. “Made sure he knows never to lay a hand on you again.”

“That’s a little vague.” It frightens the hell out of me. The last thing I need is a face-off with a vengeful Bob at a drop. If I do another drop. “Did you threaten him?”

He pauses as if deciding whether to answer me or not. “Nate can be an intimidating guy.”

Something tells me there’s more to this story. “What if he comes back and hurts you?” I’d die if anything ever happened to Cain or Nate because of me.

Cain’s soft chuckle only increases my anxiety. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. It takes a lot to knock me down.”

I set my forehead against the bar. Fantastic. Cain has a Superman complex. And now I know for certain that Cain can’t ever know anything about Sam. I can’t have him and Nate tossing around threats if Sam were ever to show up unexpected.

Because Sam wouldn’t bother trying to knock down Superman. He’d simply kill him.

“So?” Cain waits expectantly, though his tone has softened. “The job?”

“Can you afford me?”

“Oh?” He rolls on his elbows to face me, his smirk widening. “What’s the going rate again?”

“A thousand an hour is what some are willing to pay.”

“Right.” Cain starts to laugh. “You’re going to rob me blind, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Why else would I be here?”

Cain plants a kiss on each cheek, followed by one on my nose, and then he lays a deep one on my lips, pulling a moan out of my throat. “You’ll be well taken care of, I can promise you that.”

A twinge of guilt pricks at me. “How about we see how it goes. Temporary assignment, okay? We might not be able to stand each other after a week.”

Cain shakes his head. “Sure, Charlie. But somehow I’m highly doubting that. Come on.” I get a playful slap across the ass and I beam, silently commending myself for keeping that dark, broody Cain from shutting me out. “Let’s get you some clothes and then we can go out to eat.”

■ ■ ■

“Hey, Kyle!” The slightly awkward security guard offers me a crooked smile as I walk through the revolving door of the extended-stay motel, as I have every Monday morning for months now, a coffee in hand and a low-cut T-shirt on person.

“Hey, Charlie.” He watches me walk up, his eyes appraising me. “I didn’t think you were coming in.”

Deliveries arrive by nine a.m. and I’m always here at exactly nine fifteen. Glancing at my clock, I note that it’s almost ten thirty. It’s the first time I’ve ever been late.

I had to get away from Cain, something I haven’t done in days. He’s been within arm’s reach the entire time and I’ve loved every second of it. Most of the time, we’re either at Penny’s or at his place. I’ve even started using the gym in his building.

I couldn’t have him coming with me to pick up the latest burner phone, so I used the excuse that I needed clothes from my apartment. He told me to just pack my suitcase and bring everything over.

Cain was telling the truth. He doesn’t know how to date and he sure as hell doesn’t take things slow.

“I know. Traffic. Biscayne Boulevard is backed up with all the construction.”

“Huh . . . that might explain it. Maybe the delivery guy is stuck in it too, because there’s no package yet.”

My stomach clenches. He can’t be stuck in it because there isn’t any construction on Biscayne Boulevard right now, as shocking as that is.

So, why isn’t there a package for me?

Trying to appear calm, I let my eyes roam the lobby area, looking for something suspicious. Something dangerous.

Like Jimmy.

Or Sam. Would he break his rule and fly down here for me?

“Maybe. Oh well!” I give my best ditzy girl giggle as I hand him his coffee. What does this mean? I’m sure it means something. Do I still pitch my current burner phone? Do I call Sam? I haven’t spoken to him since confronting him about the real Charlie Rourke and I have no idea what he’s going to say.