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CHAPTER ELEVEN

PERRY

“Shut up,” the big guy snaps. He’s almost a whole head taller than St. Clare, and judging by the size of his biceps, there’s a very real possibility I’m seeing roid rage in action.

“Ah, where are my manners? I’m Perry. Who are you?”

Rager glares at me, and when he does it, it doesn’t have the same reluctance as St. Clare. No, it looks like he straight up hates me, and really, is that fair when we don’t even know each other? I understand we’re off to a rocky start here, but what happened to second chances?

“Just say the word and I’ll get rid of him,” Rager says.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I protest. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

St. Clare looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Shockingly, I’m with him.” He points my way. “Get rid of him? Lars, come on.”

“He tried to kill you.”

Those blue eyes cut to me. “But you’re not going to again, are you?”

I confirm it like a good little prisoner. “No. I didn’t even want to the first time, but now that we’ve met and spoken, that would be pretty much impossible.”

“You believe that shit?” Ragey Lars snaps, throwing his arm out my way .

The indecision on St. Clare’s face makes it clear he really doesn’t, so I offer up my most innocent smile. The one that always derails Margot’s steam when she’s grumpy with me.

Instead of the explosion of trust I’m expecting, St. Clare’s eyes narrow.

“We’re not some shady underworld thugs,” St. Clare says eventually. “We can’t just get rid of people.”

“So we let him kill you instead?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“I said I have an idea,” I remind them.

They both ignore me.

While St. Clare and Lars bicker between themselves, I shift position, trying to reduce the pain I’m in. My thighs still have that raw burn, and my shoulders are sending an ache up my neck. The least they could do while they debate my fate is help me get a little more comfortable. I wouldn’t be opposed to having my hands cuffed in front of me. Or having my ankles zip-tied to the chair legs. They need to get a little creative, is all.

That cup of ice-cold water is taunting me too, and if this is torture, they’re doing it right.

“Could have led someone here—” Lars is saying.

St. Clare talks over him. “I’m the one who brought him here, and like you said, we weren’t followed. So what’s the issue?”

Lars reaches up to tug on St. Clare’s good earlobe. “Have you really already forgotten?”

“Of course I fucking haven’t.” He bats Lars’s hand away. “All I’m saying is that he’s not a threat.”

“I’m really not,” I back him up.

Again, with the glares. Sheesh, a man can’t even protest his own innocence around here.

“Look, Lars,” I try again. “I know why you don’t trust me, but if you try to get to know me, it’ll change all that. I’m a good friend, if I say so myself. Besides, as much as I love this cute little meeting, I can’t stay long. A few hours, tops. Sir Squeakerton gets mad if I miss bonding time, and I’m meeting my sister and her girlfriend for dinner. It’s my turn to buy.” At least the glares are gone, but they’re both staring at me now. “It might help if I give you my idea and we go from there?”

“We don’t want to hear your idea.”

St. Clare clears his throat. “ I’d like to hear his idea.”

“Hey, there we go! Now, that’s working together.”

Lars tips his head back, pinching his nose, and waves the other hand my way. “Whatever. Go.”

“You’re apparently highly wanted. And I’m now allegedly highly wanted?—”

“ Actually highly wanted.”

“Semantics.” It’s a situation of he said, I said at this point, and who can tell which of us is right? “My point is that the same people are apparently after us both, and what’s better than one? Two.”

“Debatable,” Lars mutters.

“So why don’t I hide out here with you guys until I can get hold of Luther and find out who hired me? I can even be your bodyguard—today was our trial run. We’ll team up to take down the bad guys!”

“You are the bad guy,” Lars points out.

I let out a long sigh. “Not you too.”

“Me too, what?”

“Hung up on the whole …” I drop my voice out of respect for St. Clare’s ear. “Attempted murder thing.”

His eyes go round.

“I’ve already apologized though. What more does a guy have to do?”

“This isn’t really the kind of situation where a quick sorry will clear things up.”

I try to work through that one myself, but I’m not getting anywhere fast. “Why not?”

“Are you seriously asking why an apology doesn’t clear up you mangling his fucking ear?”

“I can’t win with you people. First, I don’t kill him. Then I patch him up, say I’m sorry, make him some awesome coffees?—”

Lars turns to St. Clare. “Is this guy serious? ”

“I’m afraid he is.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” I assure him. “Does it help to know that my apology was sincere?”

Lars crosses those Christmas ham arms and leans against the desk next to St. Clare. They both stare down at me, and it’s like one of those dreams where you’re naked and the bullies loom over you and laugh, pointing at your thing . “Would you both be more comfortable seated?” I suggest.

“I’m good where I am,” Lars says.

“Are you really good, or are you only good because I’m the one who suggested sitting, and now you want to be stubborn and disagree? Because I promise I won’t think less of you.”

They exchange a look again.

“Listen, I have no clue what those looks mean, so you’re going to have to use words around me.”

“They mean we think you have issues.”

“They mean we don’t know what the hell to think of you,” St. Clare corrects.

I’d throw my hands up if they weren’t cuffed behind my back. “See, even you two don’t know what they mean. That’s going to lead to some serious miscommunication issues.”

“He was trying to be nice,” Lars tells me, leveling a look St. Clare’s way. “Because apparently, my best friend has issues as well.”

