Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck Book 8)

by Emilia Finn

  “So…” He looks around the parking lot, but I doubt he sees any of it. “Basically, we were fucked from the get-go. Some folks just aren’t meant to have a life, and though Bubbles deserves the best, she’s been saddled with some kind of bullshit karma that just won’t let her be happy.”

  “Pretty much. Having Soph find your threat, and dealing with it, is all you have left now. Someone is gonna have to die… I just really hope it’s not one of ours.”

  “I don’t know if…” He hesitates for a moment. “I doubt it means a damn to you, but if I had to choose any guy on the planet for her, if I was to give my blessing, it would be you. You love her more than you love yourself. You’re inserting yourself into this bullshit knowing it won’t have a happy ending, knowing she’s gonna hurt you over and over and over again. She doesn’t mean to hurt you. She’s not a cruel person. She just doesn’t have any good options laid out in front of her. But still, knowing all this, you’re here, you’re taking care of her, and you’re wishing desperately that there was a decent third option.”

  “There might be,” I suggest hopefully. “There might be another option, and we just don’t see it yet. And yeah.” I meet his eyes. “It means something to me. What you think matters to her, so your approval means something to me.”

  “In another place, another time, I guess that would make you my brother.”

  His words are like a suckerpunch. A slam to the sternum that almost buckles me. His approval means something to me, but having it now, doesn’t change the facts. She’s not mine. She may never truly be mine. “Yeah,” I rasp out. “Guess so.”

  “I’ve never had one of those.”

  I snort, and look toward the studio. “Me neither. Are you ready to go in? For the next few hours, we can forget your troubles, and instead watch Q live her dreams. She didn’t get booted out of the studio yet, despite her smart mouth, so what’s the bet she’s dancing and helping the girls with their routine?”

  “In another time,” he repeats on a low murmur, “another place, she could have been a star. And of all this bullshit, that might be the biggest injustice of them all.”

  “Yeah.” I push my door open and slide out.

  And despite the efforts Will has gone to to protect Quinn, it has never been quite enough.

  And that’s its own special injustice for the man who has carried that weight on his shoulders his whole life.

  Will and I watch the girls dance for hours. Sweat running, toes tapping, smiles that stretch faces until it looks painful. With Q’s arm in a sling that, at some points, is pushed away so she can use her arm, only for her to regret it a minute later and slide that sling back on, we watch the girls choreograph and pull off a dance that would make the pros jizz in their pants.

  It truly is a tragedy that the professional dancing world might never know Quinn’s style, her skill, her ability. They’re going to lose out on something magical, and they won’t even know it, because she’s spent her entire life in the shadows.

  Around five o’clock, with her hand in mine, but her smile for her brother, we head back to my truck and squish onto the single bench seat. Quinn sits in the middle for the short drive home, and Giselle – royally pissed – sits in the back and hates every second of it.

  It’s too common for her, too undignified. But she holds her head high the entire trip, and as soon as we arrive home and I offer her a treat from the fridge, she lets go of her grudge and leans against my thigh like she always does.

  Since the Checkmate guys already ate tonight’s dinner, I go to my freezer and search for something else, while Quinn sits at the counter, and Will wanders around the house for a bit. When I find what I’m looking for, I snag a couple servings out of the freezer and toss chicken breast into the microwave to defrost.

  “I’m gonna make chicken for dinner,” I tell Will when he comes back into the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in about an hour.”

  “I’m not gonna be here to eat.” He stops behind Quinn, and holds her shoulders when she predictably startles and tries to turn and glare at him. He drops a kiss on the crown of her head, but his eyes are on me. “You guys can have a quiet dinner together, and I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “You promise you’ll be back?” Quinn fights his hold and manages to look over her shoulder so their eyes meet. “You swear?”

  He smiles. “I swear. I’m not running, Bubbles. I just wanna head into town for a bit and chill out. I might head to the lake and meditate or some shit.”

  Quinn scoffs. “Meditate my ass. Looking for a certain raven-haired woman? It’s been awhile since we’ve thought about her.”

