Page 16 of Need (Men of Inked Sinners #3)

OLIVER

“How does this all work?” I ask from the passenger seat of Lulu’s new ride.

“They contact me on my website or social media to schedule an initial visit where I give them an estimate for the job.”

I stare at Lulu’s profile. “They’re strangers?”

She glances at me for a second with her eyebrows furrowed. “Well, yeah.”

“You don’t know them at all?”

“That’s what stranger means,” she says as her eyes scan the highway ahead of us.

She called me this morning, asking if I wanted to take a drive up north with her to meet with a new client.

I didn’t have a damn thing planned and figured I’d rather spend the day in the car with her than sitting at home by myself.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll have my freedom, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it, especially when it comes to Lulu.

“I thought your business was word of mouth. Like people who know people you know.”

She shakes her head. “No. That would be really limiting.”

“But also much safer,” I say to her, trying to keep the bite out of my voice.

“You worry too much.”

“You worry too little.” I scrub a hand down my face, wondering how she thought any of this was a good idea. “There are bad people out there, Lulu. Mark is proof of that.”

“Not everyone is a Mark, Oliver.”

“How do you know if they’re a bad person or not before you take the appointment?”

“I don’t, but I have faith in humanity.”

I shake my head slowly, hating that she doesn’t realize how fucking dangerous this all is. “Lulu.”

“Oliver,” she replies as her car tells her to turn in half a mile.

“There could be a serial killer waiting for you at this house.”

“If the serial killer is named Kara who needs her pantry reorganized, then it’s entirely possible.”

“This isn’t a joke,” I tell her.

“I know. I’m not joking. I know how to protect myself, Oliver. ”

“So, if I’m on the other side of the door, you can protect yourself against me how exactly?”

“My dad taught me how to fight.”

“I’m bigger and stronger than you are.”

I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. The girl is a buck fifty soaking wet, and I have easily a hundred pounds on her. She’s tall for a girl, but that doesn’t mean she has the muscle mass to overtake someone with my height and strength.

“I carry.”

“Carry what?” I dip my gaze to her bag that looks like it’s her mobile office, with a laptop, folders, and more shit than I could ever imagine carrying around.

“You know.”

“You have a gun in there?” I point to the black bag that’s neatly organized, but so overfull that there’s no way she can easily access a weapon in a moment of terror.

“Yes.”

I raise an eyebrow as I look over at her. Never in a million years would I have thought she had a gun on her. “Where is it?”

“In there.”

I grunt. “No shit. I mean, where in there?”

“Under the laptop.”

I drop my head and press my fingertips into my forehead in a slow rhythm, trying to stave off the headache that’s right behind my skull.

“You need to carry it on you or have it in a pocket that’s easy for you to get to, Lou.

There’s no way you’ll have time to move your laptop out of the way before the person strikes. ”

“I’ll move it to a front pocket. Would that make you happy?”

“It’s not about my happiness. It’s about your safety.”

She’s barely listening to me because she’s paying more attention to the navigation system than to me. This conversation isn’t going the way I wanted or wished, and my words are totally falling on deaf ears.

“We’re here,” she says as she pulls into the driveway of a house so big, I can’t even imagine the bill to heat the place in an extra-cold winter like this. “Do you think a murderer is in there?”

“Have you watched any true crime documentaries?”

“No,” she says as she shuts off the engine. “I prefer rom-coms.”

“Shocker,” I mutter. “We’re going to watch a few documentaries together.”

She faces me, her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I turn my entire body toward her, resting my back against the door. “So, you understand the reality of what’s out there.”

“I grew up in a Southside bar. I know all the realities. I’ve heard the stories. I’ve seen more things than I have time to explain right now, but I know. I’m not stupid, Oliver. ”

Well, this isn’t going the way I want. “Okay,” I tell her, backing off for now. I don’t want to ruin the entire day, and I don’t want to send her inside to meet with a new client in a shit mood. I’d hate to be the cause of her not getting a job.

“Okay?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. “We’re done with this conversation?”

“Yes,” I reply, but I leave out the little part about how we’re not done forever, just for the moment.

“Good.” She grabs her bag, hauling it into her lap. “I’ll be as quick as possible, and then we can get something to eat.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Take your time. I’ve got some shit I can do.” What that shit is…I have no idea. I’ll scroll on my phone or take a nap, catching up on some much-needed sleep after a long night last night.

