She finished paying and walked toward the doors, hitching her purse strap up on her shoulder with one hand, her other hand going into her hair at her forehead, pulling the thick, shining, waving dark mass back, lifting a huge bunch of it at the back of her head and shaking it a couple of times before dropping it only for it to fall into and around her face again, settling on her shoulders and streaming down her back.
He felt his c**k twitch.
Fucking magnificent.
Shift chose well. Who knew that useless, piece of shit motherfucker had the likes of Lexie on tap? It was a miracle.
He watched her move and noticed she walked in those shoes like she was barefoot, her h*ps swayed with her strut, the lifting of her arms moved her tits and, when he could tear his eyes off her, he saw the two men sitting at stools at the counter watched her every move, swiveling around so they wouldn’t lose track of her.
Looking back at her he noticed she was oblivious. Completely.
Walker had not said no to Shift sending a girl in his stable but he had said no junkies but considering Shift was a useless, piece of shit motherfucker, Walker expected he’d have to take what he got or, if she was unacceptable, scrape her off and find someone who would serve his purposes. It would be a frustrating delay. He had work to do.
But she had to be right.
And it went without saying Lexie Berry was right.
It didn’t sit well with him that she was on Shift’s hook and how she was on it. In fact, what she said to him at the table he still felt like it clogged his throat. She had no love for Shift, just fear he’d f**k up her life or worse and obviously she knew him enough because that useless, piece of shit motherfucker would do it and before he did it, he wouldn’t blink.
What he didn’t get was how she ever got connected to Shift. No light shined in the world of Duane Martinez and light shone off Lexie Berry like a beacon.
But he’d find out or, more accurately, Tate would do it for him.
He would have preferred one of Shift’s whores who would know her place and do what she was told. Walker had a feeling Lexie Berry was not going to do that. Clearly, the sass she was holding in check when she met him had broken through if the attitude she threw at him and her Mr. Humongo comment was anything to go by. But Walker knew he, like the vast majority of the human population who happened to have dicks, would put up with a whole f**k of a lot from Lexie Berry and he happened to have a dick.
Just as long as she did what she was told in the end, even if she gave him shit before doing it.
And there was no denying the cover Lexie Berry could provide was a far sight better than one of the girls in Shift’s stable, considering the few he’d seen. Fuller would look into her, Walker had no doubt. But if she was a whore, there would be little question now that Ty Walker would accept whatever he could get. Pussy was pu**y, Walker had always liked his pu**y and everyone knew that. Too much, it would turn out. But now, his future limited in a way he’d never have foreseen just because he liked his cunt, he’d have to take what he could get.
So Lexie Berry was definitely a miracle.
As she made it to the door, she’d been looking down, digging into her purse and when she pushed through, she lifted her head and came out into the sunshine squinting her eyes but pulling out a pair of shades. She flicked the arms out with a practiced movement of her wrist and shoved them on her nose.
There it was. The shades, the purse, the shoes, they all said buyer for a mid-to-upscale department store. The tank and the shorts she could get anywhere but those shades, that purse and those f**king shoes said class.
Yeah, Lexie Berry was a miracle.
Her shades hit him, her head tilting back for them to do so and when she got close, she asked, “Ready?”
As answer, he beeped the locks, opened the door and folded into her sweet ride.
Chapter Two
Be Happy
“Mr. and Mrs. Walker, king-size bed, not by an elevator or any f**kin’ vending machines.”
I pressed my lips together to keep quiet.
We were in Vegas, the slot and video poker machines ringing behind us as we stood at the reception desk and Walker checked us in.
It was very early morning. The sun was shining and it was already so hot out there, I broke into an instant sweat the minute I unfolded out of my Charger and this happened even though we were under an awning so the sun wasn’t directly hitting me. Luckily, we only stood out there for long enough for Walker to grab the huge-ass, black duffle Shift had put in my trunk and warned me not to open or “hell would be paid” and then heft out my roller bag and drop it to its wheels on the pavement. He walked away, leaving my bag where he put it. I yanked up the handle, followed him to the valet rolling my bag behind me, he exchanged keys for ticket, pocketed the ticket and entered, destination: reception desk.
We drove all night. For some reason, since our destination was obviously Vegas, Walker took what turned out to be a circuitous route that added hours onto our travel time. He did not explain his to me, any of it, where we were going or why we took that route. Conversation was non-existent. I listened to my iPod and slept a bit.
Now he was checking us into one room with a king-size bed. And he was doing it under Mr. and Mrs. Walker.
I did not think this was good.
“How many nights will you be staying, sir?” the desk clerk asked.
“Three,” Walker answered.
Oh shit. Three? Three nights?
What were we going to do in Vegas for three nights?
“Excellent,” he picked up a form and put it on the counter. “If you could fill that in and give me a credit card –”
“Cash,” Walker rumbled and the clerk looked from his computer to Walker.
“That’s fine, sir, but we like to have a credit card on file just in case you use the mini-bar, should you like a movie –”
“Cash,” Walker repeated.
The clerk blinked up at him clearly having been lost in a fog of customer service and seeing just about everything in Vegas, he was used to blocking it out. Now, he was fully taking in Walker and processing what he saw, all of what he saw and just how much of it there was.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing then he started, “It’s policy, sir, to –”
I stepped in mainly to move this along because I knew Ty Walker would repeat the word “cash” until we were physically ejected or the clerk gave up and I needed to, first, see what the hell was up with him getting us one room, second, attempt again to figure out what was happening and my part in it, third, take a shower and fourth, sleep in a bed or, better yet, buy a swimsuit and sleep by a pool.