Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (13 page)

And the spilled blood he already had on his conscience was plenty.

There was another unwritten, but strictly enforced rule in the Spec Ops world that he was currently breaking, and it was that you never lied to your chief. Sure, Hope was technically only an omission on his part, but semantics didn’t mean shit. If the boss man got word that you’d done something stupid and he was caught unaware of it, you could bet your ass was getting handed to you that very day. And the day after that, too. And it was likely he wouldn’t let up for weeks.

It was that rule, and a strong sense of loyalty, that had him standing in the doorway of Ash’s sterile office later that morning.

“What’s going on, Beck? Come in and sit.” Ash nodded toward an empty chair, but didn’t look up, his focus divided between three large flat screen’s sitting on the otherwise bare desk in front of him.

Beck stayed propped against the doorjamb, contemplating exactly how to tell him about Hope, without actually telling him. Without getting fired or taking an obligatory pummeling. Deserving or not, the receiving end of Ash’s meaty fist wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be.

Glancing up briefly, Ash mumbled, “You need to get something off your chest?” Clicking buttons until the script on the monitors went black, he sat back and stretched his neck. “Your hovering is making me nervous.”

“Christ, you Army boys are easy to intimidate,” Beck said, as he dropped down into the chair, deciding to yank the band-aid off quickly. “Hope is moving in with me.”

And that just came out all kinds of fucking wrong.

The big man blinked once. “You wanna say that again?” Pausing, he added, “Because I think I just heard you say you’re shacking up with my sister.”

He nearly rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean like that.”

“Then what exactly do you mean?” Ash grabbed an ink pen off his desk and slowly clicked it open. Then closed. Then open again. Over and over, the wheezing click of a cheap metal spring contracting and expanding was the only sound in the room.

“I mean, she just needs a place to stay for awhile. Until she finds a new apartment. It’s temporary. Very temporary.”

Click. Click.

Determined not to squirm, he added, “C’mon, man, stop looking at me like that.” Like I screwed your innocent sister with all the finesse of a rutting bull, then cleared out so fast, my dick was still hard. “Do I look like the type who wants a roommate?”

“So, you’re sharing a room?”

This time Beck did roll his eyes. “We’re not sharing jack shit. I’m doing her a favor.”

“And you know Hope... how?” Click. Click.

This is where it got tricky. “We met the night of Sam’s wedding.”

The clicking stopped abruptly and the room cooled by ten degrees. “Is that right?”

Eyes that had successfully stared down dozens of insurgents bored into him, but Beck’s only response was a shrug. He wasn’t intimidated and he refused to tell Ash any more, unwilling to outright lie.

Tossing the pen down, Ash leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out. The falsely relaxed pose would have put a lesser man at ease. “I’ve never been an overprotective brother. Hell, I’m not sure I’ve ever been much of a brother, at all. Hardly ever see her. She’s a lot younger, different mothers, all that shit. Ever since she was little, she pretty much took care of herself. Honestly, I’ve always suspected she was an active sleeper agent in the Israeli Army, so I don’t think she needs my protection, anyway. When she was fifteen, I watched a boy try to cop a feel at one of our old man’s holiday parties. Right in front of me, too, that cocky shithead. She turned on him and threw a textbook one knuckle punch that sent his two front teeth straight into his windpipe. Somebody had to slap him on the back so he didn’t choke to death. Happened in the blink of a eye.” The corners of his mouth tilted up. “I just thought you should know who you’re dealing with.”

“My front teeth are safe,” Beck said, sending a clear message. “And I have no plans to visit the dentist.”

Ash stared at him and Beck held his gaze, the silence stretching until a ringing phone had Carrie piping through to the intercom on Ash’s desk phone, telling him to pick up line two. It was Beck’s timely cue to leave.

“Hey. Hold up a second, Beck.” Beck stopped in the doorway, not surprised Ash had more to say. His attention was on the monitors as he tapped out a command, bringing the screens back to life before reaching for the phone. “If she comes crying to me, now or anytime in the future, it’s gonna be a real bad day for you.”

