Motown Breakdown (Motown Down #4) (23 page)

“As a matter of fact,” I smile, enjoying my dick swelling further with every word. “I do.”

“Sweet,” she says lighting up. “Who?”

Coming around the desk and standing in front of her, I cross my arms over my chest and smile. “Me.” I had expected her to object, or at the very least panic, but it was clear she wasn’t wired right. When she gave me a grin that said
bring it on
, I held back from coming in my slacks.

She was hot, sexy,
and
utterly clueless. “I take it you just streamlined the process,” she says standing to face me.

“How did you hear about the services I offer?”

“I watch, I listen. A few months ago, I was at Great Lakes Coffee and heard a girl talking about it. At first I didn’t believe her until I followed her here. Another guy let her in, not you. He was older and grumpy but had really nice shoes. About five minutes later she came back out crying. I figured she was turned down and kept my eyes open. Later that week four girls came in and never came back out, hey! Do you sneak them out the back or have an underground passage? Can I see it?”

“How do you know who
I am,
Sunshine?”

“Sun,” she corrects bluntly. “I’m nosey, slippery, and wicked observant. Okay fine, I’m just nosey but I saw you doing business and paid attention. So, when do we start?”

“Doing what business?”

“Girls, guns, and gangster shit. You’re living the American dream! Wait, you didn’t tell me your name.”

“No,” I say taking her elbow roughly. “I didn’t.”

This wasn’t good, this was dangerous. But I was a criminal and I loved danger. More than that, I loved a challenge. This woman was all of the above.

Damn, cagey much? Dragging me by my elbow, I trip over a very fancy rug (Persian maybe?) and knock an arm chair over. Righting myself, I let him bring me to the back of the building to what looks like a public kitchen. The whole set up was weird. Industrial on the outside, plush on the inside. Hell, it was homey.

“Family,” he says showing me to another chair. A guy with manners, they do exist! “Name them, start now.”

“This is the part where I tell you I don’t have family. I went into the system when I was twelve and took off just shy of seventeen busting ass while living below the poverty level. Co-workers? Don’t have those either. I have an editor but we’ve never even met in person so if you’re worried people will miss me, they won’t. My close friends live out of state so there’s no worry there either. Skype is my best friend.”

“What do you think happens when the thirty days is up?”

“A pat on the ass and a shout out in my book is what I was going for.”

“Sun,” he says eyeing me. “I can’t let you write about what I do, what you’ll see or what happens to you.”

“I write fiction,” I point out. “Plus, I twist it all around so if law enforcement ever reads it, they won’t peg me for the crimes I’ve committed.”

“Crimes?”

“Well to you it’s probably more like misdemeanors or bad judgement. My fans know that I perform the shenanigans I write about. If you don’t believe me, look it up. If the cops could find me, I’d have a killer record but I lay low because prison wouldn’t look good on me.”

“What is your pen name,” he asks pouring us a glass of wine.

“Calamity Jayne.”

“You lie,” he says angrily.

“Why in the hell would I lie about that? Martha Jane Canary was an American frontierswoman and professional scout. Do you know she knew Wild Bill Hickok and fought Indians? Personally, I don’t condone fighting Indians but she was one of the original badasses, she had spunk. I identify with her moxy. She was also described as extremely attractive and a dark-eyed girl. You can see it now can’t you? It’s my homage to my idol. In my book, East Side Saga the heroine…”

“Used a sniper rifle while drinking Fireball to assassinate a pimp who, was roughing up his girls.”

“So, you read me,” I smile thrilled at the thought. “I shot him right in the ass. I wanted to go for both cheeks, but I didn’t want to be greedy, plus I was hammered.”

“Unfuckingbelievable,” he mumbles.

“Do you have a favorite?” I had to know what my fans thought, it was crucial. Plus. no one knows who I am and I’ve never met a fan in person. It was kind of intense. “Come on, you can tell me. Like I said, in the book world I’m a myth.”

“Dominant Position.”

“Good choice!” I applaud him. “That book hurt.”

“You expect me to buy – ” he starts and before he could finish I had him and the ground with my arm clinching his throat. Releasing him, I step away in case he decides to kill me out of spite. It’s funny, I can’t walk straight but I can fight like a pit bull. I don’t look into it too deep, I just roll with it.

“Don’t,” he says standing slowly straightening his clothes. “Ever fucking do that again.”

“Believe me now?”

“You might be insane,” he grunts while easing himself down on the stool.

“There’s no
might
to it,” I smile. “So what’s next? We beat a guy for intel? Lean on the locals?”

“We eat dinner,” he says getting up to open the fridge.

“I have thirty days,” I remind him. “I can eat later; I need to pacify my muse.”

“You are,” he says pointing to my glass. “Drink it.”

“Someone has control issues.”

Leaning on the counter he props himself up with his elbows and does that staring thing again. Making a mental note that his eyes were green and not brown, I stare right back. “You aren’t afraid of me are you?” he asks with a touch of confusion.

