Giving it Up (Brewhouse #1)
Page 17
“We’re just going for a drive.” His voice was rough, a deep tenor that buffed her skin until she squirmed. She shivered, and caught the way his eyes flicked from the road down to her nipples. “You looked cold.”
A sudden flush rolled over her. He had made her blush. Did hookers still blush? She didn’t know. It was an obvious one too. Her friends said she reflected the sun she was so white, and she knew that she was probably scarlet right now. “It’s a bit nippy out there.”
Angling her elbow onto the door apron, right below the tinted window, she propped two fingers against the side of her head. The position allowed her voice to carry into her wrist-mic, which also doubled as a tracker. She knew everything was being recorded back in the stakeout car. If they traveled too far, Kent would tail them and call in a drone.
She was safe, but with a serial killer on the loose, running amok amongst the homeless and whores, and this guy playing coy about wanting to pay for pussy, she was also tense.
His motions were graceful on the steering wheel as he maneuvered down a side street. She caught a road sign on the corner. They were on East Main, heading towards Pine and the Interstate. She frowned. She really didn’t want to have to deal with a chase on the highway.
The car pulled to a stop in the mouth of an alley, and Josie’s attention traced over the man’s profile. It was unfair to the female population that he was so good-looking. Ogling him stole her focus, which was why it surprised her when the back door popped open and another passenger slid in.
Josie tensed. “I don’t do doubles.” Swallowing thickly, she tried to remember her cover story. The addition of another man rattled her. Why hadn’t he been in the car when Sexy pulled up? “We can play one on one, though.”
Josie shifted slightly to get the new man in sight. For a moment, she thought her vision was blurring. The new guy could pass for the driver’s twin. But that was just the first impression. Her cop brain noted the difference between the two: this one had shorter hair, was clean-shaven, with brown eyes. Maybe a brother or a cousin.
Laugh lines crinkled at the corner of his eyes as he met her curious stare. “You keep saying things like that and I’m going to be upset. Do I look like I need to pay for sex?” The car leapt into gear as the stranger pulled away from the curb.
“No,” Josie said, and then bit her lip as her voice hitched, making that simple two-letter word sound breathy and sexual. Neither of them looked like they needed to pay for sex. So why were they prowling Skid Row and picking up hookers?
A knot wound in her stomach, but it did little to ease the anticipation that coursed through her.
“You’re younger than I thought you were,” the man behind her said.
She turned and startled. He had his chin braced on her seat. It was intimate and an invasion of her personal space. An inkling of warning coiled in her mind. What were they planning? She was confident in her hand-to-hand skills, but taking on two huge men without a gun made her nervous.
“Fucking beautiful too.” The new guy’s words gusted down her neck in a hot chill. Her attention fixed on the flecks of green in his eyes.
“You’ve been watching me?” Josie asked, suppressing the thrill that gave her.
The fact they had watched her should have escalated her concern, but it didn’t take root. One of them was wearing cologne, something earthy and clean, and the masculine scent stroked the need bubbling in her core. A quick glance down revealed that most of her body was on display. She’d been cursed with a natural and rather impressive rack, but the rest of her wasn’t anything to write home about
“We’ve driven by a few times,” that hungry voice purred behind her.
“Are you brothers?”
“Cousins. Our mothers are sisters.”
Josie relaxed a little. They weren’t her serial killer. The Spokane Strangler was a solo artist. Some of her confidence came back. She could handle the average John, even if there were two of them.
The driver was silent and focused on the road, so she favored the man in back her attention. “I’m Candy.”
She waited for Kent’s reaction. He always sniggered like a teenager at his first titty bar when she used her alter ego’s name.
His silence stirred her agitation.
“You do look good enough to eat.” The man in the backseat murmured right in her ear. His tongue punctuated his words as it flicked out and brushed the shell of her ear, licking all the way to the tip. She sucked in a breath as desire pooled in her core. Okay. Maybe Candy didn’t do doubles, but Josie sure as hell was interested. “I’m Maxwell, you can call me Max, or ‘Oh God’.”
“And I’m Dex,” said the driver.
Josie gauged the weight of their words. She didn’t detect any subterfuge. Surprisingly, she believed they’d given her their real names. “You have a high opinion of yourself, Maxxie,” she said.
“That’s a cute nickname. Say it again and I’ll tan your ass.”
“Is that a promise?” Bantering with him was kind of fun, and she flashed him a charmed smile.
He grunted.
“You really don’t look like much of a blonde.” Dex navigated another turn and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.
“I think you would make a dynamite brunette or redhead,” Max drawled against her nape.