Beck gripped the back of his neck and shook his head, silently questioning whether he could deny himself another taste of Hope Coleson, should the opportunity arise. And as long as she was within a hundred miles of him, it would. “I don’t know about that, Ash. I’ve had some pretty bad days in my life. One, in particular. Not sure anything you do could come all that close.”

“She’s my sister.” There was resignation in Ash’s uncompromising voice. Regret, too, but the warning was crystal clear. “It’ll hurt me as much as it hurts you, so do us both a solid and don’t test me on this.”

CHAPTER NINE

“I need some pointers.” Hope glanced nervously around her, hoping none of the Club Kitten patrons loitering nearby could hear her. Leaning across the table carefully, so her boobs wouldn’t pop out of her corset, she went nose to nose with Val. “Of the blowjob kind.”

Val copied her movements using only his eyeballs, looking side to side without moving his head. “You do realize you’re smack dab in the middle of a strip club, wearing skin tight black leather and three coats of mascara, right? And it’s not like you went to Catholic school, for crying out loud, although you could stand to hit the confessional booth. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that uniform positively screams kinky sex. Your customers are gonna go home tonight and beat off to fantasies of you duct-taping them to a folding chair and sticking a tennis ball up their ass. You have this whole,” he cracked one hand against the palm of his other, “don’t make me get my whip, vibe going on.”

“Really? It looks that good?” Was she actually doing this sexy getup justice? “Because I’m sweating rivers in places that you don’t want to know about. I thought leather was supposed to be breathable.”

“Yeah, yeah, poor Hope. Now back to the blowjobs,” he said, without sympathy. “Are you wanting to perfect your tongue technique or just spice things up a bit? Because nothing is more game-changing than blowing him while squeezing mango juice all over his balls and repeatedly telling him he’s been a dirty, dirty boy. To the best of your ability, anyway, since you’ll have his penis in your mouth.”

Her embarrassed gaze darted around the club again as blue and purple strobe lights flashed furiously, bouncing off every surface in perfect time to a Rihanna song.

“I’m thinking more along the lines of a blowjobs for beginners, kinda thing. I don’t want to look like a bumbling idiot. I want to really own it, you know?” She pumped her fist for emphasis. “Without looking like a porn star, of course.”

As if that was a possibility.

He leaned in, a twinkle in his devious eye. “You’ve never blown a guy, Ho-ho? Not even the classic cop-out kind, where you put it in your mouth, but don’t actually close your lips over it? You know, you just let it graze the sides of your cheeks and call it good?”

Apparently her look of mortification was all the answer he needed.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics. It’s just like eating a slowly melting Popsicle. Only you don’t get brain freeze and the juice isn’t grape flavored. You take your time with it, but you don’t dillydally, either, or you’ll chance him cramming it down your throat like he’s filling up the gas tank on an eighteen wheeler. There are two key things to remember. First? Spit. And the more you have of it, the better. Now, I know you like things clean, so your natural tendency will be to lap it all up, nice and tidy, but trust me on this. Just let it all flow down around him. You can clean him up like a good little sex goddess with OCD when he’s done.” He stopped talking to sip from his Cosmopolitan, the martini glass glowing a pretty pink in the black light.

A pair of barely holstered double-D’s caught his attention as a smiling Bridget passed by and he made a face, looking at Hope like he’d just smelled cow manure. “Good Lord, those things could suffocate a man. What a horrible way to die.”

Hope laughed as he shuddered, then downed what was left of the pink concoction in one swallow. Bridget lamented that she’d been ridiculed for those puppies when they’d sprung overnight while she was in the sixth grade and now she took perverse pleasure in making every male who’d ever teased a poor, pubescent young girl eat his words.

“Hurry it up, okay?” She looked over shoulder at Bubba standing behind the bar, knowing her fifteen minute break was up. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Okay, okay.” He gestured, his palms up to slow her down. “The second key? Your fist. Now if you’re really good, you can handjob some of your way through it, either without him knowing the difference, or knowing it and loving you that much more for it. Follow the motion of your mouth with a clenched fist and plenty of spit, and before you know it, he’ll be begging you to marry him and divulging his mother’s secret pot roast recipe. I’ll wait for the lesson on throat opening until you know your gag reflex situation. And please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t neglect the balls. Oh, and never... I repeat, never... yank on his dick like it’s a penny slot machine with a rusty lever and you’re on a twenty-dollar winning streak.”

