Page 22 of Tracking Luxe

“Huh. A normal name for a criminal,” she handed over his wallet, he reattached it and sat back down, this time their thighs were crushed together, he didn’t give her room to breathe, let alone move. She gulped the rest of her drink and caught the eye of the table waitress for another. “I expected Dr. Evil or Loki.”

“Loki does good things as well.” When he smirked she imagined women nearby had exploded ovaries.

Hers were feeling a little warm.

She wanted to punch him.

But she was trying to cut back on violent outbursts.

Chewing on her upper lip she accepted her fresh drink, and let him pay. He’d kidnapped her, he could pay for everything for the rest of ever.

She watched him take one measured sip of his beer. His throat moved in a sensual slide of reflexive muscle, surely meant to hypnotize the opposite sex, the corded sinew and veins, she was hypnotized and had to wrench her gaze from him.

In fact, she needed a moment to compose herself. “I need the bathroom,” without looking at him, she was out of the booth from the other side and clipping her boots on a path across the bar, only when she was standing in front of the wall mirror looking at her own reflection standing at the row of sinks did she let out a ragged exhale.

What was she even doing? Letting a man like him affect her.

Her chin dropped, women in the stalls behind her talking like they were in someone’s living room gossiping overcafédiscussing one of their hook ups last night. Luxe felt sorry for the unlucky sonuvabitch the way they were annihilating his poor undersized dick.

While she was thinking about probably the biggest job of her criminal life so far, the one that could easily get her dead, forget prison, she wouldn’t get that far, she would seriously be dead, and the most important thing in these women’s conversation was the underwhelming orgasm she’d had. Showing the chasm Luxe felt between her and every other woman on the planet, she just didn’t think like they did. Orgasms were overrated if you asked her.

Rolling her eyes, sarcasm steeped in her thoughts, she gave her hands a quick wash, braced her churning insides to face the biker again.

Only her path back to their booth didn’t go as smoothly. Somevaca estúpidaknocked into Luxe’s shoulder so hard she felt it long after the woman stepped back and glared and then had the audacity to blame Luxe for it. “Are you fucking blind? Look what you did!” bottle blonde hair and vivid pink lipstick with her pursed lips, glowered hatred, poking her finger right in Luxe’s face with her verbal attack.

Oh, Jesus. Don’t do it, Luxe. Remember your last court appearance?

Luxe looked the woman up and down in her too tight skirt, took a step forward in warning, the woman didn’t shut up. “Fucking bitch, didn’t you see me walking here? You owe me two drinks and my dress is ruined.”

“I oweyou? I think you’ll find you walked into me because you were checking out that dick over there, and FYI, that dress was ruined before you put it on, should have left it on the closet floor, sweetheart. Now, do you want to get out of my way?”

Luxe knew it was coming the second the other woman opened her slimy glossed lips, something in how she screwed up her face and looked at Luxe like she was day old trash. Racists flew their flags proudly. “Fucking foreign whore!” Bitcherella slurred and though she outweighed Luxe, taller, too, it was Luxe who snapped. Her temper loose.

It was Luxe who grabbed the woman by the front of her skimpy dress and to throw her up against the booth behind her. “Do you want to repeat that again, you uneducated Barbie doll? I’m as American as you are, unfortunately.”

“Hey---look---” blondie panicked.

Air stuttered through her lungs and held there.

She had to tell her own fingers not to punch this ignorant bitch into next week.

It was only two months ago she’d been involved in a real bar scuffle, down on the floor, fists flying and everything, again it hadn’t been Luxe’s doing, but she would never back down from bullies or mouthy bitches thinking it was okay to say stupid crap to her.

Besides that, she did have a hair trigger temper, she was trying to work on it, was it her fault people tested her daily. Her fingers tightened, she got in the woman’s face, smelling the booze on her potent breath. “Youwalked into me, I had nothing to do with you dropping your fucking drinks, lady, so do yourself a favor and get the hell away from me before I send you home in the back of an ambulance.”

Dropping her hold, she stepped back.

She couldn’t afford more court mandatory anger management classes, those things were just a waste of time, having some moron tell her relaxation techniques,here was a clue, Bob, I know how to breathe, gracias.

She took another step away, the blonde woman visibly shaken. “Yeah, sorry, sorry, my mistake.”

“Yeah, it was. Think first before you bitch off to a total stranger.”

She caught glances from tables as she stormed back to her own, muttering to herself, now her mood was all messed up and she’d wanted to keep a level head to deal with Grinder.

The man in question was grinning like a moron.

“Holy shit. I’m a little turned on, can’t lie. I thought you were about to go WWE on that chick.”