I smiled. “No, not that. Not yet. You can have your course work, even get your silly degree if it matters all that much. Might even work in my favor here at the club. But you’re going to have to make a trade, Hannah. I’m a businessman after all. If I’m going to subsidize your education and give you marketable skills, I have to ensure those skills work toward my best interests.”
“What do you want?” she ground out.
“I’ve been making some plans, doing some groundwork of my own. Money is good, and I have plenty of it, but more money is better. Let’s just say I’m doing a favor for a friend. The future consequences will make it well worth my while, and the favor involves a bit of adventure. I’ll need you to be my liaison while we work out the details.”
“Liaison? In what capacity?” She was a hard bargainer. I could take the credit for that. Always thinking that sister of mine.
“Courier. Just dropping things off and bringing them back to me.” I held up her hand when she opened her mouth. “Nothing illegal. It’s just communication.”
“And you’ll let me continue with school?”
I opened the drawer and returned the flash drives to the desk. “Yes.”
“And Danny?”
“I will chalk that up to your own adventurous spirit and assume it won’t happen again—whatever it was. I will chalk up his mistake to your charming and persuasive personality and assume you will ensure you’re not in the same place at the same time again.”
“Can I leave now?” Hannah said, standing.
“When I have my answer.”
“I’ll do what you asked. Just give me back my property, and I’ll need your word that you’ll never send someone into my personal space again.”
“You have my word—as long as you don’t give me a reason to do so.”
Hannah swept the flash drives into her hands and whirled around, stomping to the door.
“Open the fucking door, Butch,” she snarled.
Butch gave me a look and rolled his eyes. He strolled over and opened the door, and Hannah disappeared into the hallway. Butch continued to watch until I assumed she turned the corner.
“Want me to handle O’Shea?” Butch asked, turning around.
“No. Leave O’Shea to me. I want to handle that prick personally.”
Chapter Five: Danny
Five fucking days.
I hadn’t seen Hannah in five fucking days. I’d tried calling the club several times during the day, b
ut each time she hung up on me. I’d made a bit of progress because now when she answered she’d say she was too busy to talk before she hung up. The last call I’d made she’d said, “Leave me alone, Danny. Stay out of my business.”
Like hell. I debated about going in early just to talk, but if she was avoiding for a reason, I didn’t want to jeopardize her wellbeing. I thought seriously about just going upstairs and demanding some answers, but I couldn’t risk it.
My cock protested each morning, and though the thought crossed my mind that I could have virtually any woman I approached, something about Hannah had me taking care of business myself. I’d stand under the spray of my lukewarm shower, take my cock in my hand, and let the fantasies of that amazing late afternoon fuckfest fill my head with images and my cock with cum. It never took long. After a few tugs, my cock spewed out all my frustration, and cum splattered on the busted tile.
Jesus. I wanted that girl.
My shifts had gone pretty well. After Steve had cast a few speculative glances at me when I returned to my post that evening—which seemed like it had taken place in another time and galaxy now—he had pretty much left me alone to do my job. I watched, I bounced, and I waited. For what I wasn’t quite sure, but something hovered in the air, some sort of anticipatory vibe that made my Spidey senses tingle. A cop has these senses, but a cop under cover feels it bone deep. Something was going to happen—and soon.
Pussy Whipped saw an abundance of low-life scum on a daily basis. In the last week, though, the scum level had taken a marked swing, though I’d yet to figure out if it was up or down. The men coming through the door, strolling through the neon-filled haze and heading into Richie’s office, weren’t the usual enforcers and dealers. These men stunk with an air of hardcore violence. If you wanted a job done—murder, armed robbery, complete and utter mayhem—these were the men you called. Real dicks.
They chatted with Steve like long-lost friends. They ran their hands over the girls with carte blanche, and when I tried to intervene, I was slapped on the wrist by the head bouncer and told to mind my own fucking business. I tried to be helpful by pointing out I was minding my fucking business because the girls were my business, but when Dougie gave me a stare-down, I shrugged and turned a blind eye—at least from the bouncer’s standpoint.
My cop radar was tuned in. I’d checked in with Pops several times, and he verified that my radar was working just fine. Apparently, Stan had tuned into a few idle chats while he took a piss in the back alley. After what Stan called “a mind-blowing orgasm,” one of the muscle-bound bruisers had told Charity that they’d be around and he looked forward to more. When Charity asked why and went in for round two, the goon let it slip he’d been hired for “something big.”
I figured at some point I’d owe that girl another drink—though not for the reason she’d hoped. She must have gotten the hint because she’d moved on. I guess that was because every day I asked her how Hannah was. The word “fine” never reassured me. I wanted to see her for myself. I intended to do that today.