Thorne Princess(71)

“How big?”

“A wound shot?” I rubbed at my forehead, frustrated.

“Juicy.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m listening.”

“I almost fucked the ward yesterday.”

Lawrence’s face broke into a huge grin. “That’s great news, buddy.”

Had he lost his grasp of the English language?

“Did you hear what I said?” I sat back, my leg jerking impatiently. “I nearly fucked my entire operation, and an almost-underage girl in the process.”

“It’s the first time you ever lost control.” Lawrence toasted the air with his beer. “She must be special.”

“She’s special, all right. A special kind of nightmare,” I muttered.

His eyes widened with delight. He created a square with his fingers, aiming them at me. “That’s a Kodak moment if I’ve ever seen one. Ransom Lockwood, enamored. Looks like she’s giving you hell, too. I already like her.”

“She’s a child,” I spat out, as if it was Lawrence who stuck his finger into Brat yesterday, not me.

“How young are we talking here? Twenty-five? Twenty-three?”

I averted my gaze to his parked Chevy Suburban.

“Dayum!” Lawrence cackled, enjoying the show. “Eighteen?”

“No, you gross ass. Twenty-one.”

He whistled. “Rules are meant to be broken.”

“So are your bones, if you keep making light of it.” I peeled the label off the sweaty beer bottle, wondering if Max had adhered to my warning and kept his hands to himself today. I would tear him limb from limb if he crossed the line again.

“What’s with you? It’s not like you to get your panties in a twist about a woman.” Law turned off the TV, swiveling toward me. “Truth is, I’m kind of relieved someone managed to penetrate the surface with you. I was starting to worry your ass would never settle down. Nothing gets to you.”

“Beer does.” I raised the empty bottle in my hand. “Grab me another one.”

Law leaned down, seizing another beer from the cooler and hurling it my way. I caught it mid-air.

“And settling down is not an option. No woman can handle this much bullshit.” I pointed at myself.

“And yet, you’re here.” Law quirked a brow. “If you got it all figured out, why’re you asking for advice?”

“It’s hard to stay away from her.” I rubbed at my stubble-shadowed chin. “Her dad is the former president of the United States, and he’s about to help me reel in the big fish if he’s satisfied with my work. Which, my guess is he wouldn’t be, if his daughter is full of my cum.”

Not to mention all the other ways I wanted to play with her, now that I knew she was game.

“Business ain’t everything.” Law tsked. “You deserve happiness.”

I smiled bitterly. “A good lay doesn’t equal happiness.”

“A good woman does.”

“She’s no good, and barely a woman.”

“Now you’re just acting like a bastard because you’re angry someone managed to make you feel not-miserable for the first time in your shit-ass life.”

Law’s eyebrows collapsed. He looked at me so intensely, for a moment, I got ready to punch him in case he tried to hug me.

“You know it’s not our fault, right? What happened with Moruzzi.”

“I know that,” I gritted out. I meant every word. I didn’t feel regret nor shame. Whatever happened—happened. It was out of my control.

“What happened with Kozlov in L.A…. that wasn’t your fault, either.”

See, here, I begged to differ.

I should have never told Law about that. It was a slip of the tongue. Something I’d confessed one very drunken night.

“Whose fault was it, then?” I downed my second beer.

“Sometimes bad things happen and it’s no one’s fault.”

“Well, part of this job is in L.A., and let’s just say the Russians didn’t forget about me.”

“Can you blame them? You made yourself a lot of enemies before you went solo with Tom. Including our time in Chicago. We were reckless. We made a name for ourselves. You made some mistakes. One of them with a very bad person. Question is—are you ready to change, Ransom? Are you ready to grow up?”

I knew what he wanted me to say. That yes, I was ready. And yes, the string of fast cars and fast women got old. But the truth was, I was still the same asshole. Miserable and incapable of having feelings for anyone. Except for maybe an unhealthy little fascination with a woman I worked for.

“This is useless. I’m not you. I’m not Tom. I’m not built for this.”

I stood up, dumping my two empty beers into a can on my way to the door. Then I stopped. Turned around, frowned, and returned to the trash, picking up both of the beer bottles.

“Where’s your recycling bin?” I asked.

“In the kitchen, under the sink.”

I carried the beer bottles into his house and put them in recycling on my way out.





On the drive back to Dallas, Tom called again. I couldn’t put him off any longer. Especially considering he’d tried me throughout the day yesterday, too, but I’d been busy conducting job interviews with a few people who’d flown in from Austin.