She didn’t move.
He did. It was either get the hell out of there or pounce on her. He stalked from the bathroom. Shut the door. Then glared down at his eager dick.
***
Maisey stared at the door.
I will devour you. Before he’d left, she’d had to clamp her lips together to hold back her instinctive response of, Promises, promises.
Now she focused on breathing. Nice, slow breaths. Steam still drifted in the air around her. Oh, no. That would not do. She didn’t need anything to make her hotter. She was feeling more than hot and bothered enough, thanks.
Maisey spun and marched for the shower. She yanked on the water. The very, very cold water.
I will devour you.
***
“This place doesn’t look so bad.” Nightfall had just swept over the area. The day had passed in a whirlwind of activity. Odin had gone with her to get a new laptop. He’d trailed her back to campus where they’d reviewed security footage and found absolutely nothing useful. They’d followed Clay for a while. Again, they’d turned up nothing overly useful.
And now it was time for the big event. A trip to Ramsey’s. The graveled parking lot was filled with a variety of vehicles. Sports cars, trucks, motorcycles. Some extremely high end. Some looking as if they’d fall apart if you blew on them too hard. Thick woods surrounded the long, flat building. No other businesses were nearby. As she slowly approached the entrance—and the two bouncers who sat on tall, black stools—the loud scream of music blasted from inside of Ramsey’s.
Maisey hadn’t exactly been sure how to dress for this occasion. She’d fretted over the outfit for a good thirty minutes because she had wanted to be certain she blended. After three changes, she’d finally settled for a pair of old jeans, ripped on the left thigh, and a form-fitting, black top. She’d gone with red high heels, too, because she needed to sex it up a bit, didn’t she?
Maybe?
Odin had looked at her outfit and just grunted.
He hadn’t seemed to care what he wore. Jeans. T-shirt. Boots. Done. She’d discovered that was just his typical outfit. Maisey had to admit, it worked for him. Sexy. Kind of an effortless sexiness.
He was at her side as they headed for the bouncers. She offered them a big, friendly smile.
“Dim it,” Odin muttered as he bent his head and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He hauled her up against him.
Dim it? Her smile slipped.
The bouncers were sweeping their gazes over her.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” one said.
“That’s because I haven’t come here before,” Odin snapped back.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” the guy fired. He had a smirk on his face as he let his gaze dart over Maisey. Looked like he was in his early twenties, with bright blond, almost white hair. He wore a thick, leather coat even though it was helluva hot and, as always, the humidity in the area was killer.
Odin moved in front of her. Positioned himself so that he loomed over the bouncer on his stool. “I’m talking to you, asshole,” Odin told him.
Oh. So he was going to play the scene aggressively? Fair enough. The people in the club would probably respect that kind of approach. She tried to realign her posture so she looked tougher, too.
“She’s with me.” Odin’s voice rang out. “Me. Got it? So if I’m not here, she’s not here. Now open the fucking door and let us in.”
Odin was way bigger than the white-haired bouncer.
The other bouncer laughed at the exchange. “Dumbass,” he said, not to Odin, but to the shriveled-up guy in the coat. “Never pick on someone three times your size.” He hopped off his stool and opened the door for Odin. “Sorry, man. He’s still new. Thinks he has something to prove.”
Odin didn’t move. “Don’t screw with me again,” he ordered the blond.
Since the door was open, Maisey crept over to slip inside—
Odin’s arm came around her shoulders again. He brushed his mouth over her cheek then whispered in her ear, “Did we forget the plan?”
The plan…for her to stick close to him. She was close to him so Maisey fired him a disgruntled look. But then they were heading inside, and she was so busy taking everything in that she stopped worrying about Odin and just studied the scene.
Wow. No wonder Whitney had been coming there for research. The place was packed. Money was exchanging hands—she could see the sly trade-offs beneath the tables. And the guys on the right, the ones over there playing pool and drinking beers from long-necked bottles—she recognized some of their tats. They were part of a local motorcycle group that—
“Don’t stare too long. They’ll think you’re interested. They’ll come over. I’ll have to correct their wrong assumptions. That correction will involve ass kicking.”
Now he had her attention once more. Maisey’s head whipped back toward him. “What about rule one?”
He curled his hands around her hips. They’d just reached the bar, and he lifted her up and put her on the nearby stool. His fingers lingered around her. “Warned you already,” he said, as his head dipped toward her throat.
To be a helpful, team player, Maisey tipped back her head so he’d have better access.
His lips feathered over her skin.
Hello. Her breath shuddered out. Since when was her neck that sensitive? Her nipples hardened and her body pulsed.
“Rules don’t apply tonight.”
They didn’t?
“I have to play this scene a certain way. You won’t like what you see me do.” His head lifted. He stared straight into her eyes.
Her hands rose and pressed to his chest. “I like everything I see about you.”
“You won’t like what’s coming next.”
Maisey highly doubted that. To date, she’d pretty much liked everything about Odin. To be safe, though… “Before you get all big and bad, how about we just try asking for the info?” Seemed like a grand idea to her.
“Uh, Maisey…” He shook his head. “In a place like this, you don’t just sashay up and ask for intel.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” You never knew until you asked. She spun around on her stool. “Hi, bartender!” Her voice was friendly and warm. In her experience, if you were nice to people, then generally, people were nice back.
Behind her, Odin swore.
The bartender peered at her and ambled closer.
“I’m looking for my friend.” Maisey’s hand shoved into the cute little bag she’d brought along. Odin had given her mace to put inside the bag. She was working on getting her taser. Maisey hauled up her new phone—they’d picked it up today and gotten it synced with her account. She scrolled until she had a picture of Whitney. She flipped the phone around toward the bartender. “By any chance, have you seen her?”
The bartender—a grizzled guy with a, well, she supposed Odin might describe it as a fuck-you face—looked at the picture for all of two seconds, then glared at Maisey. “You’re a cop.”
“What? No, absolutely not.” She smiled brighter.
The bartender’s beady stare darted to Odin. He pointed. “Cop.”
“This is going about how I expected…once you started talking,” Odin groused.