5. Did You Just Spank Me?

Chapter 5

Did You Just Spank Me?

HUNTER

T he past few days have been similar to the first one. Instead of spending time at my usual Table 21, I choose the same bar stool daily to interact with Megan.

She does a fantastic job of avoiding me, which tells me that the girl has some experience in avoiding unwanted attention. However, at the same time, she's quite skilled at diffusing explosive situations. She just has a way of handling people, even drunk people.

By spending time like this, I've also confirmed to myself that handing over the reins to Steve was a mistake, considering the kind of crowd that frequents this club. He's lazy, among other things. He hasn't figured out yet that I've decided to watch the ongoings of the club because he's barely ever on the ground floor. Megan is the one running everything once her shift starts. Yeah, I'm going to need to make some changes.

"Fucking weasel," I murmur to myself three days later as I study the security cameras in my office and catch Steve slinking off with a purple-haired girl into his office.

So, that's why he wanted Megan to stay so desperately because she does his job for him.

"Parker," I pick up my phone. "Come to my office and bring Lars with you."

When the two men enter, I give them a steady look. "I want a background check done on Steve. A thorough one. I also want to know whom he's talking to, who he's meeting, and what he usually does over the course of a day."

Parker glances toward the cameras. "You thinking of firing him?"

"Something like that," I say darkly.

"I also want one of you to do a background check on Megan. Look for the same things. Who her crowd is, where she comes from, what she does in her free time, and who she's close to here in the club."

While Lars doesn't exactly react, Parker suddenly grins. "I can tell you what she's good at. Excuses. You should've seen the way she tried to convince us she wasn't whom we were looking for."

Lars nods, grunting, "Vicious little thing. Threatened to bite me."

Out of my entire security team, Parker and Lars have been with me for the longest. Parker was barely legal, and Lars didn't talk much at first when they started, but they were both here long before I became Hunter Middleton, the billionaire, the philanthropist, and the business owner. The two of them could easily start a security company of their own but instead, choose to work exclusively for me.

"I want to know why she didn't report Isaiah's body and why she chose to lock the door and hide the key," I tell them because it's something that has been bothering me.

Isaiah's murder was meant as a personal attack on me, and so it's something that I'm still looking into until I get the answers I want. I've begun hearing rumors of a man going around calling himself The Executioner. I'm still searching for a connection between the two. I don't believe the Caller Brothers have the balls to do something like this on their own.

"She doesn't look like the type to cause trouble," Parker says, shrugging. "More like she decided she didn't want to get involved. But I can try to get close to her. She seems to like me a little bit."

When Lars shoots him a questioning look, Parker grins. "Like me, tolerate me, whatever."

I didn't give it a moment's thought before, but now I study Parker with a side eye and wonder if Megan finds herself attracted to his type with his pretty boy looks. He's closer to her age than I am.

"Don't get too close to her," I say in a warning tone, and Parker just winks at me.

"I'll become her best friend," he quips. "Poor girl looks like she won't even trust a rock."

I don't see the humor in that comment, but I leave it alone... for now.

When they leave, I decide to step out for a smoke. I'm trying to shift to e-cigarettes, so I use the back entrance of the club to step outside.

Since it's early March, it's not quite hot yet, and there is still some frost in the air. It's still shy of midnight, and I lean against the side of the wall, trying to get used to the disgusting synthetic aftertaste of the cigarette. There is still an unopened real pack in my coat pocket, but I try to resist temptation.

As my thoughts drift back to the pretty-looking bartender who eyes me as if she expects me to suddenly attack her at any second, my lips curve.

Getting to know her is like trying to pacify an angry kitten. I don't know why she continues to remind me of one, but she does. Maybe it's the way she looks at me, her eyes hostile and her tone cautious. Most of the questions she answers for me are of a yes and no variety. And for a split second, my mind wanders to a dark side where I imagine having her in a compromising position where still, her eyes are hostile, but her tone isn't cautious–it's desperate.

I adjust myself at the crotch and chastise myself for spending so much time on the club floor when I have a thousand other things I should be doing. Of course, I wouldn't be spending so much time here if I wasn't trying to assess Megan's qualities as a potential manager. Yeah, me hanging around here is a business management decision. With the current situation, I need a more hands-on approach in hiring somebody to run this place. Otherwise, I would get a thousand resumes, which would result in a thousand more Steves, and nobody wants that.

"Listen, you piece of trash," Megan's voice floats outside to me, and I stir in interest, wondering which poor bastard is getting a verbal lashing from her this time.

She's actually not that far from me when I turn my head. She's standing at the edge of the alleyway, talking to a man who is clearly drunk.

"I've told you five times to keep your hands off me. Otherwise, I'll chop them off. And while I'm at it, I'll chop off your little dick, too, and stuff it up your ass. Don't think I've not done it before. You think you're the first asshole to piss me off?"

Her tone is fierce, but from where I'm standing, I can see her hands shaking as the man advances. It takes me a second to realize that she's simply trying to scare the man off by putting on a tough front.

She must have just arrived to work her shift. Her back is to me, and I watch in interest to see how she deals with the drunkard. My smile fades, however, when I see the man grab her shoulders and shove her into the alleyway.

"You've got a smart ass mouth, bitch," he slurs as he pushes her.

My body begins to move on autopilot as I stride over to the alleyway. Megan is nursing her wrist as she scrambles back, a fierce look in her eyes as the man advances, stumbling. Her eyes are darting here and there to find a makeshift weapon, most likely.