  “If by a while, you mean an hour,” Will grins. “Then yep, it’s been a while. I’m heading out to see what I see.”

  “She’s a cop’s daughter,” Quinn singsongs. “And a fighter’s sister.”

  “And her mom has a tendency to shoot people,” I add when I realize who they’re talking about. “I’m not saying you can’t go there. But if you do, it would be best if you run in zigzags.”

  He chuckles and presses a second kiss to Quinn’s brow. “I’ll be back later. Be good.” He points at me, and adopts that big-brother persona from years ago. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  I lift my hands in fake surrender, and say nothing. I only smile and watch as he snags the keys to the rental from the hook by the door, and winks for Quinn on his way out.

  “I think… maybe…” She angles her neck toward the living room, toward the front door, and doesn’t look back until headlights shine through the windows at the front of my house. “I think he just gave us permission to fuck.”

  And there it is.

  My cock swells, and my throat turns dry. “You have such a beautiful way with words, Q. I swear.” I press a hand to my heart. “Such romance.”

  She snorts. “Sorry, my mistake. What I meant to say was, I think he’s just given us space to make sweet, slow, beautiful love in your bed. With multiple orgasms, and maybe a little touching of the butt.”

  Standing from the stool, and making herself at home, she wanders around to my fridge and looks inside for a long moment. The microwave beeps, but we ignore it. Reaching into the fridge, she comes out again with two bottles of beer.

  “Wanna get drunk with me?”

  “Drunk on beer?” I chuckle. “Gross.”

  “You want the vodka, then?” She opens all of my cupboards in search of hard liquor. “Where do you keep the good stuff?”

  “I don’t.”

  I take the chicken from the microwave, then I move to the pantry and stand right behind Quinn while we each search for the things we want. She wants booze, I want flour, garlic, salt, oil, a few others. Feeling brave, I drop a biting kiss on her neck, and when she hisses, I move to the fridge and grab eggs.

  “I don’t drink to get drunk, Q. The idea of getting messy and then puking it up later doesn’t sound all that appealing. Instead, I keep beer in the fridge, and have just one or two to zone the fuck out.”

  “Cheap drunk,” she scoffs. But she closes the pantry doors, and spins to the counter to search for a bottle opener.

  “I’m not sure why being a cheap drunk is frowned upon.” I snag a knife from the butcher’s block, and a cutting board from the cupboard by my thigh, then I get to work slicing chicken. “Being an expensive drunk is, one, expensive, and two, means my kidneys are already damaged. Being cheap means I can have a drink or two and be happy, and not have to piss a thousand times through the night. And also, being cheap means I can have a single beer and smile. Sit in front of the TV, watch something stupid, and just… smile. It’s actually kinda perfect.”

  “Well, damn.” She snags an opener from my utensil drawer, and just seconds later, pops the caps off both bottles. “Wanna drink a single beer and smile with me?”

  “Yes, I do.” I lean across the counter, and press my lips to hers until she sighs and her breath scorches down my throat. “That sounds pretty fuckin’ awesome. I chose dinner, so you c
an choose what we watch. Then we can go to my bed, and try the sweet fucking thing.”

  “Deal,” she breathes out. “Totally no hesitation deal.”

  “Favorite thing that has happened to you in the last four years?” she asks.

  We sit on the couch with half-empty plates in our laps, and Vampire Diaries playing on the TV. Her choice. Not mine.

  “My favorite thing?” I smile and repeat her words so my brain has a moment to process. “Umm… well, my fighter, Guy?”

  Her eyes light up. “He’s still yours?”

  “Not anymore,” I answer. “But he won a title, just like he wanted, then he won his girl’s heart, and traipsed off to some other town to live his happily ever after.”

  “That’s your favorite thing?” she asks with a goofy grin. Someone else is a cheap drunk too. “But that happened to someone else, and you lost your fighter.”

