5. Ryanne “Shorty” Larwick

5

RYANNE "SHORTY" LARWICK

The sharp, familiar sound of the door falling off its hinge again caused me to roll my eyes. I was tired of asking for it to be repaired by a professional. If it fell off on a customer that wasn't my issue, and I was at the point where I didn't care.

Exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before, I carried someone's order to their table, refilled their water and stole a bottle of ketchup from a nearby table for the little boy with the chubby cheeks. He giggled at me when I set the squeeze bottle close to him.

"What do you say?" His mother asked in that sugary voice used on small children.

"'hank you, lady." He beamed at me.

"Aww, you're very welcome." I told him sweetly.

His mother laughed softly.

"He likes you." She told me.

"What's not to like?" I winked at him.

His mother chuckled and I wandered off, my morose mood returning.

I'd spent the entire night job hunting.

From time to time, I would get some motivation—something would happen to make me feel as if I deserve better.

I would use that spark of insanity to try finding better.

Nothing would ever come of it, and I would be left feeling as if my world had ended.

I knew how that would go.

It was a few hours later when something happened that had everyone in the restaurant heading for the door, screaming. To the left of the building a loud boom sounded followed by all the glass windows in the place shattering.

The booth I was sitting in with Khadri caught fire, and that further sent people screaming. Using my body, I blocked flying glass from the little boy, giving his mother time to get him to the door, before turning to see what was happening.

Two or three men all but dove in through the busted window and headed straight for me. I reached back grabbing one of the trays, dumping what was on it and swung.

One hit took out one of the men and he hit a nearby table, blood spewing from his nose—I didn't care.

Ducking a swing, I brought the side of the tray in again as hard as I could into the knee of another then pushed my body underneath table.

Someone grabbed my leg and instinctively, I stood, bringing the tale up on my shoulder before tipping my body toward the body of the person who'd grabbed me.

There was a scream of pain but I didn't let up.

I chucked the table and without waiting to see what happened I picked up the tray again and backed up.

It was then I noticed two other men coming toward me while a third went for a woman—she wasn't in there before.

"They're dangerous!" I called. "Run!"

One of the men got me in the right shoulder causing the tray to fall. I ducked another punch and listened as the bones in his hand crunched. He'd punched an exposed metal pipe directly behind me. Lacing all my fingers to form one fist, I brought it up in his crotch then pushed him over.

He fell on top of the other guy who'd managed to punch me in the face.

The woman dispatched her attacker then rushed over to take my hand and dragged me after her.

"What were you thinking?" I demanded, half running, half tumbling over myself. "You could have gotten hurt!"

"Get in." She demanded motioning to the pink Lotus Emira.

I knew what it was because it was my dream car—an impossible dream.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I told her.

"Would you rather stay here with them?"

I quickly realized I didn't really have a choice.

A set of bright headlights flickered on and I knew that wasn't good.

"Ryanne, get in!"

"How do you know my name?"

"Get! In!"

Sighing, I climbed into the vehicle with her. The engine roared to life and before I knew it, we were speeding out of the parking lot, tires squealing on the right turn before the vehicle straightened again.

We were being chased.

She cranked the car in gear, handling it as if she'd done this before. All I could do was struggle to click my seatbelt in place. Once I was belted in, I looked over my shoulder to see the same SUV from the lot behind us.

The sleek car ate up the road, zig zagging through traffic to lose the people chasing us. The woman made a left on Pollard Street and I almost swallowed my tongue.

"This is a one-way street!" I pointed out.

"That, I know. Hang on."

She didn't have to tell me twice.

Maybe if I focus on not pissing myself, it would take my mind off the fact that at any second we could slam into oncoming traffic.

I screamed as she played chicken with a mini-van.

"This is some bullshit!" The woman growled, swerving into the path of a truck. "Hold on!"

"Stop saying that!"

At the very last second in the chaos, the woman twisted the wheel to the left.

We were on our way to turning when a loud collision caused me to look back.

She didn't.

The SUV had crashed into the truck.

"Shouldn't we call someone?"

The woman glanced into her mirror but shrugged.

"The people in the truck are fine," she said. "They're high enough to be protected. The ones in the SUV—not so much. And someone will call for help for them. Right now, my job, is to keep you safe."

After she checked the mirrors again, she eased her foot off the gas.

"The name's Pasha Adawan Thitiwattan, by the way," she said. "I know it's a mouthful. You can call me Pasha or Pash."

"Let me guess—Khadri?"

Pasha giggled.

"Ryanne." I shook my head while reaching for my phone. "You can call me Anne."

