Chapter Two Min

CHAPTER TWO: MIN

Sliding on my red silk cheongsam, I check my reflection in the hotel mirror. Need to make sure the gun and handcuffs I have strapped to my thighs don't peek through the slits. Slipping on my high heels, I return to the bathroom to put on my make-up and fix my hair. Two hair sticks with sharpened points that can serve as weapons help keep my long hair in a bun. Taking one last look, I exit my room and head downstairs to the casino to find my mark.

As far as criminals go, Humphrey Geller barely counts. He's a fuck-up, not a criminal mastermind. He robbed a convenience store using an unloaded gun. During his sentencing, he argued with the judge about why he should get less time because he removed the bullets, making the gun just a prop. Funny enough, the judge didn't see it his way and set the date for his trial. Rather than stay at home in San Diego and await his trial, Humphrey headed to Reno for a poker tournament. He skipped bail and, as a newly certified bounty hunter; I have the pleasure of capturing him and returning him to San Diego.

I considered asking Babe to join me on this gig. We both took the courses and passed the certification, but for some reason known only to him, Babe is dragging his feet. Instead of taking on jobs, he comes up with tasks that we need to complete before we go after skips. I think he's stalling. I just don't know why. Since I knew he'd refuse to go after Humphrey with me, I took this job by myself. This was an easy one. Humphrey has no history of violence. Unlike the judge, I know Humphrey removing the bullets meant he didn't intend to hurt anyone. Even when caught, he didn't put up any resistance. On paper, he seemed like an ideal candidate to lose my bounty-hunter virginity with.

I know from Grant, our partner in the business, finding the skip is often the hardest part. However, in five minutes, I've spotted him at a poker table. Judging by the considerable pile of chips in front of him, he's just getting started, or he's a decent player. Taking a turn around the casino, I keep my eyes on him while checking the exit routes. My last stop is to waylay a security guard and inform him of my mission. I might need their help, if they're willing, but taking another glance at the short, skinny Humphrey, I doubt I'll need it.

"You sure you don't need us to get closer?" The guard asks after I explain who I was and how I saw the bust going down.

"I doubt I'll need your help," I explain, listing not only my credentials, but the list of martial arts skills I know and teach.

"Fuck, maybe we should protect him from you," he says with a smirk. "Just kidding, we don't need his type in here. Plus, he's winning too much."

I snicker before striding away. Catching Humphrey's eye, I give him a shy smile before glancing away. Using the reflective surfaces throughout the room, I study his reaction to me. He's watching me, but not showing signs of getting enough courage to approach me. Damn. I was hoping to lure him to a remote location. With that plan dead in the water, I watch the other games until the man sitting next to Humphrey vacates his seat. Before anyone else can take it, I slide in next to my mark. Taking care to brush my breasts along Humphrey's arm. The lust in his eyes says I won't have too much trouble leading him away.

"You win much?" I purr, leaning toward him.

"I do alright," he stutters. "But I can't afford a hooker."

Despite wanting to deck him for assuming I'm a prostitute, I realize I can use his assumption to my advantage. "Maybe you can teach me how to play poker, and I can teach you other things."

He gulps as he looks me over. His skin turns a light pink as beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. No one can accuse this man of being a hardened criminal. I'd feel sorry for him if he wasn't so stupid.

We spend the next hour playing poker. I have to admit that Humphrey has some talent. He gives me some useful pointers and by the time he's ready to cash out, I almost feel bad about my next move. Almost.

"Can I buy you dinner?" He asks after he collects his winnings. He has just over $10,000 that he puts in a wallet tied around his waist.

"We could order room service. I have a room upstairs," I suggest. I need to hurry him along. Our flight back to San Diego leaves in two hours.

He turns pink again, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at his innocence. He dutifully follows me into the elevator. At my room, I take out my key card and gesture for him to enter first.

"My mom would smack me if I entered a room before a lady," he protests.

After a brief hesitation, I slide past him, but grab his hand to pull him into the room with me. He stumbles, but before he can right himself, I have him on the floor and handcuffed.

"What the fuck?" He explodes.

"I'm a bounty hunter with DDMC Bond Agency and I'm taking you back to San Diego," I inform him as I help him back to his feet.

