Page 30 of Direct Action

I hadn’t needed her going rock solid in my arms to know I had a battle on my hands. But her reaction was a clear indication I’d been wrong—I didn’t have a battle; I had a war. One I intended to win, and Gavin showing up had totally fucked me.

I rounded the corner, and that war became ten times harder when I saw Pete sitting at the table I’d just fucked Chloe on, and Fallon standing behind him.

Christ, could this get any worse?

“Damn, brother,” Fallon stuttered to a stop and gave me a top-to-toe once-over. “You look like you—”

There it was. It could get way fucking worse.

“Now’s not a good time,” I interrupted him.

The silence that ensued was deafening. More than that, it was assessing. Three highly trained men stared at me with a critical eye. Three men who didn’t miss a damn thing.

Pete’s gaze went to the hallway.

There was no use hiding or attempting to bullshit my way around what they already knew.

“She’s in my bedroom,” I started telling the group but transferred my attention to Gavin because he knew I was bringing Chloe back to the house to talk after our hostess, Grace, had told us about Chloe’s accident.

To be fair, he couldn’t’ve known that if they’d walked in fifteen minutes earlier, they would’ve heard her screaming my name, or alternatively, found me balls deep fucking her at the very table Pete was now sitting at. Not that they would’ve seen much of Chloe; I hadn’t done more than pull her skirt up around her waist before I lost control. I’d planned on getting her tits out and finally—fucking finally—getting my hands and mouth on the objects of my torment. But when I caught sight of the neatly trimmed triangle of hair, all thoughts of getting her shirt up and bra down fled. Most women waxed or shaved bare. Whether they liked the way it looked and felt or they thought that’s what men liked, I had no clue. What I did know was I was not one of those men. And if I was being honest, fucking Chloe in her work shirt was a turn-on. Not in a creepy, authoritative way, but I’d imagined taking her into my office at work, fucking her much like what happened against the wall, and in those fantasies, she was always in her Dirty Plank T-shirt.

I held my friend’s remorseful gaze and finished. “She’s also embarrassed as fuck and might be climbing out my window to escape since she heard you come in. Which begs the question why the fuck you’re here.”

“I called. And I texted our ETA.”

Well fuck.

I didn’t have to check my pockets to know I’d left my phone as well as Chloe’s purse in my truck.

It still didn’t explain why they were all there, and I needed that explanation so I could get rid of them and get back to Chloe. I was only half joking about her climbing out my window. I didn’t miss the way she’d eyed it as she went to the bathroom before I left her in there.

“Poppy came in right after you left to go find Chloe. Eyes red rimmed and face pale. I asked her what was wrong, and she broke wide open.”

“About?”

“The Vault.”

I must’ve heard Gavin wrong. Or at least I hope like fuck I did.

“The Vault?”

“Yep. She works there, too, has for months. Says she really likes it there. The money’s great. Management works with her schedule with no complaints, and the other servers are good people. Not as friendly as the women she works with at the Plank, but still she likes them. And she’s close with one woman in particular.” Fuck. “This morning, Poppy went to the club to pick up the playlist for the upcoming dances—”

“Why didn’t she just call?” I interrupted Gavin.

“I asked, she said the only phone number she has is a landline to the front desk, and no one picks up that line when the club is closed to the public.”

A landline? Who the hell still uses one of those? People who didn’t want to be tracked by their phones.

“That’s not shady as fuck.” Sarcasm dripped from my tone, coupled with a shake of my head.

“Shady but not unexpected,” Pete joined in.

“While Poppy was there, a woman, Pamela, was asking around if anyone had seen her sister, Cynthia. Poppy said at first she chalked it up to a sister squabble and Pamela was there to see Cynthia because she wasn’t answering her calls.”

“Sister squabble?”

That was a random assumption to snap to.