Page 35 of Ruthless Protector

“Sure.” She chewed her lip. “And ah, thanks, for last night.”

“Which part are you thanking me for?” I said, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

Her eyes narrowed, spine straightening. “All of it. Being here for Tilly, and for helping me out.”

Don’t say it. “Helping you out? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

She shrugged, but I could see the attitude was back, full force. “Don’t get me wrong, I get the job done, and done well, on my own, but it’s nice to have a helping hand from time to time…” Her eyes dipped. “Or should I say, bulge.”

Now all I could think about was Willa getting the “job done” on her own, which I could only assume was her intention. She wanted me to bite. It wasn’t going to happen. I swiped my keys from the table by the couch and headed toward her and the front door.

I stopped beside her, leaned in, mouth an inch from her ear. “Glad I could be of service, baby. You let me know when you’re ready for round two.” I straightened. “Later, Tilly,” I called.

“Later,” she called back as I walked out.

Willa Hartley had secrets, secrets that were banging on her door late at night, and now throwing rocks through her window.

The woman was stubborn as hell, closed off, and fiercely protective of her personal life. I could respect that, but she was so obviously in trouble. Yeah, I could do some digging, but that didn’t sit right with me. I wanted to win this woman’s trust. And looking into her past without her consent would be counterproductive.

For now, I’d respect her privacy, and hope like hell when she realized I could be trusted, she’d open up to me. In the meantime, I needed to make sure she and Tilly stayed safe.

8

Willa

Leaning on the bar, I sipped my soda. My lunchtime shift at Stilettos had gone pretty well, and bonus, I hadn’t fallen on my ass or anything. Also, the clientele had been feeling generous. A good thing, since I was meeting Trent in about an hour. I’d called him after the broken window incident, and confronted him. He denied it, but his word wasn’t exactly good. And since the surveillance footage didn’t catch a clear shot of who broke my window, I had no proof. Something had definitely been off with him, though. I mean, more than usual.

I told him I had some money for him and he wanted to meet as soon as possible. Hopefully, five hundred dollars would send him on his way. It was definitely more than he would have had in a while. It was more than I’d had as well. I made sure we were meeting in a public place. I refused to be alone with him, especially after our last face to face. And no way did I want him anywhere near our house and Tilly.

Now I just had to kill some time. I glanced across the club, Steph was at one of the tables on the other side of the bar, giving a lap dance. The suit she was with came in almost every day. He didn’t look at anyone else, didn’t want anyone else, paid for his dance, tipped Steph huge, then left.

His eyes were dark, almost black, and intense. His suit was expensive, but somehow, he still managed to look dangerous. He had tattoos on his hands, and he always kept them at his sides. He never tried to touch her. Steph looked as defiant, as she always did when she danced for him, but she also looked flushed. Flustered. I’d seen her give many lap dances since I started here. She was good, she always was. But when she danced for Mr. Suit, she gave him everything, like she was trying to push him, get him to break out of that stoic exterior. I don’t know, I just knew there was a hell of a lot more going on there.

Steph was a few years older than me, and what I did know about her life, was that it hadn’t been a picnic. She was divorced, the relationship had been bad, and she wasn’t in a hurry to date. She never talked about Mr. Suit, and she’d made it clear she didn’t want to when I broached the subject.

I was fine with that. She didn’t want me in her business and I didn’t want her in mine. Still, I couldn’t help waving Reggie over from behind the bar. “Who is that guy? The one that comes for Steph nearly every day?”

His brows rose. “You seriously don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

He leaned in. “Tomas Mendoza,” he said, under his breath, like he was afraid the guy would hear or see his name spoken across a loud, dark, and smoky room.

I chuckled. “Christ, Reggie, the guy isn’t Voldemort.”

Reggie straightened and shook his head. “Smartass.”

“What? Is he a hitman or something?” I said jokingly.

Reggie leaned back in. “Not that I know of, though, people that cross him have been known to disappear. The guys into a lot of bad shit. His businesses, on the surface, look legitimate. My guess, money laundering. He’s a dealer, a loan shark, a pimp. You name it.”

I glanced back across the room at him. “You know this for a fact?”

Reggie looked a little sheepish. “Well, I’m not sure if he’s pimp, or a dealer, or about the money laundering, not for sure. I mean, I’ve heard stuff, but I don’t have any proof. I do know he loans money, though, because my stupid cousin Dwayne borrowed from him when he got into some trouble. The family had to bail him out when he couldn’t pay it back. It was either that, or one of Mendoza’s men were going to pay him a visit, and you know what that means.”

I frowned. “What?”

Reggie leaned in again. “Broken legs, concrete shoes…horseheads in your bed.” He shook his head. “Steer clear of him, Willa. The guy’s trouble,” he said, then went to serve someone.