Page 14 of Property of Rattler

“There,” I tell her. “I’m giving you privacy.”

I hear the shuddering breath she draws in and realise it’s a sign of her desperation when I hear movement toward the bucket, then the rustling of clothing as she pulls her Royals’ issued too-short skirt up. I wait for the trickling sounds to start, but there’s nothing.

“What the fuck is it now?” I snap when it’s obvious she’s not doing anything. I half turn…

“No, don’t look,” she yells. “I just can’t pee when you’re in the room.”

I snort a laugh. “Believe me, doll, I’d rather be anywhere else. But this is the situation we’re in, and we’ve just got to deal.”

The door gets pretty boring when you’ve been staring at it for a while. I bite my tongue, knowing if I say anything else, it will just make her tense up more.

Then, in a voice that sounds just as frustrated as I feel, she hesitantly asks, “Can you, like, sing, or something?”

Sing?“You want me to…” But I let my speaking voice trail off. If I don’t do something, I’ll be standing here for the rest of the night. Quickly summoning up the tune and lyrics from my memory, I launch into a rendition of Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life.” I get to the second repetition of the chorus when I hear a tinkling sound.Thank fuck.It seems to go on forever, but I finally hear a sigh, then finally the shuffling sound of clothes again. “Can I turn around now?”

“Yes.” She gives her permission, then adds, “You’ve got an amazing voice.”

“Really?” I raise a brow. I wouldn’t know myself, but I won’t turn down a compliment. “I normally only sing when I’m stuck by myself in a cage or in the shower.”

“It’s good,” she says. “You should be in a band.”

“Nah.” I shut that down fast. “No one wants to hear that shit.” Then, before we can start a fresh argument about whether I can hold a tune or not—I mean, this girl seems able to argue about absolutely anything—I politely remind her why we had a pissing contest in the first place. “Now will you fuckin’ go to sleep?”

Instead of answering, she returns to her position on the floor, curling up into a ball. Something about the way she looks so uncomfortable gets to me. Fuck knows why, but instead of retaking the position I’d been in opposite, I slide down to sit beside her and bring her head to rest on my thigh. Stunned, she tries to pull away, but I keep my hands tight where they are.

Finally, she relaxes and accepts the gift she’s been given. After a while, her breathing deepens, and, now fully asleep, her hands flail at my leg. With a grin, I realise she’s trying to plump my thigh as if she would a pillow. Even though there’s nothing soft about me, she finally relaxes again.

Before the piss scenario, I’d been tired as fuck. Now, though, I can’t drop off, no matter how hard I try. The shelves behind me dig into my back. To distract myself from my discomfort, I find myself stroking her hair. Studying it this closely, I see she’s a natural blond. Yeah, that figures. She’s as ditsy as her hair colour would suggest. Then, I realise I’m being unnecessarily judgemental. She’s studying forensics or was. And it was she who realised the folly of pouring bleach in such a small space. Guiltily for a moment, I study her breathing, trying to make sure she’s really asleep and not passed out from asphyxiation.

I needn’t have worried. She makes a murmuring sound and turns over. This time, her head moves further up my leg, untilher face is close to my groin. My dick stirs, as it would when any available female gets close.

Fuck my life.Now I can’t fucking rest because I’ve got a hard-on. And she’s the last woman I’d want to fuck.

Or is she? She’s dead to the world, little feminine snores coming from her mouth. I let my hand wander, holding it just over her breast, then stilling in case I wake her. But she makes no move, so I lower my fingers to fondle it. She’s got the firmness of youth that still lingers, nice fucking curves, and all topped by a nipple I’d just love to get into my mouth.

I close my eyes, not as a precursor to sleep, but to envision her in my mind. I estimate she’s around five feet four or five, short enough to balance out my not considerable height. Her legs, shown off by the minuscule attire she's forced to wear at Royals, have already shown me that, relative to her size, they seem to go on for miles. She’s got a cute ass. I’ve never questioned whether she’s pretty. Up to now, I’ve let my annoyance at her ineptitude when working in the club cloud my mind.

I hadn’t been fucking with her when I’d told her, her offer of cash for services rendered had left me cold. Being a member of the Kings was worth more than any money she could offer. I mean, if I had five million dollars, how could I still be a brother? Sure, I could use more money. Who couldn’t? But that amount? It would fuck up the life I’d earned, even though I have to admit, somehow, I keep stepping on toes and am well aware the other members would not call me their favourite brother. What if I offered to bring in a few million dollars to bolster our accounts? I can’t help the shit that comes out of my mouth, but would that make up for the transgressions they appear to think I’ve committed?

I’ve never wanted an old lady. Fuck knows, my nightmare is tying myself to a wife. But what if she came with a monetarybonus and a time limit? Of course, she’d have to understand my dick wasn’t hers, and I was free to sink it into any available pussy. Would we even have to live together, or could we just sign a certificate and then go our separate ways? Could I put up with anything for eighteen months?

Maybe I’d been too hasty to dismiss her proposal earlier tonight.

Wiser minds might prevail if I get an opportunity to talk to them. One thing’s for certain—I’ve got to step up. Once we’re freed, she’ll probably go straight back to the place she’s sharing with Satin, and I’m becoming more and more convinced that Ames has been too trusting of her supposed friend. While I admittedly didn’t pick up that vibe when Malachi was talking, it could be that Satin had still betrayed her in some way. It was suspicious that tonight, of all nights, she went home early.

No, Ames can’t go back to her home. She’ll have to come back to the club. And while I know she’ll hate me sharing her problems—and the money that’s at the end of her rainbow—she’ll just have to suck that up.

I don’t care for the bitch, but even if we set her up with a new identity and send her off to another chapter of the Kings, she’s so fucking naïve she’s likely to fuck up, and her brother might find her.

I decide it’s more my hatred for Malachi, who wants her dead to enrich himself, than concern for Ames’s fate that has me formulating my plan.

If I marry her, she’ll come under the club’s protection. And if in eighteen months she gives me five million dollars, the club will fall at my feet if I direct the majority of it into the club’s coffers.

The downside? I’ll be stuck with the bitch, but only for a limited time. If it’s in name only and doesn’t cramp my style, then surely it’s a win-win situation all around? Maybe hersuggestion isn’t one I should dismiss out of hand. Then I frown. It wouldn’t be so bad if I actually liked her. Perhaps I can palm her off onto one of my brothers. Surely someone will step up and take one for the team?

That’s my last conscious thought, as finally, exhaustion takes its toll, and this time, when I close my eyes, they stay shut.

A crashing sound wakes me. I’m often in a bitch’s bed, so it’s not unusual for me to find myself in a strange room. But there’s none of the girly shit I’m used to seeing. Instead, there’s cleaning paraphernalia all around. I swear as it all comes rushing back, and my eyes land on the culprit who’d caused my rude awakening.