Lulu leans over, and I meet her in the middle to give her a kiss. “I’ll be careful,” she says against my lips.

“I’m here if you need me,” I say back, staring into her beautiful eyes.

When she pulls away and reaches for the door handle, she says, “I’ll send up the bat signal if I’m in trouble.” And then she’s gone.

All I can do is shake my head. The girl is trouble, and her attitude is unmatched.

I can’t be the first person in her life who’s talked to her about the dangers of going to a stranger’s house.

Can I? I’ve met her father twice now, and he seems involved and just as opinionated as she is.

I’ve got to believe he’s had a talk with her and is maybe the reason why she carries a gun, but he’d be horrified to know it’s not easily accessible since she just throws it into her bag like it’s a little umbrella.

I keep my eyes trained on Lulu as she saunters up the path to the front door, fixing her outfit as she walks. Damn. She’s everything I always wanted in a woman but never thought I’d get. She is too good for me, but that doesn’t mean I am about to quit her and whatever this is we have going on.

When the door opens, my heart slows just a little. An older woman with gray hair is standing there, and she smiles down at my Lulu with such sincerity, I can only assume she doesn’t look like the serial-killer type. I slouch down in the seat, waiting for Lulu to step inside before I close my eyes.

The door to her SUV opens, and she says, “Glad to know you were ready to rescue me.”

I bolt upright, my heart pounding erratically in my chest. Fuck. I was tired. My body isn’t used to late-night shifts anymore, and my age doesn’t help shit. “I knew you had it under control.”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles as she slides into the seat next to me. “I survived.”

“This time,” I whisper as I shake the sleep from my head.

“A majority of my clients are women. ”

“And?” I ask, but I already know where she’s going with this conversation.

“Women aren’t typically murderers. It’s men.”

“How do you know it’s going to be a woman on the other side of that door?”

“I check out their social media once they contact me, and if it’s via email, I do a little research on them too. I’m very careful.”

I have two choices. I could spend the day arguing with her about the holes in her client-intake process, or I could let it drop—at least for now—and have an enjoyable day with my girl.

“I know you are.”

“Can we go to lunch and talk about something else?” she asks, pushing the start button to fire up the rumbly engine I love so much in an SUV like this.

“I’m down with that.”

“Good. I know of a great place near here that I’ve been dying to try.”

I don’t utter the joke that clings to the tip of my tongue about how very close she actually could’ve been to dying by meeting a stranger at her house. Don’t be a dick, Oliver. Cut the woman some slack.

“I’m game for whatever you are.”

“Excellent,” she says. “Are you a picky eater?”

I point to myself, motioning up and down my body with my fingers. “Do I look like I’m a picky eater? ”

She lets out a small snort, which I find oddly adorable. “Nope.”

“It’s a noodle bar.”

“A noodle bar?” I’ve never heard of such a thing. I know what a bar is, but never in my life did I think someone would or could open a noodle bar. “Do they have all types of noodles?”

“All types. It’s mainly pho and ramen, but the videos I’ve seen make my mouth water.”

“Am I going to be hungry later?” It’s the only thing I hate about soups. I’m always starving within an hour or two. The liquid goes right through me. I prefer a steak and potatoes because they fill up my gut for hours and give me fuel for the entire day.

“They have other things too, Oli. I promise you won’t be starving before we have a chance to make it back to the city.”

“Well then, let’s go to a noodle bar,” I tell her, strapping my seat belt in tight because the girl isn’t the best driver in the world.

I hate everyone’s driving except my own, but hers is especially erratic at times. It’s no wonder I met her on the side of the road with a blown tire. It’s like she’s scoring points for every pothole she hits because she doesn’t swerve around a single one on this trip.

In less than ten minutes, we’re standing inside one of the prettiest restaurants I’d ever been to in my entire life. I’m not underdressed per se, but I don’t feel like my outfit of jeans and a T-shirt fits the vibe of this joint.

“Two?” a small woman asks as she grabs a few menus from a side counter.

“Yes, please,” Lulu says with a bright smile. The woman radiates kindness.

“Follow me,” the hostess says as she moves through the restaurant as if she’s gliding.

My eyes don’t know where to go first. The food on everyone’s tables is both pretty and smells so good my mouth instantly waters.

The portions look large enough to fill me up, and they seem to have every variety of soup on the menu.