  “Right.” I turn on the couch, and since Quinn has already done the same, we sit face to face, knee to knee, and so fucking close, all I have to do is lean forward and kiss her. “I lost my fighter, but his win felt like a win for me. I liked it, and I like his girl, too. She’s a sweetheart, so I was happy for them. That was my favorite thing since you left. What about you? Favorite thing that has happened to you in the last four years?”

  “Um…” She brings her beer up, and looks to the sky for inspiration. “I got to dance in the Ellie Solomon Dance Academy again.”

  “Today?” I furrow my brows. “Today was your favorite thing?”

  “Mm.” She brings her gaze down and grins. “One of my favorite things. But it was kinda massive, and the most recent, so it’s the first thing that came to my mind.”

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Oh my god, yes.” She rolls her eyes the same way she does when she’s coming. And that memory, that flicker in my mind, makes my cock hard. “It was so much fun to not only see them dance in real life, but to be a part of it. To be involved. And they asked me for ideas on certain moves! I don’t know shit about the technical terms, I don’t have a fancy education. It’s like we were speaking two different languages, which means we had to use more than words. We had to use hands,” she lifts her hers, “and movements, and facial expressions to try to convey what we were saying. And by the end of the day, that became its own language too. I got to dance with them, Jamie. Like…” Her eyes shine with the passion we all know lives in her heart. “I wasn’t the pitied street kid they figured would be rude to ignore, but an active participant, and they respected my thoughts when I said something needed to change.”

  “You got to help choreograph.”

  “Yes!” She grins. “I’ve yet to choreograph my own dance, let alone an entire show, but they use my moves, and incorporate them into what they already have. And hell,” she slumps forward, “I never thought that would ever happen. So yeah, today was a favorite day for me. Any other girlfriends since I left? Even the kissing kind?”

  “Nope.” I take a sip of my drink, and smile when the cold liquid slides down into my gut. “I looked at a few over the years, I looked extra close when more would arrive for the tournaments.”

  “Fresh blood.” She smirks. “Smart choice.”

  “Right. But I didn’t feel the fizz with a single one of them.”

  One perfectly arched brow wings up. “The fizz?”

  “Mm. You know how you can take a Mento and Coke, put them together, and they fizz?”

  “I’m following you.” Her voice is so serious, so fake, when we both know she wants to giggle.

  “Well, that very first day when you walked into my gym, I got a look at you, one single look, and my heart just…”

  She grins. “Fizzed. And no one else did that for you?”

  “Nope. Not one, which means you basically fucked me over for life. Just call me a gray wolf, because I guess I only get one mate for life.”

  “You would pick the wolf,” she snickers. “Beavers also mate for life.”

  “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t sound as manly.”

  She laughs. “Emperor penguins, too. And seahorses.” She leans forward, and presses her lips to mine until I swallow her giggles. “You could have been a manly seahorse. Or there are some birds. Oh, and swans. You could have been a swan!”

  “I choose the wolf,” I growl and nip at her bottom lip. “If I’m gonna be a fuckin’ monk for the rest of my life, the least you can give me is a badass animal to relate to.”

  “So the wolf…” She peppers tiny kisses to my chin, my jaw, my neck.

  “What about you? Boyfriends?”

  “Nah. This one guy was nice to me. He used to frequent the club, and he was like…” Alcohol runs through her veins as she pulls back and grins. “Like, he didn’t ask me out or anything. But he was nice. He was in a club, but he was a gentleman, and I feel like, maybe if anyone ever tried to hurt me, he would have kept me safe.”

  “A gentleman…” I drawl. “In a titty club.”

  “Oxymoron?” She snickers. “I don’t even know his name, but I’ll never forget him. He was a kind of friend when the rest of the world sucked.”

  “Did you kiss him?”

  “No. Not even close.”

  “You kissed Evan.”

  “Nuh uh.” Tired of the space between us, she snags our plates and drinks, and plops them on the coffee table, then she crawls into my lap.

  Neither of us are drunk. We’re just… relaxed, and smiling about it.