Max saw far more than Josie wanted him to see, and she shifted again, crossing her legs and smoothing her hand along the hem of her skirt. An artful rearranging of her body so that the blade strapped to her inner thigh was in easy reach.
But she wasn’t getting any danger vibes from them. Not the run-for-your-life sort. Just overt flirtation that left her warm all over. It was powerful being beneath the attention of two good-looking men, and a heady sort of euphoria thrummed in her chest.
“Hair dye and wigs, gentlemen. I can be whatever you want.” She was back on script again, laying on the sugar thickly. Would it be too much if she batted her lashes at them? Probably, but she did it anyways.
“Is that so, Candy? What do you think we want?” Dex stressed her pseudonym. Had she given herself away somehow?
Focus, Josie. Fuck, she was so rattled. What did these men want? That was the crux of the problem. She had no idea what they wanted. Keep to the script.
She simpered. “You like pretty girls, and the part of town you were visiting is known to quench all appetites.”
“That’s true.” Stopping at a red light, Dex drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “But you look like you belong there as much as we do.”
“You look fresh.” Max’s finger found the strap of her halter-top. Barely a brush at first, he played with the fabric, deliberately tracing the edge. Occasionally his forefinger smoothed over her skin as he followed the hot pink line to her nape.
God, such a simple touch, and her nipples hardened. No. They hardened more. The girls were already full mast. She shivered, and goose bumps fogged her skin as she swallowed a moan.
“I’m a new girl. In Dwayne’s stable,” she said with a slight quaver to her voice. Her professionalism was seriously lacking if such a harmless touch left her trembling.
Get it together, Josie!
“Is that so?”
Josie glanced sharply at Max. He sounded as if he was laughing at her. As if he knew she was a charlatan. No one outside of Vice, and a handler in the FBI, knew she was undercover. And these two were not in law enforcement.
For a moment, Josie considered calling in her backup. Just a quick word and the whole ride would be over in a blast of sirens. But as strange as it was, she was enjoying it. It took a lot to unsettle her.
She fiddled with her bangles. What was Kent thinking?
“Dex and I have a bet.” Max’s hand paused at the fabric knot at her nape and gave it a tug. One quick pull of his fingers and she’d be topless. The notion that she’d be half-naked in the car with them made her wet.
Shamelessly wet.
“Yeah? What’s the bet?” Her heart was frantic in he
r chest. Could they hear it? It was like a tom-tom drum beating in panic and longing.
“I think you’re a brunette,” Max said.
“Maybe I’m biased, or hopeful, but I think you’re a redhead,” said Dex. “A nice, deep auburn.”
Excitement rushed around inside of her. “What does the winner get?”
Dex took his eyes off the road for a long moment, sucking her into the tundra of his gaze. Who knew ice could burn? “First shot at your pussy, of course.”
Josie choked on a shocked gasp, though she managed to cover it badly with a cough. Her pussy fired with heat. “Well, boys, you know what I’m looking for in my partners.”
“So you say.” Dex’s hand slipped off the clutch, found her thigh, and gave it a squeeze. “By the end of the night, you’ll be begging us to fuck you. I promise.”
“Cute, but that’s not…”
Arms as thick as steel cables wound around her as Max leaned in from the back seat. She should have been wary about having him behind her, but she’d dropped her guard. She thought they were harmless. Mentally cursing herself, she opened her mouth to shout her break word when a moist cloth folded across her nose and mouth. It only took one whiff for the problem to crystalize in her mind.
Chloroform. So easy to get, you could even make it at home.
As she fought against the sickly-sweet fumes, her hands fumbled beneath her skirt. Gripping the hilt of a small butterfly blade, she snapped it open with a practiced move and lashed out. She nicked the wrist that held her with all of the strength of a newborn kitten. Then the sedative took hold. Her eyes rolled upwards, catching Max’s gaze as he held her tight. There was an apology there, and a hint of guilt. But neither of that stopped him from smothering her with the cloth.
Her break word screamed in her head. If only she could let Kent know…
She didn’t even manage a grunt before everything went black.
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About the Author
Holly Dodd is an award-winning author. Her novel Covet won the 2016 RWA Beacon (unpublished) award for Romantic Suspense. A member of the Romance Writers of America, her stories are often spicy, with everything salacious right on the page. Ranging from the contemporary anti-hero, to paranormal and futuristic, she loves an Alpha Hero in any setting and a woman destined to keep him on his toes.
Calling Pennsylvania home, she loves autumn, the beach, and beautiful weather. When she’s not writing, reading, or baking, she’s wrangling her three psychotic felines, and wondering where her muse will take her to next.
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Holly Dodd Author
@HollyDodd80
Holly Dodd Books
Holly Dodd Books
Holly@HollyDodd.com
HollyDodd.com
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