Tame: A High School Bully Romance (Savannah Heirs Book 2)

by Coralee June

  Rocco ignored me and leaned over to inspect a fresh stack, bound with a paper currency strap. He had hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens...hell, he even had fives printed. He picked one of the stacks of hundreds up and tossed it over to me. I bet Rocco had gotten used to tossing piles of cash at his problems. I let the fake money hit my chest and fall to the ground with a smack. That shit wasn’t worth anything to me. And just as expected, his brow ticked up in surprise.

  “Take the cash. Test it out. I’ll even let you keep all your winnings this time. It’s good stuff, Taylor. I do quality stamps. Best in all of Savannah, Georgia.”

  I slowly bent down to pick up the cash, and when I straightened, I could feel Rachel’s eyes on my back. “Just how confident are you?” I asked, an idea forming in my head.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind,” Rocco replied easily.

  I licked my lower lip before looking over my shoulder. I watched the small woman in white as she cut cash in her daddy’s warehouse, and a smirk curved my lips. “Okay, then. I’ll play. But only if your daughter goes with me. Show me how confident you really are in your money by risking her,” I bargained with a shrug.

  Rocco’s eyes darted over to his daughter before coming back to narrow on me. I stared back at him unapologetically. I didn’t trust this fucker. If he wanted me to risk my own neck by bringing in fake cash, I wanted collateral. What better kind than the five-foot blonde behind me?

  I found myself wondering if Rachel could actually play. I grew hard just thinking about her sitting at a poker table, legs crossed as she bit her lip in concentration. Fuck. I need to get her out of my head.

  Rocco looked at me for a moment, contemplating my offer with a scowl. “Fine. You can take her. I know my shit’s good. And once you see that this can work, you’ll work for me. We can move a lot of cash through those games, and since you’ve already got a reputation for gambling, it won’t seem suspicious. You can do it at the pony races, too.”

  I took three steps closer to him, thumbing through the stack of cash, testing its weight in my palm. “This was never just about getting your daughter to talk, was it?” I asked, speaking in a low voice so that Rachel couldn’t overhear.

  “Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

  “Why kill at all?” I asked before spinning on my heels and stalking towards Rachel. “Get your shit,” I told her.

  “Jesus, Taylor, could you at least try to be fucking nice to my kid?” Rocco snapped.

  I smirked, ignoring him, and strode forward until I was standing right beside Rachel. I liked to be crass when people wanted me to pacify them. I wanted to push their buttons and see what came out with every press. It was my way of learning all of the faces they wore. I’ve always been more interested in the masks, anyway. I wanted to know why people wore the masks, and what was behind them. You could only tell what was inside a person by stripping them bare and pushing them until their truth leaked out. But too often, I’d found that people were predictable. Once I figured them out—and it never took long—I got bored and moved on. That was true for everyone except the other Heirs.

  Rogue Kelly, Bonham Brodie, and Luis Salvador. Best friends since grade school, and we’d been through more shit in our eighteen years than most people would only ever read about. The stuff we’d seen, the things we’d done, meant that we were tighter than a virgin’s cunt. But everyone else? I picked people up, pushed all their buttons, and then tossed them aside once I had them all figured out. No one except the Heirs could ever hold my attention. Well, except Scar. I fancied myself “in like” with her, but she was always Rogue’s. I didn’t like to lose, but even I saw the way they looked at each other.

  But now I had Rachel Goddamn Nomar. I thought I had her all figured out. She intrigued me like most damaged people do. I slapped a summary on her and figured that was the end of the story. But I think I may have called it too soon.

  “Come on, princess,” I said with a mocking tone. “We’re leaving.”

  “Where are you goin’?” Rocco demanded. “I thought you two could stay here today.”

  I shrugged and finally turned to face him again. “I’m not your fucking paperboy. That’s what he’s for,” I said, tilting my head at Beau. I didn’t know anything about Beau, but I’d find it all out real fucking quick. Bonham was a master at digging up info on the internet, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. I’d probably have his social security number by breakfast.

