Another halting of his sharkish maneuvers. “Do you honestly think I don’t know how to work around that?” He went on the move again and paused behind him this time. “Do you think my friends won’t do the job I’m barred from doing?”
“Diesel—”
“The thing is,Kaia, Rebel’s been hurt enough, andIcan’t have her. I don’t want her,” he amended quickly. “But you aren’t worthy of her either.”
“That isn’t for you to say.”
“I beg to differ. It’s for me, CJ, Uncle Christopher, and the rest of the boys. We have to protect her virtue.”
“You’re going about it the wrong way. This is going to blow-up in your face in the worst possible way.”
“And you’re so concerned about her?”
“I am. Believe me. Don’t believe me. I don’t care. I like her.”
“But do you want to fuck her?”
“Do you?” Kaia snapped.
Diesel narrowed his eyes, but didn’t answer. It was now 8:15, meaning Kaia was late for work. He wasn’t sure if Mrs. Caldwell would dock his pay or not. Or fire him. He’d been let go for less.
But Diesel stood between Kaia and the door.
“Rebel has a lot of growing up to do,” Diesel said flatly, circumventing the question. “It’s going to be hard for her when I move Jana here.”
Given what Rebel said about Diesel, Kaia understood.
“She will need afriend, emo boy. It’s logical to think she’ll turn to you.” He jabbed a finger against Kaia’s chest. “Keep your dick to yourself. You need pussy? I’ll find it for you.”
“I won’t trust you ever again in that respect.”
“You should. I’m stuck with you because I don’t have a choice. The same goes for you with me.”
An hour later as Kaia finished sweeping the foyer, Diesel’s words still rang in his head.
“Come with me,” Bishop ordered, standing in the archway entrance to the East Hallway. “Now.”
Cursing under his breath, Kaia laid the broom and dustpan against the console table and stalked behind Bishop, who led him into the kitchen.
Bishop turned to him, placed his hands on his hips, and lifted a brow. His white chef’s hat matched the white apron he wore over his clothes.
“Well?”
“Well what, dude?” Kaia asked in confusion.
“The mess in the kitchen, Kaia.”
He squinted, wondering why Bishop sounded so outraged. “I wash dishes twice a week.”
“You wash dishes every day, asshole. Sometimes several times a day.” Stepping out of the way, Bishop pointed. “There’s the dishwasher. Scrape whatever has food on it, fill it up, and turn it on.”
“That isn’t how I do it, and Mrs. Caldwell told me to keep to my schedule.”
“Did Meggie ask you what the fuck that schedule was?”
“No,” Kaia admitted. “But she trusts I know how to keep a house. She said to do whatever I did at my house.”
“That explains all the goddamn sweeping,” Bishop growled. “Clean this fucking kitchen so I can start prepping for the evening meal, Kaia.”