"You don't look like an Anne." Pasha told me. "I'll call your Rya."

I smiled then noticed my phone was dead.

"Shit."

"What's the matter?" Pasha asked.

"My phone is dead." I muttered.

She glanced at my phone.

"That's your phone?" She wanted to know. "It's older than me!"

"It may be old, but it works." I paused. "When it's not—well, you know?"

Another few minutes later, she pulled up in front of some elaborate black gates. She lifted her phone toward it and tapped something on the screen.

The gates slowly eased opened and when it was wide enough, she slowly pulled the luxury sports car through. She parked it beside a familiar Harley and I arched a brow.

"Where is this?" I asked.

"Home."

"It's nice." I told her as I climbed from the car.

It was then I noticed that she was dressed to the nines.

Black leather leggings, a black top that showed off perfectly set cleavage and black boots with stiletto heels.

She is so cool.

I tugged up the neck of my shirt, removed the filthy apron I'd been wearing and tried smoothing a hand over my hair.

Inside, I was afraid to move away from the door.

"Let me show you to a bathroom and a bedroom." Pasha told me.

"Um—I can wait until I get home." I told her. "Even if I showered, I wouldn't have anything to change into."

"Don't worry about it." Pasha tapped my shoulder. "Come with me."

Up the elegant staircase, she led me along a hall and into a large bedroom with the most amazing bed I'd ever seen. It was something I imagined Duchess Megan would sleep on.

I was sure not to sit on or touch it—I didn't want to get my crap from work on it.

"The shower is through there." Pasha was pointing. "Use whatever you need—I'll try finding something for you to wear."

"But—"

"Don't worry. I'll get Khadri."

I flushed and placed my purse on the floor.

Once I was in the bathroom, I pulled myself together and stripped down. I went through the different bodywashes and other fabulous bottles to find a wash that smelled like cinnamon. I used that as well as a little of her shampoo and conditioner and was rinsing when she knocked.

"Are you in the shower?" Pasha called.

"Yes."

"Okay."

She let herself in and I opened the shower door to peek out to her setting folded clothes on the closed toilet seat.

"I brought you some clothes. The panties might be a little small, but they're new."

"I'm grateful."

She smiled and let herself out again.

Once my shower was over and my hair wasn't dripping, I went through the clothes and dressed. The underwear fit perfectly.

The leggings were a little tight and barely fit over my ass and the top fit me a little better than I thought. Thankfully, it was long enough to cover my ass.

There wasn't any products for my hair but I found a leave-in condition, used some and blew my hair out. I then brushed it out and tied it up.

When I did make an appearance downstairs, Khadri was there pacing the living room while Pasha was cool as a cucumber, playing on her phone.

"You alright?" Khadri asked.

"I'm okay. Thanks to Wonder Woman over here."

Pasha grinned. "Wonder Woman wishes."

She put her phone away and stood.

"You have a beautiful home." I told her.

"I am responsible for decorating it." She glanced around proudly. "But it's not my house."

"Not your—but your room upstairs?—"

"Yes." She answered. "I'm going back and forth between here and Thailand a lot. I'm setting up my first gym there. Getting my own house right now would be a waste. So, I have a room upstairs. The house belongs to?—"

"Didn't you say you wanted to call Saap?" Khadri asked.

"Almost forgot. I'll leave you two love birds alone." Pasha giggled and flounced from the room.

Khadri shook his head.

"Is she always like that?" I asked.

"More or less This is one of her good days." He passed a calloused finger under my left eye. "You're bruised."

"It's what happens when you get into a fight." I blushed and hung my head.

He said nothing, forcing me to look up. When I did, something flashed through his eyes as he lowered his hand and dragged his palms along his thighs.

"Sit—let me get you something to eat."

Though I didn't reply, Khadri walked away, and I slowly followed him. He moved around the kitchen without hesitation as if he lived here.

In the middle of making something to eat, his phone rang. He answered it then sighed.

"You sure?" He asked.

Khadri listened again then walked past me to shout for Pasha.

"Get down here!" He replied when she responded.

"Boss." He spoke. "Get to the house."

His terse instruction further worried me but each time I tried getting to know what he was talking about, what was happening, he merely told me to wait.

"I don't want to have to do this twice." He set a plate of food in front of me as Pasha entered.

"Something smells good." Pasha walked around him to rest a palm to the center of his back. "You're wound up again, Moros. You need to breathe."

He turned to look down into her face and I'd never seen him look at anyone with that softness. Even when he was seated across from me at the diner—all I'd seen in his eyes was worry.

But as he stared at Pasha, I could see she had some kind of power with him—not over him, but with him. She knew how to calm him, how to soothe whatever demons were roaming around inside his head.

