Jax: The shoes make the man.
Axel: And there it fucking is. Why was Smith wearing high heels?
Me: It’s unacceptable for you to ask these types of questions, old man. Times have changed. HR will be all over your ass.
Ryker: It’s, the *clothes* make the man. Is Mercy with you?
Mercy is Ryker’s wife, as of a few months ago, and the best damn sister-in-law in the world. She’s fierce, and she likes to fuck with Ryker. What more could any of us ask for? She’s also kind of a dork. She screws up idioms, and he can’t resist correcting her. It’s part of her charm.
Jax: Right beside me.
Jax: She says hi. And claims that shoes are an essential part of any outfit, so the saying is interchangeable. I’m inclined to agree.
Ryker: She’s doing shots?
This should be interesting. He’s ridiculously protective of Mercy, and he gets really weird about her doing shots.
Jax: Waiting for Tessa.
Tessa?That garners my attention, as does the vision of the naughty vixen filling my screen.
Axel: Smith is a 250-lb man, who looks like a lumberjack and broke his ankle from running in stilettos. In the Underground.
Cash: He said that?
That snappy question is because disclosing anything that occurs in the Underground to Axel or Ryker is against our rules. It’s really our only rule.
But we did indeed have high-heel races, and Smith was killing it. Until he hit the ice. It was all face-planting from there on out.
Ryker: Smith’s story was that he borrowed someone’s shoes and fell. Nothing else.
That brings a smile to my face. Ryker doesn’t always love our antics, but he hates snitches. Smith should have just asked me to pay his medical bills. I said as much when I sent himto our medical team. My guess is, he followed up with his own doctor, and his wife told him not to owe us. She’s uptight. If she understood, maybe she’d let it go. We already own her husband. And her for that matter. They might as well enjoy it.
Me: Sounds like you’d better pay Mr. Smith then. Don’t be such a sourpuss, Papa Axe. You might want to try walking a mile in his shoes.
Axel: Is that what he fucking did? In high heels? Why the hell would he do that?
As the rapid-fire ensues, I can’t contain my laughter.
Jax: Baby needs a new pair of shoes.
Axel: And I’m not a goddamn sourpuss.
Cash: If the shoe fits.
Axel: My office. Twenty minutes. Or I fire you all.
Shoving my phone in the drawer so I can ignore it, I flip my attention back to my little obsession. Tessa has her earbuds in, chatting on the phone while she sketches. She works in the piercing and tattoo boutiques, but she is always drawing. Some of her pictures are pearl-clutchers, and I own a damn sex club.
Since her station is clean and I know she’s meeting Mercy, I’m guessing she just finished up with a client and is taking a personal call. Her silver hair is half pulled up, her ivory complexion is glowing, and her curves are on full display in her dark purple halter top and long black leather skirt. I loveit when she wears purple. She has the face of an angel and the eyes of a demon. They’re turquoise. The color is reminiscent of the Caribbean Sea. But the depths are fucking frightening. And addictive.
I’m already destined for eternal damnation. Let the ethereal demon ravage me there. She’d make hell so fucking hot.
“Who are you talking to, Tess?” I turn on the volume so I can listen to her conversation, and the second her sultry voice fills the room, my heart beats faster.
It doesn’t matter how many women sashay around here. None compare to her.
She’s got a fortress of walls around her, but as previously mentioned, tearing those down is kind of my thing.
