Page 3 of Theirs to Corrupt

No doubt she asked Marge about me.

What the hell had the owner said?

Pax makes a motion that imitates a plane crashing, and he makes a whistling sound to accompany it.

“Asshole,” I snap, but I can’t take my gaze off our innocent server as she moves to a small terminal to key in our order.

Someone feeds the jukebox, and a classic country tune drowns out casual conversation as she disappears into the back room.

What’s your story?

And why the fuck is my dick hard?

“Think Johnson will come through?” Pax asks.

His question drags me away from musings, and I can’t say I’m happy about it. “He’d be a fool not to.”

Pax shrugs. “And he’s already proven himself to be exactly that.”

But until now, he hadn’t heard that story about Pax.

The object of my interest finally appears from the back room, and she walks around to the bar where she leans forward, waiting for the order to be filled.

The view of denim stretched over her rear holds me speechless.

I continue to take her in as Marge pulls our bottle from the top shelf behind the bar. It’s the only thing we drink. But we hadn’t ordered the same for Johnson.

“You didn’t hear a word I said,” Pax notes, a hint of amusement in his voice.

When I don’t respond, Pax follows my gaze. “She doesn’t belong.”

His words echo my earlier observation.

“Want me to find out who she is?”

For a moment, I consider my response.

The smart move would be to have Pax dig up everything he can on this mysterious woman. But there’s a part of me—a part I thought long buried—that relishes the challenge of unraveling the puzzle myself. “No,” I decide. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

As if on cue, she starts to walk our way, a fresh round of drinks balanced on her tray.

I note the way she squares her shoulders before approaching us.Feeling as if you’re stepping into the lion’s den, little dove?

If so, she’s not far from wrong.

Without a word, she delivers our whiskey.

“Thank you,” I reply, then pause deliberately before adding, “I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

A flicker of something—caution? defiance?—crosses her face before she answers. “That’s because I didn’t give it.” She dazzles me with a smile.

Pax clears his throat.

I sweep my gaze over her, and her face heats. “What are you running from?”

“Running?” She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Hiding, then.”