  Beau grinded his teeth. He probably wasn’t used to being treated like this. He really seemed to get a hard-on for the whole bad biker vibe. It didn’t fool me though. And that shitty kiss Rachel planted on him? That hadn’t fooled me either. That kiss was for my sake.

  The question was, why? It was evident that she idolized me as her savior at first, but I’d shut that shit down fast. Then she hated me with adorable fury, which I was good with. I was ready to push her away and be done with her at that point. But she changed the game. Somehow, she turned things back around on me, and it surprised the fuck out of me. But what surprised me even more was that, while she still seemed to hate me, her blue eyes darkened with unmistakable hunger whenever she looked my way.

  “You want me to try out your cash? Then I’m gonna do it right now, and I’m bringing her with me. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” I challenged Rocco, half-expecting him to back out. If he doubted his cash at all, that’s what he should do, to protect his daughter. Unless his pride wouldn’t let him.

  Rocco worked his jaw, clearly irritated. “Fine,” he ground out. “Rachel?”

  I turned to see what she would do. I expected her to curse her father and tell me to fuck off. I expected anger or refusal just like she’d first done. But instead, her eyes flicked to me, and then she just shrugged. “Fine.”

  I smirked, and her eyes dropped to my mouth before quickly darting away.

  “You can’t actually be okay with this asshole taking her,” Beau said incredulously, looking like he wanted to shake Rocco.

  “Go in the back and check with the guys, Beau,” Rocco said in apparent dismissal.

  Beau’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes boring into mine. I just put my hands in my pockets and let my smirk spread further across my face. This was going to be fun. Watching me the entire time, he strode forward and then leaned over and kissed Rachel on the top of the head. I didn’t think he even noticed how she flinched.

  After Beau stormed out of the room, Rocco moved forward like he was going to give Rachel some physical form of an awkward goodbye, but as soon as he got close, she stood up, putting the chair between them before turning her head to look at me. I guess she’d had enough of people touching her. “Can we go or what?” she said to me.

  “Yep, let’s go, princess.” I said, putting Rocco’s counterfeit cash into my back pocket. Rocco offered me some stupid fucking handshake like we were actually allies or something. The only reason I took his hand was because of her. Because out of the corner of my eye, I watched the little thief as she reached forward and swiped a stack of cash from the pile beside her, and stuffed it down the front of her dress.

  Yep. It looked like Rachel Nomar might be much more interesting than I thought.

  Chapter Six

  Rachel

  Of course Godfrey Taylor drove a sexy as sin car. His Bugatti was sleek and all black just like his soul. He didn’t open the door for me because that would have required him to dust off his manners. So I wrenched open the door myself and slipped into the leather passenger seat, breathing in the smell of cologne and leather.

  “Hold on tight, princess,” he warned while flashing a look at my exposed upper thigh where the white fabric of my dress had ridden up.

  He peeled out of the warehouse parking lot, driving like a bat out of hell down the streets of Savannah. He swerved in and out of traffic while blasting loud music with the windows rolled down. Wisps of my pale blonde hair kept falling out of my bun, tickling my neck and cheek like little spiders crawling along my skin. I push
ed it back with sweaty palms. I always had to keep my hair up. Never let it down. Never allow Pick to grab hold of it.

  Never.

  Despite feeling on edge from being so close to Godfrey, who drove confidently with one hand on the steering wheel and one on the shifter, I was enjoying the semblance of freedom coursing through me. Aside from my earlier meeting with Forty-One, I hadn’t gone anywhere. I was excited to go to a casino. Since it was illegal in Savannah, most people took the two-hour trip to head over to Jacksonville for a weekend of gambling. I was practically vibrating in my seat at the idea of being two hours away from it all. From my dad, from the Macon Mob, from everything.

  “You gamble a lot?” I asked over the loud music.

