Nathan leaned close and slid the letter from her hand. His eyes flickered over the words as his free hand gripped hers.
Jay wasn’t sure which felt worse, his jealousy or his exclusion from their history together. He knew their shared torment was what connected the two of them in the most intimate of ways. He stuffed that to the back of his mind and focused on the letter.
She was right. Roy wouldn’t offer her a job. He’d blackmail her. “Nathan, how well did you know the high-ranking officers? Who has nieces this age?” He flicked a finger at the letter.
“I don’t know.” Nathan rubbed his brow, his tone low and deadly. “We didn’t discuss our personal lives.”
Then why would Roy mention anything about an employee’s family if Charlee and Nathan didn’t know them? “What about the undercover guy? Do you know—”
“Fuck.” Nathan pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiped the screen, and held it to his ear. “Mr. Munt…Yes. Sorry to call so late. I need to know if your contact has a nineteen-year-old niece…That’s right. If he does, he’s been compromised…I’d rather discuss it over a more secure line…Understood.” He returned the phone to his pocket and met Jay’s eyes. “He doesn’t know the spotter’s identity. He hired him through a private company. Personal details best kept personal for obvious reasons. He’ll find out and call me back.”
Jay reread the letter in Nathan’s outstretched hand. “What about the expenses incurred by The Burn? What is he threatening with this?”
“He’s saying that if I return to him willingly for three years, he’ll forgive you by leaving your band alone.”
The buzz of Nathan’s phone cracked the tension, and everyone seemed to hold their breath as Nathan answered it.
“Mr. Munt.” Silence. “Keep me updated.” He lowered the phone, lips taut, jaw squared. “The spotter isn’t answering his phone, but this isn’t unusual given his position at the penthouse. Munt put a call into the private company that employs him to get a warning to his family. He’ll call back.”
She frowned. “See what Crane and the rest of your guys can make of the letter.” Laying her head back, she touched Jay’s knee, lingered there for a moment, and returned her hand to her lap.
Was she testing his trigger? Touching him for comfort? Did it matter? Her caress left behind a tingle that swept through his bloodstream and invigorated him with purpose. He had a lot of self-improvement to do.
65
The SUV passed through the gate of the band’s estate and parked in the garage. Jay glued himself to Charlee’s side and stumbled when she veered in the opposite direction of the interior door.
He wanted to reach out and grab her, but opted for patience. “Where are you going?”
As the guards moved inside, the click of her heels followed her to the back wall where the utility boxes and carpentry tools lined shelves and cabinets. She rooted through the drawers until she found a palm sander.
“Charlee, talk to me.”
She handed him the sander and a sheet of sandpaper and moved to the workbench.
He turned it in his hands, unease trickling through him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“You’ll see.” She opened a metal box. “Oh! This is perfect.”
A bundle of rubber-insulated wire flew toward him.
He caught it, surprised by the heavy weight. “Electrical cable?” Did she plan to hook his dick to a generator and fry it off?
She scanned the garage, chewing on a nail, lifting up and down on the balls of her feet. Given the horrible events of the night, she seemed a little too excited about whatever was going through that gorgeous head of hers.
Realization sucked the blood from his face. She wasn’t looking for tools to torture him with. They were for her. A sickening amount of panic gripped his gut. “You want me to hurt you.” His certainty was thick and strangled.
She yanked something from a bin of gardening tools, turned toward him, and held out a bamboo plant pole. “Yes.”
They stared at one another with that menacing pole raised between them. She didn’t tell him he owed her this. It flared from her stony unblinking eyes.
His heart pummeled against his ribs. She didn’t want to scream at him or kick his ass. She didn’t want to walk out and never see him again. She wanted him to man the fuck up and be her Dom.
Big breath. Another. He nodded. A jerky movement. “Okay.”
She lowered the pole. “Okay?”
“I’ll give you whatever you need.” He held out the sander and cable. “But electric shock, Charlee? I’ll fucking kill you.”
She let out a soft huff and shook her head slowly, lips twitching. “Percussion play. Electric shock won’t be necessary.”
“Percussion?” The image of her strapped over Rio’s drum kit inappropriately tumbled into his head.
She breezed past him in the direction of the interior door, twirling the garden pole like a baton. “Impact. Flogs. Whips. Percussion.”
Jesus. “Charlee. Wait. Just…stop a second and talk to me.”