I’m beginning to regret my decision to lure Lenny here by asking Ray to invite Yuli, but I couldn’t resist using Ray’s connection to the nurse who helped her daughter to bring Lenny to me instead of me waiting outside an apartment complex she was obviously never coming out of.
I fucked up in the RV. I was supposed to go in behind her. Scare the truth out of her. But I hesitated when I saw her.
When I wanted her.
It won’t happen again. I’ll get her out of here as soon as I can take her without being noticed to somewhere much more private where I’ll get my answers.
One way or another.
Lenny is now bending over the cooler, searching for something in the ice. The bottom crease of her ass peeking out from her dress feeds the lust-filled looks from several men nearby.
Fuck.
Unnoticed is going to be damn near impossible.
Chapter Twelve
LENNY
“Victory is mine!” I shout to myself. I found vodka because there is a God. I pour myself a generous amount of the liquid love into a red solo cup. I do a little victory dance and spin around almost colliding with Nine once again.
“Stalk much?” I ask with a hand on my hip.
“Lately or in general?” he smirks. His humor takes me by surprise, and I find that I don’t know how to respond to him when he’s not being the scary man lurking in the shadows or in alleyways.
“It doesn’t matter, either will keep me awake at night,” I admit.
He sucks in his bottom lip. “Why, are you planning on dreaming about me, Lenny?”
I stand on my tip toes and stare right into his beautiful arrogant eyes. “We all have nightmares, Nine.”
“Nine!” We both turn to see a man approaching. It’s Pike. The guy from the pawn shop. He greets Nine with a bro-hug and a back-slap, then turns to me. “Lenny, I’m surprised to see you here.”
Pike gives Nine one of those knowing side glances. “Trina says that your stuff’s going faster than we thought. I should have a dollar amount for you soon, but don’t expect much. A lot of the time, it’s only twenty percent of the value, less after fees.”
“Thank you,” I say. Hopefully, it will be enough to turn the electric back on while I search for a job, which gives me an idea. “Pike, if you’re ever hiring, can you keep me in mind? I’m looking for a job.”
“You want to work in a pawn shop?” Nine asks.
“I don’t want to work anywhere. Like most of the population, I want to sun my bare ass in Cabo, but those aren’t the cards I’ve been dealt, which leads us back to the current question at hand. Are you hiring? Because I used to work in real estate. I know the value of things.”
“Values of buildings and houses aren’t the same as the value of jewelry or instruments,” Pike points out, tipping up his beer.
I shrug. “You’re right. I know the real estate market is so different from the market for goods and valuables.” I point with my beer to a stilt house lit up between the trees across the field. “For example, I can tell you that house is an Old Florida style stilt home built in the 1940’s and is very rare, since the majority of homes left in this area, with that particular style are newer bungalows, whereas that one is three stories and would be considered an estate or governor-style home. It’s been renovated, and the interior has yet to be seen, but as long as it supports the feel of the original design, that’s what matters. The real money is in its location, off the beaten path but close to both sides of the causeway with water access through the bay on the other side. I’d estimate the value to be somewhere in the high six to low seven figures.”
Pike nods and scratches at his goatee. “Impressive, but like I said—”
I cut him off and continue, “Whereas the silver ring on your pinky finger is an antique. A Classon ring made by George Classon in the early nineteen hundreds for the members of the first official MC in South Florida, The Venom MC. There’s only twelve in existence, and the ones that have sold at auction no longer have the three-carat black diamond, whereas your ring is obviously still intact.”
Pike stares down at the ring and looks up at me with his jaw open as Nine watches on silently.
“Its value is somewhere between sixty-thousand to a hundred thousand dollars, depending if you find the right buyer, preferably a collector who knows that the only other original Classon rings in existence are heirlooms that have been passed down to the original members’ families and are rarely available for purchase.”
Pike looks up from his ring. “Okay, so what would you offer me if I were to bring this into the pawn shop?”