"You're a bounty hunter?" he asks. "I should have known you weren't interested in me."

"Sorry, Humphrey. Now, let's get to the airport and back to San Diego."

"Wait, can we stop at my room first? I left some money in there and other items. Please. I promise I won't try to escape and I won't give you any problems."

I study him and consider saying no, but since he said please, I pull out his wallet and remove the room card. Grabbing my bag, I lead him back to the elevator. "Just so you know, the warrant doesn't say dead or alive, but it also doesn't say I have to bring you back unharmed. So, fucking behave yourself."

"I will, I promise."

Surprisingly, he keeps his word and we're in and out of his room in less than five minutes. He had another fifteen grand stored in the safe. On the bedside table sits a photo of a pretty little girl with Humphrey's light brown hair and hazel eyes.

"My daughter, Emma," he says when I pick it up and place it with care in his duffle bag, along with his money.

"Where is she? With her mom?" I ask him as we're riding the elevator back down to the lobby.

"With my mom," he corrects me. "Her mom is even a bigger screw up than I am. If you can believe it."

"Is that why you robbed the convenience store?" He nods, but doesn't elaborate. "Can't get a job?"

His shoulders sag at my question. "Not too many tattoo parlors who want a tattoo artist who can't keep a steady hand. I busted my hand a year ago. My ex slammed it in the car door when I tried to stop her from kidnapping my kid. I lost my job because I couldn't work while it healed, but even after it healed, I can't hold the gun for long without my hand shaking."

"I'm sorry," I tell him, although I can't help but think he's just playing on my sympathies.

"Not your fault. I'm trying to find other work, but so far, I haven't had much luck. I can't do much else."

"Except commit armed robber?" I ask.

He glares at me before getting into the cab. This is going to be a long trip home.

"Look, I didn't mean to insult you, but seriously, can't you find a job instead of committing a felon?" I press once we're on the plane. I pull out my phone to put it on airplane mode, but realize I never took it off after flying to Reno.

"Like what?"

I swear I'm understanding why his ex-wife slammed his hand in a door. His fatalistic attitude is getting on my nerves.

"I don't know. Look into it. The Demon Dawgs MC has a custom auto shop. I'm sure they'd love to have someone who could do detail work for their cars and bikes. They also have a construction company. You could paint murals or hell, just paint walls. Anything is better than going to prison." The look of horror on his face has me glancing behind me. "What?"

"I can't get tangled up with a motorcycle club. Are you crazy?"

I just blink at him. "You realize the MC owns the bail bonds company you used, right?"

Now it's his turn to blink at me. "What?"

"DDMC Bond Agency. The DDMC stands for Demon Dawgs Motorcycle Club."

"Oh, my god and I skipped out on my bail. They'll kill me!" He's practically shouting and gaining looks from our fellow passengers.

"Quiet. They won't kill you. I promise. But you have to smarten up. No more crimes and no more skipping out on bail. In the meantime, I'll ask around and see if the guys need help from an artist. I'll talk to them and let them know you've learned your lesson. Okay?"

Once we're off the plane, I pull out my phone to call Grant about Humphrey. I see that I've missed two of his calls. But, I almost don't see them because of the vast number of missed calls and texts from Babe. Rolling my eyes at the increasingly frantic messages, I put him out of his misery and call him back.

"Min, what the hell? Where are you?" he says by way of a greeting.

"I'm at the airport. What's the matter? Why did you blow up my phone with messages?"

"You went on a job. Without me."

"You weren't ready. I didn't want to wait around and lose the edge. Besides, this one was easy. Weren't you Humphrey? You followed me like a puppy, didn't you?"

"We need to talk…" he starts, but I've spotted someone who distracts me. The man who burned down my father's dojo walks by in the company of three other men. They head directly toward the terminal that houses private jets.

"Huh? What's he doing here?" I grumble.

"Who?" Babe asks.

"That asshole who burned down my dad's dojo. He just entered the terminal with three men."

I hear a commotion on Babe's end. "Min, I have to go. Dante's calling Church. We need to talk. Can you come to the clubhouse?"

"Did you hear me?" I ask, huffing in disgust. "Never mind, fine. I'll head to the clubhouse after I drop off Humphrey."

But first I need to see what those four are up to.