Page 80 of Property of Player

He turns his head and looks over his shoulder, his beer bottle halfway to his mouth. “Maybe if she comes over here and asks real nice.”

“Or maybe I just call my brother,” Cici snaps, folding her arms, throwing out her hip and quirking her brow.

Sleaze bangs the bottle on the bar top and climbs from his stool, heading this way.

He’s just a prospect, but I can’t help but take a step back when he stops in front of me and pulls my phone from his pocket. “Here you go, darlin’.” His eyes cut to Cici. “We good, princess?”

She grins big. “Yep. Was that so hard?”

He rolls his eyes and returns to the bar, muttering under his breath. “Women.”

“Ya big goon,” Cici whispers under her breath, sticking her tongue out at his retreating back.

I’m over it and just want to call Player. Unlocking my phone, I see a text from him.

PLAYER: By now Sleaze should have you safe at the clubhouse. I need you to stay there until I get back. I gave him instructions to put you and Cici on lockdown. It’s for your own protection, babe. Please don’t give the boys any trouble. I love you, and I’ll be home as fast as I can. I’ll be on the road, so I won’t be able to talk, so don’t call unless it’s an emergency.

What the hell is going on? I can’t help wondering if this has something to do with what I overheard Molly talking about.

I wonder which of the prospects she was fucking that day. It wasn’t Billy Jack because he was on the sofa. Hell, maybe she’s been with all of them.

I think about warning Player, but he said to only contact him if it was an emergency. I guess what I overheard can wait until he returns.

By midday, Cici and I wander into the kitchen to see what there is to make. We stand in front of the big industrial fridge. A moment later, Pearl shuffles in from a side door. “What are you two ladies doing in my kitchen?”

“We’re on lockdown, didn’t they tell you, Mama Pearl?” Cici moves to give her a hug.

“Nobody tells me nothin’. Well, you’re hungry, I take it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Whatcha got?” Cici asks.

“I made a big pan of lasagna for the prospects. Let me heat it up.”

She takes a covered baking dish out of the refrigerator and plops it on the big stainless island.

“What can we do to help?” I ask.

“There’s a bag of lettuce in the fridge. You can throw together a salad while I get the garlic bread started.” She preheats the oven, and a ticking noise fills the room.

Cici and I busy ourselves making a big salad, and Pearl keeps us laughing with funny stories from the old days.

“My ol’ man used to always bring me stuff to fry up for dinner. Trout, pigeon, squirrel. All the boys knew I could make a good meal out of just about anything.”

“You are a good cook, but I don’t think I’d ever want to eat a squirrel,” Cici says, sticking her tongue out. “Yuck.”

Pearl shakes a wooden spoon toward Cici. “It’s all in the seasoning, honey-child.”

“You say so,” Cici mutters, and I giggle.

“I remember one time Cooter came in the house with a burlap bag all a twitching in his hands. I lifted a brow and asked him what the hell was in it. He told me, ‘Dinner.’ I said, ‘It’s still movin’. What is it?’ He said, ‘rattlesnake.’”

Cici and I stare at her.

“Tell me you didn’t eat a snake,” Cici says, gagging.

“Hell, no.”

“What did you do?” I ask.