Chapter 11: CASH

Eleven

CASH

F or eight weeks, my mind claws at an escape from the troubles plaguing my sleep. Who is this child? Where did she come from? Who brought her here and why is any of this happening? Southpaw calls with answers about Oske, but those answers only seem to provoke more questions.

I have about half an hour before Quin comes for her weekly pay, so I want this club-related call with Southpaw to end quickly.

"Is it a wild goose chase or was the Indian girl onto something?" I ask him.

"Tamiya and Rebecca listened to the recording Oske's girlfriend picked up and analyzed it with their forensic audio software. They picked up three voices discussing some type of fucked up murder plot involving Barbarians, but we don't know who they were after, or why."

"Can we identify who the fuck has problems with us? As far as I know, I've kept my ass out of trouble," I respond.

"And I handled my shit with the gambling," Southpaw says. "Oske has some ideas about why this might be happening."

"Like what?"

"She's family, you know that, right?"

He means that he has some type of relationship to that crazy Indian girl that causes him to protect her no matter what shit she does. If she were my problem, I would have sent her ass to Canada or kept her locked in a basement somewhere for a very long time ago. Southpaw is too damn permissive.

"Yes."

"I value her perspective and even if she is a huge pain in my ass… she understands how the world works out here. Every battle is for land rights, water rights, cattle, or something of that nature."

As much as I find myself suspicious of Oske, my family has been out here for generations and she's damn right about the reasons folks out here all kill each other.

"Right. But as far as I know, no Barbarian territory is in dispute."

"Agreed," Southpaw says. "Oske thinks we have new challengers. The clubhouse blowing up and the situation with the Blue Blood Knights might have spread to other clubs around the country."

"Like who?"

"I'm still looking for answers," he says. "If you could stay out of trouble until I figure it out, I'll let you know."

Staying out of trouble should be easy. The business deal with Hunter worked out well enough and the money from that flows into my accounts at a slow, steady trickle that will avoid unnecessary attention from the IRS. We're going to have all the money we need in about ten months, right when we need it.

I don't bother pointing out that if anyone is prone to getting into unnecessary financial trouble, it's the man with the gambling addiction.

"I'll stay out of trouble if you do. No casinos. No card games. No shooting dice."

"I get the point," Southpaw says. "I'll stay away from liberal arts college Quidditch matches too."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he snaps. "I would never gamble about something so stupid and I don't know what Quidditch is."

"Maybe quit drinking while you're at it."

"I'll call you when I have more information," he says, pointedly ignoring my advice. "Steel is looking for information about other clubs who might be interested in what we have."

"Gotcha. Stay out of trouble. Easy peasy."

When I hang up, I can't help but think of how fucking different life has been, honestly. Juliette is pregnant again. Wyatt and Anna are most likely trying for their second, if I know Wyatt. Gideon's mom only has 18 months left on her sentence. Ruger's mom will be out in nine months. Tylee and her husband are moving into a different house in a couple months.

Before I know it, we'll have another club meeting out in New Mexico…

I hope I have answers about Avery by then. I brought Quin here with the worst intentions for her. But once I had her in my captivity, my desire to inflict my cruel control on her dwindled.

Temporarily.

My cravings for Quin Nash have risen again. Eight weeks in my custody and she has become nothing short of my singular obsession. It doesn't help that she's the only woman I have seen in the past eight weeks who isn't a blood relative. My balls are ready to fucking burst every time I have to watch her thick ass walk into a room, completely oblivious to her effect on me.

If she weren't holding Avery almost every time she enters a room, I surely would have acted on my desires for her by now. I find my urges overwhelming and nearly impossible to deal with. Quin is everything I want in a woman and watching her tenderly handle Avery fucks with me completely.

Quin avoids me instinctively. Whatever dark past she's running from must scare the crap out of her because she's willing to live with a creature she fears just to get away from it. I know I captured her presence willingly, but only to an extent. Once she settles Avery for the night, she always disappears into her room and she always locks her door.

That lock on the door is going to be a problem soon.

I count out the twenty-five hundred dollar bills for Quin's eighth week working for me. I wish I could say I know her better now than when she moved in. I suppose I know her the way you know a dead person when you visit their house's estate sale after they die.

There are signs of Quin all over the house. She has a natural talent for childcare, just like I knew she would. For all her conviction that I have "sexist notions", my ability to identify her as a nurturing woman was pure instinct, not a stereotype. I can tell she's the type who would never allow anything to happen to Avery, even if I can tell she thinks Avery is mine.

Well, she said it explicitly.

But I'm not convinced. Not at all. And still waiting for explicit answers from the lab.

Quin knocks on my office door at 4 p.m. to collect her money. I look forward to our weekly meetings, but after eight weeks of visiting my office, she hasn't become more comfortable around me in the slightest. I find it endlessly frustrating.

"Come in," I call to her in the gentlest voice I can muster. Her continuous fear is becoming somewhat of a nuisance for me, as difficult as that is to admit. I have been more than patient in waiting for her to get comfortable around me and the longer I have to wait, the darker my fantasies become.

Masturbation doesn't help. Touching my dick only makes me want her more. I lack self control.

Quin makes it worse when she enters my office wearing… that.

What the fuck?

"Are you going somewhere?" I snap at her.

Last I checked, we agreed that having her wander around the neighborhood was dangerous. She doesn't have a car and I will only let her borrow mine to take Avery to the doctor, but right now, she looks like she's planning on a night out. We don't have an official agreement in the contract but… I don't like the looks of this.

"I'm tired of being stuck in the house. I'm just going to the Arby's drive thru."

"Dressed like that?"

She frowns at me, even if I'm making an excellent point about her outfit.

"It's a maxi dress," she says.

I have no idea what that means. All I know is I can see every last curve of Quin's body. This dress hugs her breasts and ass, highlighting how goddamn big she is all over. Her curves get me rock hard and any sane man with a functional dick would have the same response.

"You're not going out around men like that."

"Who said anything about men?" she says. "It's a drive thru. And it's none of your business if I want to talk to men."

"Are you talking to men?"

I look up from my desk, tapping my fingers on the stack of hundred dollar bills I should be handing over to Quin before sending her on her way. Yet here I am, staring at her in that dress and feeling fiercely possessive over her.

"I make $2,500 a week and I don't leave the house or pay rent," she says. "I bought one stupid dress and want to do one thing for myself and you're asking crazy questions. Can you just give me the money?"

My eyes flash to hers in complete surprise.

I've never heard Quin express anything but utter submissiveness towards me. Why is she acting so strangely over this dress and drive-thru trip…

"I'll take you out," I tell her. "If that's what you want."

"I don't want to go out with you," she responds quickly.

I smirk. "Well, you're either going out with me or you're not going out at all. That maxi dress or whatever you want to call it is a little too nice for Arby's."

"What about Avery?" she says, folding her arms over her chest, like mentioning how good she looks somehow offends her.

"I'll call my aunt. She's been staying nearby on standby for babysitting. Now come. I'd rather take you out myself than have you run off."