“Should I be?”

“Most are,” he says backing away.

“I think we’ve established I’m not like most. So do I need to sign something or does a handshake cover it?”

“I’m going to brand you,” he says smiling and a smarter woman would be cautious. However, I was here for the full experience so I simply smiled back. Besides, tattoos were expensive and I was getting a freebie? I considered this a perk.

“Explain what that means.”

“Showing you is best,” he says digging his phone out and typing in a message. “Allow me to give you a tour until the artist shows up.” Taking my hand, he links his fingers with mine which was weird. I wasn’t opposed to it, like I said, this was all for research but I haven’t held hands since high school. He also had an extremely firm grip.

The tour, though, was pretty basic. A lot of rooms with art and furniture, big garage with every tool known to man and a fleet of cars anyone would be envious of. Once inside the house, which was interesting because there was a corridor connecting the two he opened a solid oak door escorting me in. “Our room,” he says dropping my bags.

“Please stop beating the shit out of my laptop, I had to do six book sales to buy that bitch.”

“My apologies,” he says picking it up and setting it on the gigantic bed. He was a big guy, it made sense he’d have a big bed. Considering I wasn’t a small woman I was hoping he didn’t hog the bed because, I did.

“When do we start fucking?” I ask casually. A girl had a right to know didn’t she? I wasn’t wearing my fuck me panties, so I’d need to change before I spread ‘em.

“Eager,” he says leaning against the post. “Let me ask you something, Sun, you would have fucked whomever I gave you to?”

“Temporarily,” I felt I needed to point out. “And I was trusting your judgement.”

A knock on the door has us both turning, and as far as artists go, I wasn’t expecting a middle aged man with a small bag full of tattoo equipment. “Sit,” he says pointing to the chair in the corner. “This will only take a few minutes.”

So I sat. The man pushed my sleeve up, wiped my skin with alcohol and when I asked if he needed an outline he rolled his eyes at me. Out of nowhere he interrupted letting him know he’d be doing my tattoo. While this seemed like a surprise to the artist he moved away handing him the gun on his way out. Gripping my skin tight, the needle stings when it sinks into the delicate skin of my wrist. Watching him tattoo me was strangely erotic. No one had to tell me he was turned on by this because I could feel it. I also couldn’t help but watch his slacks grow too. When it was finished, I inspected it as did he.

“Okay,” I say rolling my sleeve back down. “Now what?”

“Now we discuss the terms of our arrangement.”

“I thought we already did? Hang on, aren’t you losing money by keeping me?”

“Sun,” he smiles approaching me with a beautiful boner. “I’ve lost nothing. In fact, I just hit the fucking lottery.”

Seeing that ink on her skin had me itching to touch her. God, she was fucking gorgeous and trusting. This woman was down for anything and I knew it wasn’t an act because I read her books. Calamity Jayne was this underground phenomenon no one could figure out and by some twist of fate, she belonged to me now.

Her fans loved her because she did the most outrageous shit and then wrote about it. At the end of her books, she had photos of herself in action. But it was never of her face, usually she wore one of those cameras extreme sports people use. However, if you knew where to find her she had a huge YouTube following too. She actually uploads the videos of her breaking the law for the sake of literature. If the cops ever figured out who she was, she would go to jail, for a long time. Personally, I thought it was fucking hilarious.

“I’ve lost nothing,” I say approaching her. I had to give her credit, she didn’t back down. “In fact, I just hit the fucking lottery.”

“What’s your name?” she asks genuinely curious. “I’ll change it for the story, of course, but I can’t hang out for a month and say
hey you
.”

“Shade,” I tell her and watch her light up.

“I’m Sun and you’re Shade,” she says shaking her head. “Best seller, I fucking knew it.”

“You are aware I can’t let you write this book,” I tell her and she’s so close I wanted to pin her to the wall. She’d let me too if her breathing was an indicator. “I cannot take the risk.”

“Then I’m leaving,” she says pushing me back out of the strike zone.

“No, Sun,” I growl grabbing her. “You can’t do that either.”

“If I don’t write, I’ll suffocate,” she growls back. “I made my intentions clear; you chose to dance around yours. I have a half-assed moon on my arm, I’m down to fuck and follow your rules as long as I get a story out of it. Check this out, Shade,” she says taking her arm back. I had to give her credit, she really was a lot stronger than she looked. “There are three things you never want to do to me.”

“Enlighten me,” I challenge her back.

“Piss my muse off,” she says crowding me. “Or piss
me
off.”

“The third?” I ask roughly.

“Oh right,” she says sticking her finger in my chest annunciating each word. “Never lie to me.”

This may be the one thing I can’t promise, because I lied about everything. But I did not lie about ownership. “That brand on your wrist? It’s not for show, there is no game. You belong to me, period. When the thirty days are up, I decide if you leave. Maybe I’ll keep you, maybe I’ll pass you along like I said, it’s my decision. Remember that next time you open your mouth.”