I don't care what his intentions are or how drunk he is. I grab him by the shoulder, and when he turns around, I punch him in the gut, making him crumble to the ground.

Megan's eyes widened at seeing me. "Y-You!"

The man is howling in pain as he scrambles away. I can't stand filth like him and have the urge to kick him in the gut a couple more times, but I have to stop myself from beating him to a pulp. I have a feeling that my feisty little bartender wouldn't be so comfortable with the sight of the man's blood splattered all over the concrete.

So, I let the man escape.

"I thought you were going to chop his dick off," I ask, as I crouch down next to her, gently taking her wrist to check the damage.

"I was getting around to that," she mutters, but I can see the fear still in her eyes. "Why are you following me? Is this because of what happened with your suit?"

She's clearly terrified, but not enough to stop her from babbling.

"I'm not that petty of a man," I assure her as I continue checking her wrist. "You twisted it, but nothing an ice pack won't fix. I don't suggest working with it today."

Megan makes a face. "I don't have a choice."

"Why?"

"My rent is due, so I can't afford to take any more days off. Any more questions, Sherlock?" she quips.

She takes her hand back from me and tries to move her wrist. All the blood drains from her face at the slightest movement.

"I'm sure your boss isn't going to dock your pay," I tell her. "It's a work injury."

She scoffs, "I once twisted my ankle because a delivery guy side-swiped me on his bike, and my boss docked me a full day's pay because I showed up an hour late. He still made me work that whole day, too. So, no, I'm not going to take that chance."

I feel a hint of irritation at her story. Did that rat bastard Steve make her work after an injury and still not pay her? I may have some questionable people in my club as patrons, but I don't run a damn dump.

"Why didn't you complain to the senior management?" I ask, helping her stand up.

"And say what?" Megan sneers. "He might be smart with money, but I've heard rumors about Mr. Middleton. He's ruthless."

"What's so scary about him?"

"As if you don't already know."

"Humor me."

"Rumors are that he's killed at least three people in this place. It's like one of those open secrets we all know and don't discuss. I wouldn't do this job if I weren't so desperate."

The last part is a whisper, clearly not meant for my ears but said aloud.

She tries to move away from me, but I keep a firm hold on her. "Come on. I'll put some ice on that."

"I can manage." She struggles with me. "Where's your little boy band with the guns? They're probably looking for you right about now."

I ignore her snide comment. It seems that the more nervous she gets, the more mouthy she gets. I wonder why it makes me grin every time she says something that would piss off any other man in my position.

Did she really just call my security team a boy band?

I escort her out of the alleyway, away from the kitchen entrance, and her feet stop as she hesitates. "Where are you taking me? The kitchen is right there. There's ice in the kitchen."

"To my office."

"To your what?" She tries to pull her hand away from me again. "Listen, dude, I know all about stranger danger, and you can bet your sweet ass I'll scream if-"

Her words die down when I decide enough is enough, and in one swoop, I pick up her curvy ass and toss it over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes. I knock all the air out of her in the process, which is probably why she doesn't scream right away, but she begins to struggle with me, and my brows lift at the inventive curse words leaving her lips.

"You son of a snake! You demented fuckwad! Put me down."

I enter through the backside of the club, and she wriggles in my hold. Her resistance is lighting a fire inside of me, which is giving me the deep urge to give her juicy ass a quick smack, but I don't.

At least not yet.

"This is illegal! You can't just kidnap me! Help!"

I see one of my bodyguards step out at the sound of the ruckus, blink several times, and retreat back into the security office.

"Enough," I scold her. "You're disturbing people."

She makes a choking sound now, pounding on my back with her undamaged wrist.

"Disturbing people? You're fucking kidnapping me! Let me go. I swear I'll pay for that suit! I'll even buy you a new one! You don't have to go this far!"

Her shouts are increasing in volume, and I lift my hand and smack her on her ass, the loud cracking sound making her freeze. I suck in a silent breath, imagining the imprint I may have made on her rounded flesh through her pants.

"Did you just spank me?" she asks in a horrified voice.

I don't have to answer because we've already reached my private office, and I stride inside, dumping her (not so gently) on the three-seater leather couch. Then I go to the mini fridge to retrieve a cold compress.

My back is still to her when I say in a dangerous voice, "If you so much as think of escaping, I can do far more than just spank you."

The rustling movement behind me goes still, and when I turn around, Megan is sitting meekly on the couch, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.

Now, isn't that an interesting sight? I muse.

"This is the Blue Whiskey," she mumbles softly, looking around as I approach her. "Why do you have an office here?"

I don't respond, sitting on the coffee table in front of her and pressing the cold compress against her wrist. She whimpers and tries to pull her hand away.

"It'll help with the swelling," I say sternly.

She looks agitated and fearful as she looks around her, and I wonder if she will figure it out. I know she's a smart person, so she probably will. It'll just take a moment for it to all register.

The door of my office opens, and Parker pokes his head in. "Hey, boss, we heard some screams – Oh, hey."

He beams at Megan, who stares at him. Then she looks back at me, and her eyes widen as comprehension dawns in the emotive pupils of those eyes of hers.

"Oh, fuck," she curses, slamming the cold compress to the floor. "You're the boss? My boss? Mr. Middleton?"

"Megan." I pick up the ice pack and hand it to her again. "I'm not going to tell you to put this on your wrist again."

Her eyes are like a doe caught in the headlight of a ten-wheeler as she says the only thing she can while she continues to process this new information about me.

"Fuckity, fuck, fuck."