“Best friend?” I look between them. “Sorry, I thought you were …”

“Thought we were what?”

“Well, I sort of got the impression St. Clare’s … and then you’re all protective of him …”

St. Clare’s jaw drops. “You thought we were together?”

“Little bit.”

“Lars is straight.” Then he runs those striking blue eyes over me. “And I’m single.”

Well. Okay. That’s now information that I know. And definitely don’t need. “Right. Very good. Thank you.”

He quirks an eyebrow my way, and I almost swallow my tongue. They’re both still standing over me, and I’m not hating it as much anymore.

“Uh, should we circle back to my plan?”

“Your plan.”

“To join forces.”

Lars snorts. “Why does it sound like you’re calling yourself a superhero?”

“Well, I did ?—”

“No.” St. Clare’s grinning. “We’re not going over all that again. Stay focused. You want us to trust you to team up and figure out who’s after us, but how the hell do we take you at your word that you won’t kill us in our sleep?”

“I’m a trustworthy guy.”

“You just told me your mouth lies.”

“Only when it comes to compliments!”

Lars squints one eye up as he rubs at his short beard. “So you think the same people are after you both?”

“Yep. I maybe sorta claimed that St. Clare was dead and took the payday, and since someone broke our pact, they’ve obviously discovered that he’s very much alive and I’m very much a liar.”

“And there you bring us back to the not-trusting-you thing,” St. Clare says.

Okay so I can maybe see why he doesn’t believe me.

“It sounds to me,” Lars cuts in before I can exclaim my innocence again, “that you owe them a fuckload of money, so you’re probably the most wanted guy in the room right now.”

“Allegedly.”

“ Actually .” St. Clare’s whole expression is teasing.

Lars shrugs. “In that case, if you want to help me protect St. Clare, I’m sold …”

“Really?”

“ Really ?” St. Clare sounds even more surprised than I am.

Lars laughs at us both. “Really, really.”

I perk up because if Lars is on board, then St. Clare must be as well. Surprisingly, he’s watching Lars, and I’m sure they’re doing that silent communication thing again, but considering how off base they were last time, I’m not sure why they bother.

“Does that mean you’ll let me out of these handcuffs, then?”

“Nope.”

I slump. “How am I supposed to be his bodyguard if I can’t even use my hands?”

“First, he has a bodyguard.” Lars points to himself.

“You? I thought you were his best friend.”

“Best friend and bodyguard.”

“But not boyfriend?” I reclarify.

He pins me with a stare. “You’re making me regret my decision.”

“Sorry. Continue.”

“ Second , you’re way more dangerous with your hands free.”

I puff my chest out a little. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“Unintentionally.”

Urg. Way to build me up only to break me down again. “How am I supposed to prove to you both that I’m trustworthy when you have me strapped to a chair? And, more importantly, how am I supposed to trust either of you when you’ve put me in a compromising position? I can’t work under these conditions.”

“You don’t happen to have a gag on you, do you?” Lars asks St. Clare.

“Sorry, fresh out.”

“And now you want to gag me.” Again, I’d throw up my arms, exasperated with them both, if they weren’t out of action. “I’ve gotta say this team isn’t off to a good start. It’s really starting to feel like the two of you against me.”

“Starting to?” Lars is at least dropping the growly, angry man act, and even when he’s fighting back amusement, he’s like a giant teddy bear.

St. Clare rests his hands back on the desk and leans into them. “I’m a fan of a man in a compromising position, myself.”

“Does that mean I’m your favorite?” The thought brings a smile to my face. “You and me against old Lars-y boy. ”

Lars runs a hand over his face. “Maybe I’ll pick up a gag when I’m out next.”

“I’m beginning to get the feeling you still don’t like me.”

“You think?”

“Come on … I thought I was winning you over.”

“When it happens, I’ll let you know.”

“Ah-ha. You said when.”

Lars catches his sigh. “Think I can talk to you outside for a second?”

“Sure, but you’ll have to undo these cuffs first.”

“Not you.” He jabs a thumb at St. Clare. “ Him .”

“There’s that divide again,” I mutter. “Do what you need to, but hurry back, okay?”

Lars doesn’t even bother to answer me as he stands and heads for the door. St. Clare takes a little bit longer, attention still on me. “I don’t know what to make of you.”

“I have that thought about myself at least three times a day.” I shift again, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I think my butt is numb.”

“I’ll sort out your butt once I’m back.”

The words are heavy with innuendo that make my ears perk up. St. Clare was flirting with me. I’m sure he was. I’ve thought it before when I was just Perry, and that sort of made sense since I’m not terrible to look at and I’m pretty sure he’s gay, but now that he knows who I really am and has had to evade death twice, thanks to me, I would have thought that would dull the shine. Dim the attraction. Wrangle the peen. Whatever. The point is that who the fuck is self-destructive enough to flirt with a guy who could kill them?

As he walks out, my eyes stay pinned to his broad back, and then, very slowly, they dip toward his ass.

I mean … I don’t hate it?

Fuck.

What I should be asking is who the fuck is self-destructive enough to flirt with the guy he was supposed to kill?

Me, apparently.

Maybe I really do need that gag.