Pete locks eyes with Connor.
Connor presses him against the car. “Are you suicidal?”
“No,” Pete says, “We understand each other.” Connor lets him go, and Pete turns to me.
“You can forget this Saturday,” he says.
“What was this Saturday?” Connor asks.
“Pete and I had a date.”
Connor looks from me to Pete. I don’t know what he sees, but he says, “Aw, you guys shouldn’t cancel on my account. She’ll bring the baby to Dina, and you guys can go out. It’ll give you a second chance with me too. This way, I won’t hold a grudge for the rest of your life. Which, at the rate you’re pissing me off, will be rather short. Longer if you drop her off at my house after the date.” Connor grabs Pete by his throat. “My men at the gate will let you in if you tell them the code, and the code will be:Daddy’s got a gun.Repeat the code back to me.”
Pete’s blue in the face.
I tug Connor’s arm, and he lets him go. Pete coughs, struggling to breathe.
“Repeat the code!” Connor shouts.
“Daddy’s got a gun,” I scream. “Answer him!”
“Daddy’s got a gun,” Pete grinds out.
Connor releases him and pats his shoulder. “There. See how easy that was?”
Chapter 8
Renne
Silence in the car speaks for itself. I stare out the window as I wrap my head around Connor’s personality, while he drives through the city’s exciting nighttime scene.
I grew up in a small town with a single bar and no nightclubs. We drove out to the city on the sea to party, mainly on yachts, because once you’re on private property on the ocean, nobody monitors what’s going on. People danced till the early hours of the morning. Sometimes parties went on for days.
I loved the night scene. If I grew up in this city, I’d have had a ball. I’d never have been on that yacht either. Now in my thirties, this scene where I’d have to wear tall boots and barely-there skirts and skimpy shirts on cold nights like tonight isn’t for me anymore.
Maybe I grew up. Maybe Hanna aged me. I smile when I think about her cute face. I swear I could be having the worst day of my life, and the moment I see her, all is right in the world.
The smoke from Connor’s cigar tickles my throat and makes me cough.
He puts it out and opens both our windows. “Thanks,” I say.
“Welcome. I really wish your boyfriend did what I asked of him.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“You let him touch you between the legs.”
“Yeah, and?”
Connor purses his lips. “If he’s not your boyfriend, why did you let him touch you there?”
“Because it felt good.”
Connor glances at me. “You want to feel good?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “I don’t need a boyfriend. I just wanted some touching. It feels good. If you’re looking for reflective, thought-provoking answers, I don’t have any. I’m pretty simple that way.”
Connor drums the steering wheel with his thumb ring. “Would you let me touch you there?”
