“Thanks. I could have gotten it done, though.” Her voice is throaty with a sexy rasp. But it isn’t warm. No, her tone is cool, aloof. Like she doesn’t want to be here.
This woman is already a lot to handle, and barely spoken to me.
“Yeah. Well, now your beer is open. So, yeah. You can drink it.”
What the hell is wrong with me?
Her head cocks to one side. “Really? I can drink it? Thanks so much.”
Her tone teases.
Temps.
Stimulates.
“Well…” I scrub a hand over my face. “Look. It’s late, and it’s been a shit week. Forgive me if I can’t compute right now.”
Every exotic inch of her breaks me down. I shake my head to clear it, but then there’s those eyes again. Studying me. Picking me apart. Tucking information away for later.
“What happened to your hands?” Reaching out, she grabs the hand that I just used as a washcloth. She inspects my raw, scraped, tattooed knuckles with intense curiosity.
“You were in a fight.” Her final deduction is correct.
I don’t bother denying it. “You should see the other guy’s face.” My cocky tone appears again, and her head jerks up to stare into my face.
She scans me, but her head tilts to one side. Instead of annoyance, like I saw before, there’s comprehension there. Like she’s really seeing me. But how can that be?
“I’d be willing to bet it’s not a pretty sight.”
Her voice goes just a little bit lower, and it’s enough to send my body straight into overdrive in answer.
There’s a loud rap on the metal warehouse door, and I stand, looking that way. “What the—”
There’s a rule at the G-Ring, and everyone who plays here knows it. We keep our doors open for a window of time, but once they close, that’s it. No one else gets in. There’s no knocking.
I’m moving toward the door right along with X and Borg. Borg reaches it first. He opens it, stepping up to block the doorway. I’m right beside him, all thought of the beautiful girl pushed to the background.
It’s our uninvited guest from last weekend. Same guy, different suit. Hair a little wrecked from dragging his hand through it. Furtive eyes dart from the big bouncer to me and back, his facial expression looking a little too desperate for my taste. The scruff on his face is out of control, whereas the last time I saw him he was clean-shaven.
“I want in.” Simple words, but they carry a sharp edge.
Borg shakes his head, his expression impassive. “You missed the cutoff.”
The suit glances over his shoulder before his eyes drift back toward the action behind us in the warehouse. Dread gathers in my stomach.
“I’ll double the buy-in.” He glances at me. “Cash money.”
Aw, damn.
I built this business on cash. It’s almost like I can’t turn it down. Even when every single instinct I have tells me to tell this guy to kiss my ass and slam the door in his face.
“Every bet you make tonight is all or nothing. You’re late. I don’t accept people coming to the Ring late. Make up for it on my terms or turn around and walk away.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
There. There’s no way he’ll go for that. All or nothing? Nah.
But the Suit nods. “I’m in.” He pulls out the bills and hands them to me. Shock and disbelief rule my emotions. He shoves past Borg, who grunts in protest, but we let him go.
Because the dude just handed me four grand. In cash.
“What’s with the faces?”
Counts slips in the door and stands beside me, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. I glance at the Suit, who heads straight for the couches. My gaze wanders over to…shit, I didn’t even get her name.
Yet.
“That guy? The one in the suit? The one who doesn’t fit in here? He just slid me four large to get in here tonight. Couldn’t turn him down.”
Counts whistles low. “Hand it over. I’ll go count everything up now and make sure the house can pay out the winners tonight.”
I snort. “If we’re lucky, there won’t be any.”
Counts shakes his head. “There’s gotta be a few. Otherwise, what keeps ‘em coming?”
He’s right, of course. The house can’t win every time. We’ll pay out tonight. But not nearly as much as we bring in.
“I’ll catch you bac there later. I lift my chin at Counts pointing toward the hallway leading to my office.
Counts returns the gesture in acknowledgment before striding in that general direction.
My eyes flick to the Suit. He’s leaning forward in an anxious pose, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together as he zeroes in on the Braves playoff game.
That’s where all his money is tonight. But the air of desperation clinging to him is extreme, even for the Ring.
Most of the guys who gamble here only get desperate when their daddies discover the gap in their bank accounts. Then they’re scrambling to win it back. Sometimes they get lucky. Most of the time, they have to eat their losses.
The most vital rule about this place?
You tell no one.
No one gets into the Ring unless I’ve vetted them first. If someone wants to make a recommendation, they come to me, and I check that person out thoroughly. I’ve made myself enough of a threat in these circles that everyone knows not to cross me.
I glance down at my bloody fists.
I haven’t spoken to Mom since the night I kicked her new boyfriend’s ass at her trailer. It’s not the first time she chose a man over her son, but I’ll be dam sure it’s the last. I’m done with all of it.
I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
My eyes stray toward the woman in the black dress.
And my stomach clenches, because now there’s a dude leaning over the back of the couch, with his lips close to her ear.
I watch, noting that every muscle in her body tenses. I can tell from the rigid way she sits, from the stiff lines of her posture. The woman beside her, her friend, wears a carefree smile, but I would be willing to bet her friend isn’t. The dude, a guy I recognize from the Ring Noah something, places both hands on her shoulders and puts his lips on her neck.
I take an involuntary step forward, and then stop myself.
Watching. Waiting.
Another guy calls him from one of the poker tables, and Noah glances in that direction. Without a second glance at the woman I can’t keep my eyes off of, he jogs over to the table and sits back down at his game.
And I’m moving.
Back to the couch.
Back to her.
Six
ACE
“Your boyfriend left you all alone?” I slide right back into place beside her. “Mistake.”
Trying successfully to hold that swagger out of my voice this time, I keep my eyes molded to her profile.
She slides her gaze toward me. This time, she meets my eyes, but then she lets it slip down, over my neck, my shoulders, my chest.
“Oh?” Her tone is mocking. “Guns N’ Roses?” She snorts.
She’s referring to tattoo inked at the base of my throat, which pokes out above the buttons of my shirt. A pistol wrapped in roses, after my all-time favorite band.