Okay, so the guy was a douche—no surprise there. But I nodded meekly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Sir.”
“What?”
“You call me sir, or Mr. Greyson. But youwilladdressme properly.”
I wanted to call him an asshole, and suggest that maybe he calls me Nicky instead of “girl.” Instead, I bit my tongue and said, “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, so you can follow directions. Amazing.” His tone was bone dry.
“I’ve done what I’ve been told since I got here.”
“You shouldn’t even be here. Maverick must have lost his mind.”
“I’m sure he did what he thought was best.Sir.” I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help but add, “Besides, he’s your second-in-command, so wouldn’t his state of mind reflect on you?”
Before I could blink, the man backhanded me so fast that I dropped my bucket and stumbled back. Holy shit, that hurt. I placed a hand on my tender cheek and, this time, didn’t hide the glare aimed in his direction. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to look up at him.
“If you want to continue working as some pretty little maid, you will learn your fucking place. Or I can find a job much better suited for a woman like you.” His other hand roamed my body, and I couldn’t suppress my shudder. He smiled, then abruptly let go before leaving the room.
My cheek wasn’t the only thing burning as rage blazed through my body.
Not having much of a choice, I went back to cleaning the rooms but kept my earbuds out in case he decided to show up again. I cursed my temper. As Katie, that fire was something I had grown skilled at restraining. As Nicky, I was clearly growing comfortable with letting it loose. I should have known better than to goad him. His file literally dripped evil. The man was a murderer—he bought and sold people like trinkets, and he had fought his way to the top of this club.
And my dumb ass had to go and sass off.
Mac and Dalton weren’t good men, butthey weren’t anything like that from what little I’d seen so far. How in the hell had those two ended up working for a man like Silas Greyson? Stupid club loyalty bullshit, probably. I stopped scrubbing the bathroom floor and rocked back on my heels, taking a deep breath and reminding myself why I was doing this.
I was just heading to the next room when a hand landed on my shoulder from behind, and I swung my bucket like a weapon as I spun around. Dalton jumped back with a startled, “Whoa!” and I dropped the bucket to the ground with an, “Oh shit!”
He put his hands up and said, “Jesus, Vixen, remind me never to come up behind you ever again.” Then his eyes landed on my soon-to-be bruised cheek, and his eyes darkened to a shade of blue not unlike his brother’s. “Who the fuck hit you?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing you can do.” I went to grab my bucket off the ground, and he frowned at me.
“Like hell. Who fucking hit you?”
I refused to look at him, pretending to be intently focused on getting everything back into my bucket. Dalton made an angry sound in the back of his throat, and kicked it down the hall, all my cleaning stuff rolling off in different directions. He hauled me up and said, “Vixen, don’t make me ask you again. I want a name.”
I laughed—part nerves and part anger—and he blinked in surprise. “There is nothing you can fucking do.” I enunciated each word carefully. “It was your boss. What are you going to do, Dalton, huh? What can you possibly fucking do to Silas Greyson?”
His frown deepened, and then he swore under his breath. We both knew that I was right, and he wasn’t too happy about it. I went after my things, gathering everything up before turning back to him. He just stood there, watching me.
I shook my head at him. “And what does it matter?Why do you even care about what happens to me? We don’t know each other. I’m just here to do a job and pay off that stupid Harley. You don’t give a damn about me, and I don’t give a damn about you.”
I marched into the nearest room, and slammed the door behind me.
I slid down the door and buried my head in my hands. I was shaking. I really hoped each day wasn’t going to be like this. What was I going to do? And why did telling Dalton that I didn’t care about him feel like such a lie? When did his easy smile and quick laugh become something that mattered to me at all? I knew I shouldn’t care—that distance was key. It had to be. Seriously, it’d only been three days. I needed to grow up. I had a job to do, and it wasn’t being a maid.
Silently, I went through their names in my head. Mia Huntington. Anastasia Little. Gabriella Santiago. Kelly MacIntyre. Ruby Johnson. I said their names over and over until I heard his footsteps disappearing down the hall.
My phone buzzed, and I read the text from Mac: “Lunch was a bust… let’s try not to forget dinner by five.” Evidently, I was expected to make every meal of the day, no matter how busy I’d been cleaning. Which, to be fair, was the job description of your typical maid, but give a girl a break!
After putting my bucket back under the sink, I grabbed the whiskey off the shelf, and a lowball glass. I downed my first glass and poured another. I’d frozen all the meat out of habit, and with nothing pulled out ahead of time, the only thing that could thaw quickly enough was some kielbasa. I pulled out a few and tossed them in some warm water. I glanced at the clock on the wall as I gathered together pasta, cream, cheese, some sundried tomatoes, and a few other odds and ends. I had about thirty minutes to throw something together for the whole crew.
I found a pot big enough to cook a wholechicken in, with room to spare, and started tossing in ingredients. I put some garlic bread in the oven and made a tossed salad, and by the time five o’clock rolls around, I had a delicious meal all laid out.
One of the guys, Rodney, came in rubbing his hands together. “Oooo baby, what we got today?”
