Slam: A Bad Boy Romance (6 page)

Once we hit the sidewalk, she walked three feet in front of me, her pace quickening with each stride. Occasionally, she would glance over her shoulder to see if I was still there.

Cadence paused at the entrance to Whiskey Sour. Her fingers gripped the handle, head leaning towards the ground. “Okay, before we go in, I do want to say thank you, and I mean that.” A thin smile pulled gently across her cheeks as her eyes mollified her feelings.

I wanted to kiss her again, run my tongue over the velvet touch of her lips. Deep down, my stomach twisted from a tactile sensation that I hadn't experienced before.

Reaching my arm out, I squeezed her shoulder. The lean muscles tensed, and her back straightened. Cadence drew in a long sullen breath as she tugged the door open.

Standing behind her, a whirl of her essence slapped against my face. The scent was erotic, yanking on my nose to lean in closer. D
amn! Even her smell is a fucking turn on.
The hair on my neck raised up, cock stiffening. I wanted to grab her ass, tear into her with my massive throbbing hard-on.

Her pussy had been warm to the touch at the diner, she wanted me, I knew that for sure. The heated cunt, slippery between her thighs, had called for me.

And I was ready, I had been ready, to fuck her like she's never felt before.

But, the moment she stepped inside that building, her whole demeanor changed. A wave of seriousness flooded her expression; her jaw was held in tight, eyes contracted, squeezing their natural impulse to move.

This was her domain, her place of existence.

Being here with the sun shining high above the sky was strange. I'd never been in a bar before happy hour, and never left seeing completely straight.

A milky colored hue floated over the room, streams of light poured in from the ceiling above through glass tinted a dull shade of yellow.

I hadn't noticed the skylights the night before; then again, how often do you look up when you're out getting shitfaced?

Our feet echoed across the empty space, hers were much lighter, mimicking the soft tap of ballet slippers. A translucent mirage of her dancing around serving drinks coated my brain, my head felt suffocated, drained from the oxygen being squeezed out.

My fingers wanted to walk across her hips, yank her back, and press my cock in between her thighs. All to give her a taste of what I had to offer. It took everything I had to keep them by my side. Eagerly, they flurried over my jeans, their rhythmical movements tapping against the coarse material.

A subtle melody whispered through the speakers hitting my ears, the violins played utter benignity; angelic and soft, soothing to the senses.

Distracted by my thoughts, I almost walked through her. Cadence reached up and pressed against my chest. “Wait here,” she rustled out, palm held open.

Our eyes locked briefly, small creases rested above arched brows, no waiver of a grin. Her lips spread razor-thin as she disappeared through a rickety old door behind the bar.

Why does she look so... bitter?

If I'm here because her father wants to thank me, why does all the life seem to have drained  from her?

There was no making sense of this woman; she wants me, she resists me. Strength peeks out and shyness mantles her uncertainty.

What she didn't realize, or refused to realize, is how that only drives me harder. I'm not one to give up or walk away.

If she can't make up her mind, I'll do it for her.

Leaning against the wood bar, I listened to the muffled voices seep from behind the fractured surface of the door. I could hear the tones, the rise and fall of pitch, but nothing more.

Sliding onto a stool, its once bright red facade, now cracked and stained, cotton wisps reached out from beneath the broken surface.

I hoped that after this meeting was done, I would finally get what I wanted.

Cadence.

She had teased me enough. Her cunt was going to be mine, no more fucking games.

Setting my elbows down, my fingers braided each other impatiently.
What are they talking about in there? You might think I was here to see the damn president.

Clicking my tongue, I was ready to do this, and go home. I'd been up for almost twenty-four hours. Exhaustion was trying to wriggle its way into my bones. I had shaken it off for some time now, it wouldn't be long before I just collapsed, unable to fight it anymore.

A creek of the hinges drew my attention up. The door parted slowly, and Cadence emerged. “He's ready for you now.” Her eyes darted around my face, never meeting them full on.

“Okay,” I said, the single word drew out over my tongue. The whole situation began to reek of decaying garbage, it was quite the production to just say 'thank you.'