  Godfrey just grunted in response. Well, okay then. I guess he wasn’t up for conversation, which was fine by me. I was still having to remind myself every few seconds that I definitely was in no way attracted to the way his sleeves were rolled up his naturally tan arms, or the way his thighs were spread out in his seat. Forcing myself to change the direction of my dangerous thoughts, I let my mind drift to the money I’d taken and what I could do with it. As soon as the men had looked away, I’d shoved it down my dress. It wasn’t five hundred grand, but it was the start I needed, and my father and Godfrey had given me the perfect opportunity to get more.

  I’d been playing poker since I was old enough to read the cards. Although I’d only ever played Dad’s men, I was looking forward to testing my skills out on a real table. My winnings would definitely help towards paying Forty-One. This could be the perfect system, and it was exactly the break I needed.

  A familiar rock song came on the radio, and all the good feelings of hope that were previously coursing through me came to a jarring halt. I immediately reached out to shut it off. My fingers were trembling as I twisted the plastic dial. That fucking song. It used to play over the loudspeakers from somewhere above the basement, the bass vibrating the walls.

  “Got a problem with good music?” Godfrey asked while reaching over to turn the music back on. I couldn’t see his eyes from behind his aviators, but I was sure they flashed with irritation. I slapped his hand away, making a grin break out on his dangerously gorgeous face.

  “I’ve got a problem with that song,” I snapped.

  “Well, get over it. My car, my rules, my tunes,” Godfrey said before leaning forward and turning the haunting song with the manic beat back on, this time even louder than before. My heart started thudding in time to the melody, and the screaming woman’s sensual shrills felt like unwelcome jolts to my body.

  Once again, I reached forward to turn off the music, Godfrey Taylor be damned. I spent weeks being forced to do things against my will, fuck anyone that tried to make me again.

  “What’s your problem?” Godfrey asked before pulling off to a remote side road.

  “None of your damn business.” I could feel his blue eyes on me, but I resolved not to meet his stare. I refused to look like the little wounded animal everyone treated me as.

  “Is this the part where you cry?” Godfrey asked mockingly. Yep. I definitely hated the bastard.

  “Is this the part where you try to psychoanalyze me?” I shot back. “I know your game, Godfrey. You think you’ve got everyone figured out.”

  He pulled his aviators off and looked directly at me for a good five seconds, ignoring the road we were speeding down like the risk was worth the reward. I could feel his stare everywhere on me. Could feel his eyes boring into my soul, like the secret hiding there was just one coaxing whisper away. A big gust of wind from the open windows blew my dress up, showing him the pale pink thong I was wearing, before I could catch it.

  With the quickest reflexes ever, Godfrey reached over and grabbed hold of the billowing fabric. He eased it back down, his pinky grazing my inner thigh in the process. My breath caught in my throat, somewhere between excitement and fear. My heart wasn’t sure which one it wanted to settle on. I swallowed hard as I watched his strong hand gently push the fabric between my thighs, securing it down. The gesture was oddly gentle—a trait I hadn’t ever associated with him.

  When his pinky continued to trace back and forth over the fabric, leaving a hot trail across my thigh, I stayed frozen, waiting to see what he would do next. The way my heart beat in my chest made it difficult to know whether or not I wanted him to stop. But before I could figure it out, he snapped his hand back, like he was coming out of a trance, and placed it on the steering wheel again. “Could you at least try to keep from flashing me? I’m trying to drive here.”

  His words broke the moment, and I straightened myself just as he turned his attention back to the road and flipped the dial of the radio, turning the song back on. But I was no longer angry about the thudding beat and the memories that accompanied it. I was still thinking about the feel of his hand between my thighs. I was confused over the sensation in my core that had pulsed to life from his touch. I was confused because I’d been convinced I couldn’t ever possibly feel pleasure there ever again after what Pick had done to me.

  “Tell me who made you hate this song,” Godfrey ordered, startling me from my thoughts.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Predictable,” he goaded. He was starting to learn the right insults to get me to talk. Except, in this case, predictability would be to give him the defiant answer he wanted. So instead, I ignored it.

  “Where are we going?” I asked instead. I wasn’t sure my patience could handle a two-hour car ride with him.

