The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter Three Hundred Eight

KENDALL

Fired me? Firrrreeeed meee?

For what? Falling down the stairs?

Oh no. Oh hell no!

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Shake yourself Kendall, it’s time to let this bastard have a dose.

“You can’t do that!” I snap, desperation tingling through my system and pushing to the surface. “I haven’t done a motherfucken thing wrong!” I quip, sliding out of the booth to my feet, and getting up in his face.

But Timmons isn’t looking at me, although he’s still standing exactly where he was just a moment ago, when he dropped me onto the seat, his face is turned away and his eyes are on Charlie. “You can’t date the help and manage it, Chuck. Sleeping with the employees is not allowed, and promiscuous blondes are not only bad for business, but they carry disease.”

What. The. Fuck?

My eyes heat as they fall over this handsome bastard as if seeing him for the first time. “You should know something else about promiscuous blondes-” I hiss shoving him in the chest as I do – nevermind that he doesn’t budge “-they are also prone to violence.”

It’s almost too perfect, the way his face snaps toward me at the exact same time that my left hand goes flying for his stupid mug. I’m suddenly in that mode, you know, that fuck it mode you never seem to see coming. The one that doesn’t give you even a moment of foreplay before you hop on and ride. My hand connects with his skin and the sound cracks across the space to bounce along the walls.

It was a damn good slap.

But my hand just might be broken.

A loud shatter sounds as Charlie’s mouth drops open along with glass in his hands. Shock and fear for the next few moments of my existence shine in his eyes and a strangled, incoherent cry warbles from his mouth.

Yeah, I know.

It was nce meeting you too Charlie.

Timmons‘ eyes swirl with a glowing yellow light, firing around the orbs that coil his pupils like an electric current. The view is enough to cause me step to back in fear, especially when both of his hands shoot forward and fist in my hair. Sparks of pleasure explode across my scalp where his fingers tangle in my roots and my head tilts back. Despite my predicament, a heady moan escapes my lips, my common sense unable to override the cataclysmic fantasy of this leading somewhere other than behind bars. In the back of my mind, I’m allowed to notice how absolutely delicious his forearms look this close up, and some pathetic part of me tries to imagine he’s about to kiss me, instead of what he actually does, which is flip me around, bend me over the table, and yank my arms behind my back.

Damn it.

Now, I am going to jail…

Shit.

Timmons chuckles humorlessly, wrenching my wrists together with so much force that I cry out and drool slips from my mouth and out onto the table. From behind me, his body pressing roughly into mine. In a way that I might enjoy if we were anywhere else but here, but…we are here, and…I’m fucked,

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his head dips down next to my ear. “Have you lost your fucken mind? Assaulting an officer? Oh…you are so fucked.”

Yeah, I know.

tabletop, I am allowed the humiliation of the locals pressing their faces upon the glass to

wrists together, I hear the unmistakable sound of handcuffs hitting the table behind my head. However, why he has yet to put them on me,

around the bar and nearly tripping over a chair as he gallops toward us. “Be careful with her! She-

Chuck,” Timmons snipes. “You’re going to have to find yourself a different slut to stroke

won’t be

Charlie

I whimper, the stupid fanciful girl in me finally rising to the surface as I think of all the times that I simply watched him from afar. Imagining all sorts of stupid, idiot, scenarios that might bring him a little closer, or make him

definitely sees you

you get what

his grip on my wrists easing. I don’t know what did it, my declaration of hate or my tears, but I hear the disbelief in Timmons voice when he asks, “Did you say that you hate me?

me to inspire the loathing/

heart rate is skyrocketing, pumping pain

Oh fuck.

bar is closed

hand on my shoulder, stroking across my back in a

the table, just enough to peel my forehead away from the wood and straighten my back a bit. But I keep myself pressed away from Timmons, because

he snaps. “Now!

he exits out the front of the bar. A chorus of boos and whys follow as I work to control the rise

he closes in on my back, his gloriously chiseled arms coming around either side of me and caging me in from behind. The dude is so big that he doesn’t even have to touch me to do this. Hot breath flutters into my hair and I listen to him inhale a deep breath, slow and steady, and I slightly angle my head so

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Three Hundred Eight

there and making him look almost vulnerable. Even with his gaze

again, I may be imagining it. I happen to do that quite a

softness of my behind. Or the sudden disappointed

1. me.

settling on my mouth and pulsing into the black of his pupils. And me…being the loser

Oh God!!!!

I feel pulsing somewhere

to

and harden. At least, not that I’m aware. If

I will know.

he already

smells like lemon candy.

suddenly dying for