Her hand came up and wiped her cheek, nose scrunched with a sniffle.
Had she been crying? What the fuck is going on here? Was she screwing with me?

She had said she'd be fucked if I didn't come back with her.

But I couldn't understand why?

What the hell was the big deal? Things just weren't making sense, nothing fit together.

A father who wants to commend the man who protected his daughter, would have met them at the door. A hand, strong and firm, would've been ready to give praise.

Instead, the pit forming in my stomach said this was something else.

Blocking the path to the door, she stood with her lips moving as if she wanted to speak, but couldn't find her voice.

“Are you going to let me by?” A light chuckle escaped as I watched her hands rub together nervously.

“Quinn, be polite, don't get smart with him.” Confusion fell across my face, my eyes went crooked, mouth stout. Her hands came up in defense. “It's just that my dad... he's.. he's a respected man. Old fashioned in a way. And people who get mouthy with him, well, it usually doesn't go over well.”

“Thanks for the warning, doll. I'm sure I've got this.” Nodding my head, I pinched the fabric covering my shoulders.

“Look, I know my dad, and I know your type-”

Cutting her off I said, “My type?” Arching one brow.

“Yes, your type. Cocky, head strong, a smart ass.” Her lip quivered, hand caressing the back of her neck.

I brought my hand up to halt the barrage. “Alright, alright. I get your point.”

“No matter what he says to you, I'm just asking that you be nice is all.” Her finger pushed against her bottom lip, chewing on the skin. “Forget it,” she spat quickly, moving to the side. “Forget I said anything, just go talk to him.” She rubbed her forehead, looking towards me under hooded lids.

Gliding my fingers over her hair, she jumped back, glancing at the door. “Don't worry. Your father is going to love me.”

Turning away from her I gripped the cold glass knob. It was flashy, different cut angles glistened with the dull lighting.

Electric nerves sparked from head to toe, a rush of uncertainty and discomfort sat heavy like lead in my gut.

I didn't remember ever feeling so uneasy about meeting a girl's father. Especially since this one actually
wanted
to meet me.

'Clank, clank.' My knuckles burned against the wood.

“Come in.” A deep voice, barely a whisper above the music, called out.

Opening the door, I stepped inside. The scent of cheap cigars hung in the air. A small lamp, hardly emitting enough light to give a full spectrum to the room rested on the desk.

“Close the door, please.” The man, I assumed was Cadence's father, pulled a long, drawn out inhale on his cigar. A roll of smoke lit up as it cascaded by the lamp. The ghostly wave flowed out, swirling across the single chair set before his desk.

“Hello, I'm Quinn.” Stepping forward, I held my hand out.
“Be polite.”
Her guidance sitting like molasses in the back of my skull.

“I'm aware of who you are, Quinn. I'm Louis.” His massive hand gripped firmly, a bear size paw wrapped around my fingers, it was comparable in size to mine. “Sit,” he said, leaning back, forefingers straightened, pressing against his mouth.

Lowering to the chair, I could barely squeeze in. The seat looked old, made during an era when men my size hardly existed. The arms clenched around my hips, causing me to angle one side just to hit the cushion. Comfort was nonexistent, my ass was sore as shit after a few seconds.

Despite the music, an eerie silence paraded through the room. He sat, staring into me. “Do you know why you're here?” His hands fell towards the desk, chest following to hover right above the detailed mahogany.

“Cadence told me you wanted to see me and thank me for last night.” Squinting my lids, my forehead raised to my hair line.

What kind of question is that?

“Yes, Cadence, and the debacle in my bar.” He lifted his cigar from the tray that cradled it. “But, to thank you, no.” He dragged the long ash head across the edge, a sinister grin spilling from his face as it crumbled into dust.

What the fuck? Had she lied to me? Filled me with a bullshit story, but for what?

My body tensed, I felt trapped, uncertain of what his intentions were. “Then what the hell am I here for?”

She wanted me to mind myself, be nice and not mouth off to her dad. But, these types of games don't sit well with me.

Will I play nice to get what I want? Absolutely.

Will I chase a wet pussy? Absolutely.

Will I stand by and be mind fucked? Not a chance in hell.