  “Where do you think? Your dad wants us to try out the cash,” he said arrogantly. “Do me a favor and try to keep up with me, princess.”

  As soon as the asshole words came out of his mouth, I turned to face him. His aviators were back in place, hiding his blue eyes from me, which was truly a shame because I wanted to see the shock cross his features. Without warning, I reached over and gripped him between the legs.

  He jumped before he could staunch the reaction, no doubt still sore down there from the greeting my knee gave him earlier. He looked over at me with a frown that I could just barely see over his aviators. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, trying his damnedest not to shift under my touch.

  I let my hand move around, ignoring his hardening dick entirely and focusing on the other bits there, cupping and stroking just to fuck with him. It wasn’t a sexual move, at least not for me. I just wanted to make him suffer a bit. “Just checking,” I said lazily before pulling back my hand and resuming my bored glance out the window.

  “Checking what?” he bit out.

  I had to contain my smirk. He wanted to get under my skin? Fine. I’d get under his too.

  “Just wanted to make sure you still had some balls,” I said, casting him a blasé look. “I know I kneed you pretty hard, but I wanted to see if your balls had fallen off back at the warehouse. I can’t think of any other reason that the notorious Heir, Godfrey Taylor, would follow my dad’s directions like a good little dog.”

  Purposely keeping my face turned toward the window, I waited for him to react. I was trying to piss him off the way he’d pissed me off. But instead, I heard the bastard start chuckling from his seat, his laughter sharpened by his intense amusement.

  “Two to two,” he finally said when his humor tapered off.

  I chanced a look at him from the corner of my eye. You had to be careful with a man like Godfrey. If you showed too much interest, he’d yank away the string with the dangling carrot on it.

  “Are you asking how to count?” I snarked.

  “Nope. Just keeping score, princess. I think I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, shooting me a grin that let me know I wasn’t fooling him with my subtle glances.

  “Enjoy what?” I pressed, turning to face him fully.

  His grin lit up his face, and for once, I saw someone much more carefree. “The game, princess,” he answered. “You versus me.”

  For some reason, I felt a stirring of excitement. “Careful,” I warned him.
“People have a habit of underestimating me,” I said pointedly, but it just made his amusement grow.

  I clicked the button of the seat belt so it would release me, and I leaned in close to him, making his grin slip. He liked games. He loved winning. But I liked games too, and suddenly, there was nothing more I’d rather do than play.

  I had a feeling, though, that if I encouraged this, things would get very, very messy. But the truth was—messy was precisely what I wanted. My old, shiny self was gone. All I had to do was look at my marked up arms and the brand on my shoulder to see that. Maybe if my reality were just as messy as my insides, I wouldn’t loathe myself so much. Maybe if my life caught up with my head, I wouldn’t have to stay on mute.

  Which is why I found myself pressing my lips against his ear, letting my hot breath collect on his skin. “What are the stakes, Godfrey Taylor?” I asked, purposely taunting him when I made my voice come out huskily.

  I felt the vibration of his words pass through my lips as he answered, “All or nothing, Rachel Nomar.”

  He took a sharp turn, making me slide back into my seat with a forceful snap, my head hitting the window. I glared at him while he regained his cocky look.

  “You think you can win?” he challenged, forcing me to look at my reflection in his lenses. “You don’t have it in you, princess. Not against me. By the end of this, you’ll be so lost, you won’t even remember why you agreed to play in the first place.”

  His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I was forced to look away from him. We drove the rest of the way in silence, with him taking odd back streets until he finally brought us back onto the main road and pulled in front of a club. We were in the heart of downtown Savannah, where men in suits got out of their Ferraris with smirks, tossing their keys to the valet like it was nothing.

  “This doesn’t look much like a casino,” I said with a frown.

  “And you don’t look much like someone I’d bring here,” he said, giving me a look before pushing open his car door and getting out. I cursed under my breath and followed after him. When he stood in front of me, he looked me from my toes to my head again, as if he hadn’t already cataloged every part of me. “Let your hair down and pinch your cheeks or something,” he muttered under his breath.