He sat back with a satisfied grin, proud as a peacock. “And that’s all there is to it, grasshopper. May you now go forth and suck cock like a champion.”

“Okay. Spit and fist. I’ll get right on it.” Standing, she subtly rearranged her cleavage to a more PG-13 version before leaning over to hug him, the contents of her corset shifting right back to R-rated. “You’re the best, best friend a girl could ever have.”

Val nodded knowingly. “You can camp out on my couch tonight. You get off early, right? We could watch a marathon of Forensic Files and eat Pad Thai.”

She’d come to work a few hours earlier than normal to cover for another waitress who’s kid had caught chicken pox, so her shift ended at nine.

“I’m gonna stay at the Lark Street house.” She hadn’t told Val about her and Beck’s reunion this morning—or that Lark Street and Beckett were one and the same—and there wasn’t time to do so now. Marcia was looking pointedly at her watch and glaring at Hope over the top of her purple bi-focal’s.

“Is this about last night? I told you, Hope, there was a whole drug scene happening. I know that’s not your thing.” He grabbed his vintage denim jacket off the back of the chair. “Besides, it’s not safe for you to sleep in your car. Women who do have a tendency to get raped and murdered. You’d know that if you’d come home with me and watch an episode of Forensic Files.”

“I’m not gonna get murdered.” Besides, she was sleeping
inside
the Lark Street house.

Where her sexy Mr. Man Candy happened to sleep, too. Stomach pitching at the thought, a nervous excitement buzzed through her body. Nine o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. Waving a hasty goodbye at Val, she headed toward the bar, her break officially over.

“What about raped?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the loud music.

She barely turned, shaking her head and shooing him to the door with a rapid wave. “Not that either, Val. Now go bye-bye.”

He left the club without another word and Hope went back to her tables, working the busiest territory on the floor tonight. She could have split the swamped section with another waitress, but that meant splitting her tips, as well, and no way was Hope giving up that cash. It was too hard to come by. A college basketball game played mutely on all the flat screens lining the bar, its importance holding as much attention as the stage, where Kiki’s tits and ass were putting on their own show.

Three hours, two marriage proposals, and one ass slap later, Hope was counting the minutes until nine. Her feet ached, her stomach growled, and a different game was playing. Instead of red and white guys versus green, it was royal blue guys versus crimson.

“Incoming on table twelve, sunshine. You’ve got a live one,” Bridget said, coming up behind Hope and rubbing a bare shoulder against hers. “He’s super fine, too, so if you wanna switch, I’m totally game.”

Bridget was a different kind of cocktease tonight, choosing to wait tables rather than dance even though the money wasn’t as good. After a particularly profitable romp on stage last night, the beautiful blonde had come away with so much cash she could afford to work table service this shift, instead. And the physically gifted woman was filling out her corset a whole lot better than Hope was. Serious motorboating material. The two women had become fast friends, even though they had little in common. Bridget was as tight-lipped about her personal life as Hope was, each knowing something more than high paying wages had brought them to Club Kitten, yet they respectfully steered clear of any talk beyond the superficial.

Everybody, it seemed, had skeletons.

Hope groaned. “Great. The good looking ones never tip. Just being in their presence is enough for us desperate working girls, so why cough up a few extra bucks, right?”

Spinning on her stiletto’s, she turned toward the table in question and froze, nearly dropping a tray full of tequila double shots. Inhaling her shock, she actually choked on air. “Oh, shit,” she wheezed, turning her back to the table.

“I can take him off your hands. Put mine on him, instead.” Bridget’s voice was flirty as she eyed the customer. When she looked away long enough to notice Hope’s distress, her tone turned to concern. “Good golly, Hope, are you okay? Your face is all red. Here, let me take that.” She reached for the wobbling tray before the contents crashed to the floor, grabbing a shot of tequila and handing it to her. “Take a deep breath, then drink this. I’ll tell Bubba it spilled. Marcia will know I’m lying, but what’s she gonna do, fire me?”

Because it required oxygen and functioning brain cells, Hope didn’t answer.