Page 83 of Direct Action

I packed a bag so I could stay the night at Ryan’s house. Then we ordered and consumed a pizza and talked about our days. It must be noted, his face got soft when I told him I’d taken a nap.

After that, I got ready for work, and he drove me and dropped me off.

Now I was standing next to the bar with Poppy and Lori in an awesome dress that—upon seeing me in it—made Ryan’s eyes turn a shade of hungry that curled my toes. Unfortunately, that toe curl had worn off and guilt had encroached.

“She had her brows shaped this afternoon,” Poppy lied, fully pulling me back into the present.

“They look great,” Lori said, complimenting my fake brow shaping.

“Thanks,” I pushed out and loaded my tray with drinks.

I was on my second sweep of the room when I saw Len Taylor and another man I’d never seen at a two top in my section. No Sterling. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I’d easily pegged Sterling as a predator when I’d met him, but what I’d meant was that he was the alpha dog of his peers. After last night, I knew he was a straight-up predator in every sense of the word, and I didn’t need Ryan and the guys to tell me that. I’d felt it.

He was a total creep, but even so, he was a buffer. Len Taylor was something else—not the alpha dog but still a dog without the intelligence and control that Sterling had. And in my book, that made him far more dangerous. Len wouldn’t calculate risks; he’d be driven by ego and compulsion.

Without Sterling there to keep him in check, Len would be a dog off his leash, and I wasn’t looking forward to finding out how untamed he was.

I sucked in a breath, plastered my best fake smile on my face, and approached the table.

“The feast is in a week. What the fuck is Sterling doing?” I heard the man sitting opposite say. “We’re still down two . . .”

Feast.

I slowed my approach, hoping he’d continue, but he glanced up, caught my eyes, and leaned back in his chair.

Damn.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I greeted. “Mr. Taylor, nice to see you, sir. Your usual?”

“Hey there, pretty girl,” he returned, and without his master there to bring him to heel, Len felt free to rake his filthy, beady eyes down my body, paying special attention to my breasts.

Gross.

Once I contained my urge to slap the shit out of him, I asked, “What can I get for you—”

“Yes, my usual,” Len interrupted me.

I glanced at his table mate. “And you, sir?”

Startling blue eyes lifted and latched on to mine. They would’ve been outrageously beautiful if they weren’t so cold. Dead and cold and ominous. His sandy-blond hair would’ve made him look almost younger than he was if it weren’t for the hard set of his jaw and those very emotionless eyes.

“Jack and Coke,” he rumbled.

Jack and Coke.

Rough and abrasive.

Cold and dead.

This man was two thousand levels above Len on the predator scale and two small steps above Sterling. But that was only because Sterling had exhibited decorum—he had a reputation to uphold, thus he wanted people to believe he had class. This man, whoever he was, didn’t give a single shit what people thought about him. I’d bet he had a reputation to uphold as well, but his would be frightening. Further from that, he got off knowing people were terrified of him.

With a smile, I forced myself to slowly walk away.

“Her,” the man calmly said.

“Dex—”