Beneath These Chains (Page 15)

I unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm, and Elle followed me inside. It was a routine we’d established over the last week; I’d gotten used to seeing her in the front seat of my ’Cuda. And now that I’d had a taste of her spicy sweetness, I should’ve been thinking about how I was going to convince her to take a chance with me and how I was going to make sure I had Con and Vanessa’s blessing.

But everything was now overshadowed by the ugliness of death. I didn’t like where my thoughts were going, so I revved the engine and peeled out. Elle scrambled for her seatbelt, but I kept my eyes on the road. She wasn’t going to like what I had to say, but I would do whatever was necessary to protect her.

I bided my time, the entire ride passing in silence before I parked in front of Dirty Dog. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and she tentatively reached for the door handle.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you—”

“You’re fired, Elle.”

She swiveled around to face me. “What? Are you serious?”

I cut my eyes to her. “Yes. You’re done. Don’t come back. It was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s an even worse idea now.”

She crossed her arms, and lifted her chin. “Because of the date or Rix or Bree?”

I squeezed the steering wheel with my left hand until my knuckles turned white.

“Take a guess.”

“And if I keep showing up?”

I released my grip and turned toward her. “What is your goddamn obsession with working there?”

Her lips flattened and a deep V formed between her brows.

“I’ve got my reasons.”

“Then how about you share them with me so I understand what they are?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“There’s a whole lot of shit I don’t understand, but if you don’t tell me, I can’t even try.”

Elle shoved open the door to the ’Cuda, grabbed her purse from the floor, and climbed out. Instead of a response, I got a slammed door.

“Oh hell no,” I said to my empty car. “She is not walking away like that. No goddamn way.”

Within seconds, I was following her through a door on the side of the building housing Dirty Dog.

When I got inside the small lobby space, she was unlocking a metal gate that led to a set of stairs.

“Wouldn’t have expected someone as determined as you are to run.”

She threw a pissed-off-woman look over her shoulder. “I’m not running. I’m regrouping before I give in to the urge to scratch your pretty car.”

I lifted my hands in a gesture of surrender. “No need to threaten the car, Elle. That’s uncalled for.”

She yanked the gate open and slipped behind it, fully intending to slam it shut before I could get to her. Elle kept underestimating me, and that was totally fine.

I grabbed the wrought iron and tugged it from her grip.

“What are you doing? You got me here, so just go,” she ordered.

“Not until you tell me why you’re so dead set on working in my pawnshop.”

Elle ignored me and stalked up the stairs.

I kept following.

Finally, over her shoulder, she tossed, “None of your damn business.”

“It’s my pawnshop, so it sure as hell is my business. And you’re not setting foot in it again unless you give me a good reason.”

She reached the door to what I assumed was her apartment and jammed her key in the lock. She wasn’t even attempting to keep me out anymore. Probably because she was too busy cursing me out under her breath.

“And people say I’m stubborn? He’s ridiculous. I’m fired, and then he’s after me for a reason why I shouldn’t be? Seriously? Arrogant asshat,” she muttered.

I trailed her into her apartment, shocked to realize I was smiling. What was it about this woman and her ability to make me smile in almost any situation?

Elle’s apartment was not what I expected. There was nothing pink or frilly or girly in sight. It was bare. No pictures. No knickknacks. None of the stuff I would’ve expected from her.

“Did you just move in?”

Elle whipped around to look at me. “Until you unfire me, I think you’re going to find that my answers to your questions will be given solely in four letter words.”

The sass from this woman hit all my buttons exactly the right way. “Come on, Elle.”

Her hands landed on her hips, and the pose did nothing but push her tits out. “Am I still fired?”

“Yes—until you give me a reason that would make me think keeping you around would be worth the risk to you.”

She spun and headed for the kitchen. The apartment, while bare, wasn’t small. Just the portion I could see had to be over a thousand square feet. Mostly open, clearly renovated in the last decade if the polished, wide-planked wood floors, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances were any indication. I thought of my small house about a half-mile away from Chains. It was new, post-Katrina, and sat up high, with a white, covered front porch, blue siding, and clean white trim. It was the first place I’d lived that had ever been my own. It was nothing compared to the thick molding and modern furniture in this place. But at least my house looked like it had some life to it.

Elle returned with two bottles of water. For some reason, I’d expected booze, but she’d surprised me once again. Her expression gave nothing away. She held out the bottle, and I took it. It was fancy—a glass cylinder that probably cost more than a pack of smokes or a lot of the liquor I’d drunk in my day.