Feeling as if I was intruding on a private moment, I slowly and quietly backed out of the room.

He was hers.

Why didn't I see that before?

All the signs were there as plain as the nose on my face.

He trusted her—she was sexy, and fashionable and kick-ass and he was hers.

Of course, she was his.

Of-fucking-course!

"Moros?" Boswell called.

I wasn't sure how long I was seated on the couch, curled up into a tight a ball as my belly would allow. I rolled to my back, stretched my legs out the length of the sofa and slowly exhaled.

My body inflated like one of those flailing plastic showcase things and I took a second to clear my head.

Sitting up, I wandered out to sit with the others, keeping my head down, eyes averted.

"What's so urgent?" Boswell asked sipping from a glass of juice.

"One of the men from the restaurant is Torez Sloan." Khadri explained.

"Shit." Pasha muttered.

"What?" I asked.

"He's supposed to be dead." Boswell pointed out. "What the fuck is he doing attacking Ryanne's place?"

"Who is Torez Sloan!" I slammed my palm into the table.

"Mercenary." Pasha explained. "Phi, what the fuck is going on?"

"As in—" I swallowed. "They sell their services to the highest bidder? Who wants me dead?"

"No one." Boswell replied. "And that's the good news."

"What? None of this makes sense." I frowned at him. "You weren't there tonight."

"If they wanted you dead, you would be." Khadri growled, his voice low. "And you wouldn't have seen it coming."

"Stop it, Phi!" Pasha smacked him. "You're scaring her."

"She should be scared!" Khadri spoke. "This is not a fucking joke."

"I'm sitting right here." I reminded him.

"Then let me ask you this." He turned his chair to face me. "Is there something about your life that you're not telling me?"

"What?" I was offended. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Someone paid Torez and his people a lot of money to grab you." Khadri explained. "That's as black and white as I can put it. And since you have no family, then it has to be someone you've come across, interacted with—been involved with?"

"Involved with?" I demanded.

Khadri closed his eyes and massaged his temple. He groaned as though he was in pain and for those seconds, no one spoke.

It was almost as if Boswell and Pasha knew something about Khadri in this state that I didn't know, and it felt important.

He stood.

"What's the matter with you?" Pasha asked. "Are you going to take offense to everything he says?"

"I just don't think he?—"

Before I could finish, Khadri pulled his hood over his head and turned for the door.

"Moros? Where are you going?" Boswell wanted to know.

He disappeared into a room off the side of the corridor. When he showed up again, he had his helmet. Though Boswell kept asking where he was going, Khadri said nothing. He merely stepped out the door and was gone.

"Now, you listen to me." Pasha gripped my shoulder and shoved.

I tumbled backward to my vacated chair, and she leaned in.

"If you don't trust him, this isn't going to work." Pasha continued. "And I will not let him get hurt because you can't seem to just not take offense to whatever he asks. You're either in or you can take your chances, got that?"

"Pash—ease up." Boswell took her hand.

Pasha shrugged out of his grasp.

"I won't get your boyfriend killed, okay?" I snapped.

"Is that what's got your panties in a twist?" Pasha demanded.

"Pasha!" Boswell's voice held a little more force. "Come on."

"Come on nothing, Phi!" She glared at him then returned her eyes to me. "I'm going to need you to tell me what the decision is. You let him work or take your chances."

Irritated, I surged to my feet.

"I'll take my chances."

The moment the words were out my mouth, I knew I'd fucked up.

Pasha merely shrugged and turned for the door.

"Awesome." She tossed over her shoulder. "Have a lovely life—however long that is."

"Ryanne calm down." Boswell told me. "She's a sweet girl—usually."

"Sweet girl? Really?"

"You went for Moros." Boswell pointed out. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"He's a grown man!"

"He's also her baby." Boswell explained. "Moros saved her life when she was a kid. That comes with a life-long tether most don't understand. And she's going to protect him—with her life, if needs be, from everything and anyone."

I hung my head.

"Is something wrong—with him right now?"

"He has a migraine." Boswell explained. "They get pretty bad—side effects of war, I think."

"War—"

"He doesn't sleep much—the doctors gave him medication to help but he hasn't been taking them."

"Why not?"

"They make him feel like a zombie." Boswell explained. "He gets the migraine when he hasn't really slept in a while."

"Should he be riding right now?"

"It's the only thing that helps him." Boswell stood and began gathering the empty bottles.

"Maybe we should go after him."

"He'll be fine." Boswell told me as he headed toward the kitchen. "When he feels better, he'll surface."