Opening a small oak box on the desk, her father turned it towards me. “Cigar?” he asked. His yellow teeth were a shade of orange under the light.

Shaking my head no, I gripped the arms of the chair. The wood was so brittle, I could feel it splintering beneath my palms. “You didn't answer me. I asked you why I was here?” My brows narrowed, eyes glaring down.

Pulling a cigar from the box he ran it under his nose, inhaling heavily. “These are expensive. You know how much a single one costs, Quinn?” His fingers twirled around the securely wrapped casing.

Was this what she meant by 'be polite?'
Sit here and listen to this man babble nonsense, ask me questions about things that don't have any relevance?

Should I just be nodding in agreement at his pathetic attempts to pull me into conversation?

There was only so much patience I'd be able to muster up, I couldn't see myself sitting there listening to him talk circles around shit I didn't care about.

“Get to the point.” My arm lifted, a single finger spinning for him to move on.

“The man you had it out with, do you know who he is?” Louis slid the cigar back into the box. Pushing it out of the way, his hands folded together.

“A dick named Nico, who was treating your daughter like shit.” Shifting in my chair to the other side, a cracking sound spread through the seat. I half expected it to give way, splitting in two, landing me on my ass.

“That dick... makes me a lot of money. Probably more money than you've ever laid eyes on.” His hands squeezed together tighter, thumbs sliding side by side. His lips barely moved as he spoke.

I don't really give two flying fucks about who or what Nico was to him. He didn't meant shit to me. All I saw was a scared little prick, using his size to threaten a woman.

“So, are you saying that you don't care that he talked to your daughter like she was a fucking maid, like she was supposed to jump when he spoke?” The words rode my tongue, forced out through gritted teeth. “Because I just met your daughter, and I wasn't going to let him do that.”

Rage started to wrap around my muscles, its grip filtering through each thread. I couldn't believe his passiveness over one of his own treating his daughter that way.

How could he just dismiss it?

Money or not, it doesn't make it right. Was his bank roll more important than his own blood?

“Quinn, that man works for me. Nico has an obligation he can't fulfill now because of you. So I need to know how you're going to fix that?” He sat, motionless. No concern or care in his face. Lifeless eyes slithered around his head, waiting for an answer.

He really didn't care about his daughter. He could have shown some compassion, asked me what was said, talked about reprimanding his employee.

Did he?

No.

“That's not my problem.” Turning my jaw out to the side, my hands squeezed, I was ready to pull the arms clear off the chair.

Who the hell does this guy think he is? I'm not going to fix anything for him.
He doesn't even care that the fuck face was screaming at his daughter, making a scene in his bar. He didn't want to thank me, he thinks I caused this. That I was the issue in play.

Lifting his finger, he pointed towards me. “That's where you're wrong. I'm not going to lose a shit load of money, Quinn. Because you wanted to be a hero, hoping to get in my daughter's pants.” He pushed back from his seat, stepping around to the front of his desk. “You were able to take out my top fighter. That's not an easy task.” He brought his finger up to his mouth, digging deep into his teeth, flicking the debris to the floor.

“Fighter? Fighter for what?” Confused, my brows angled up. That word sent chills down my spine. I hated to hear anyone say 'fighter.'

“I saw what you did to him. I know what you're capable of. Nico, he's never lost one fight, and you rendered him helpless. I want you to work for me, take his place-”

“No. I can't do that. You're going to need to find someone else.” The veins in my neck bulged, shaking as my head swayed.

“You didn't let me finish.” His index finger wagged side to side. “I pay well. You'll never have to worry about keeping your head above water.”

My lip snarled up. “No. We're done here.” Pressing up, my legs were heavy. I wanted to kick him, kick his offer clear down his throat.

Louis held a hand up. “I don't need an answer now. Think about it.” Turning towards his desk, he scribbled on a small note pad. “There's a match tomorrow night. Come and watch, feel it out. I could make it worth your while.” Slipping the paper into my hand, he tipped his head. “You can see yourself out.”

I stood silently, crumpling the paper and shoving it into my back pocket. A sickening feeling flooded my gut. This had been a trap, a gimmick to keep his pockets full.