  Settling herself on my lap, and straddling my thighs, she nurses that shoulder of hers, and takes extra care not to hurt mine. “He kissed me,” she murmurs and presses her lips to my jaw, “but it was one of those situations where, if I said no, I’d possibly end up dead. So… you know… doesn’t count.”

  “Counts a little bit,” I warn. “Like, a fuckin’ lot.”

  “As much as this?” She slides her tongue against my lips, and dives in when I open up to her. “Does it count as much as when your cock is inside me?” She grinds down over my lap, and draws a pained growl from my throat. “Because there isn’t a single man on this planet who has done that…” She cruises her lips along my jawbone, and up to the warm skin behind my ear. “Except you,” she whispers. “You, and you alone. You have a part of me, Jamie, that no one else ever will.”

  “Do you promise?” I slide a hand under her shirt and up to her tit. Instantly, I rip her bra down, and cup her bare skin. “Do you promise to never give yourself to another man?”

  “Yes.”

  Instead of wrestling beneath clothes, she sits up tall, and tears her shirt over her head. She tosses it aside, then reaches back with one arm to unsnap her bra. She lets the material fall, then she cups the back of my head, and draws me forward until I take a pebbled nipple between my teeth.

  “Fuck.” She arches up and groans. “Nobody can take control of my body the way you do.” She grinds over my cock. Over and over and over again, until it turns to dry sex instead of something a little more innocent. “Jesus, Jamie. For four years, I wondered if I imagined that chemistry. If the things you could do to my body were merely a part of my imagination. I worried that what we had was gone, and that I would never again be able to look at a man and not compare him to you.”

  “And?” I switch breasts, and add teeth. “Do you compare men to me?”

  “Yes.” She whimpers and arches back to give me room to taste, to savor, to cherish. “Yes, I compare every single one. And no one stacks up. Not even close. Dammit, Jamie. Can we just…” She pushes me back, and drags my shirt up with one hand. Her left is basically useless, but she works with the right and tugs it up until it catches on my jaw. “Help me get this off.”

  She sits back for a moment after I toss my shirt away, and studies my chest, my ink, the muscle mass I’ve busted my ass to build over the years. “It’s not like you were a child when I last saw you, but damn, I was surprised when I saw you on TV a few weeks back. Is this for me?” She moves forward and presses her lips to the i
nk that specifically refers to her.

  In reality, it’s all for her, but here, right over my heart, it’s much less subtle.

  “I hate that I fell in love when I was seventeen years old,” she complains. “I hate that you give me no choice.”

  “Yeah, well…” I push her back to her side of the couch, and unsnap her jeans before she even gets the hair out of her eyes. “I suppose I could say the same about you. I’m mad that my heart is stuck on you. I’m mad that we seem so fucking doomed.”

  I sit back, tear the shorts and panties from her legs, and before she has a chance to move or react, I lay on my belly and bury my face in her pussy.

  “Oh god!” Her fingers go to my hair, her nails dig into my scalp, and her legs squeeze me tight. They refuse to let me free. “Jamie… Oh god. Do that thing with your—Yesssss.”

  I slide my tongue inside her pussy, in and out; I lap her up and feast the way I’ve wished I could for the last four years. Sliding a finger in, I hook it back, and groan when she seizes under my touch. She squeezes my finger, and gushes into my hand, and I swear, if I looked, I’d find blood under her fingernails from my scalp. She’s a prisoner to me, completely under my control, so I push harder, grind my cock against the couch when it feels like that’s all I’ll need for completion, and when her body tightens, stretches, vibrates with a need to come, I pull away and smile when she explodes… with abuse.

  “What the fuck?” she roars. “What the actual kind of bullshit torture is th—”

  But then her eyes snap to my crotch when I push my pants down.

  I free my cock, and squeeze it tight until we both groan, then I slide my hand down… up… I throw my head back, and moan at the pleasure that zings through my gut. I reach down with my sore arm, and cup my balls, but after only three pumps, Quinn growls in the back of her throat.

  “Nope. Not on your own.” She crawls onto my lap, slaps my hands away, and with deft movements, she lines us up and drops down onto my cock with a cry. “God!”