Page 28 of Sticky Fingers

Chapter Nine

Malcolm

Leavingher and going to my own place was way fucking harder than I had anticipated. And I’m not just talking about the fucking permanent hard-on in my pants.

She’s a breath of fresh air. Frustrating but refreshing.

And dinner went well—except for the whole strip club conversation, that is. She wasn’t too keen on that fucking part.

Truth be told, that’s a blip on my radar compared to all the fucking past issues I’ve had with arm candy.

I never gave a fuck about any of that before, but with Sonia… Well, I still don’t give a fuck, but it was a bit disconcerting to see her reaction.

As I take the elevator to my floor, I can’t help but sigh loudly. It wasn’t easy, you know? I was hard the whole fucking night. It’s hard to keep focused when all your blood is fucking concentrated between your legs.

Not that I’m complaining.

I love it and hate it at the same time. I’m just not used to not getting down to business. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve experienced blue balls.

I mean, let’s be real—I don’t think I’ve even experienced blue balls before. I’m used to having chicks drop their panties just by snapping my fingers.

I’ve never had to chase a woman before. Usually, I’m the guy beating them off with a fucking stick.

When you have money and power, women fawn all over you. Of course, I’m not the kind of guy who lets shit like that go to his head. It’s easy to get fucking laid.

Getting rid of them is the hard part.

Unlocking my door, I take a few steps in before Drake steps into view.

I know what you’re thinking—why the fuck does Malcolm have a dude inside his apartment? Chill out, there’s nothing weird going on. You’ll see what this is about in a minute.

“Welcome home, sir,” he greets me.

Hanging my coat up quickly, I follow his ramrod-straight back into my living area where two other guys—Brian and Jim—are set up.

Their own laptops are placed next to my computer, which I left out for them to transfer data to.

“Thanks for doing this on such a tight schedule. How did it go?”

Drake’s Secret Service experience shows as he spreads his legs and links his hands behind his back. Still, judging by the way he’s glancing at me, I can tell that that he’s uncomfortable with…something.

“Everything went…extremely well,” he starts, swiveling his chair around to look straight at me. “We got in easily and spent an hour rummaging through her stuff.”

“Found anything interesting?”

“Well…definitely.”

Fucking-A. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

Sonia might act like a fucking smartass, but she’s up against me. And I don’t fuck around.

Did you think I asked her out just because I wanted to go on a date? Fuck, no. Sure, I wanted to be with her…but, at the same time, I wanted her apartment empty.

Now let’s see what these guys found.

Supposedly, they’re the best at what they do. They’re discrete, and their background is flawless. They’re the kind of guys who could fucking hack ISIS blindfolded and steal all the goat-fucking porn stashed away in their computers without anyone noticing.

I was referred to them years ago by an extremely wealthy bank manager who passed their name along to clients when necessary. They still get the occasional marriage and divorce customers and all that shit, but their specialty is the fact that they can keep their mouths shut.