"So I guess this probably means our deal is off?"
Her voice sounded uncertain, almost scared. Still a little slurred, too. I turned to glare at her, taking in her tangled blonde hair, the curve of her generous hips in those tight jeans and the way her shirt drooped low enough to show plenty of cleavage.
"Not if you want to keep the club accounts," I growled, wondering why the hell I didn't just fire her ass. My cock reminded me that we weren't finished with her yet. "I'll see you out at my place on Tuesday. Make enough food for leftovers and maybe we'll have a talk about getting a crew into The Line."
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Eat shit," I said, and then slammed out the door.
Seems like a bit of an overreaction, Heather gloated as I climbed into my truck.
She could eat shit, too. Fucking women. Even dead, they stuck together.
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