Ruined

by EM BROWN

  But maybe I should give her more of a chance?

  Unable to concentrate on price elasticity, especially since I keep thinking about how I was spanked with this book back at The Lair, I decide to change and go downstairs and see what everyone else is doing. Eric and Tony are down in the bachelor room.

  “This resort is going to rival Half Moon Bay for sure,” Eric is telling Tony as he cycles through television channels with the remote. “Maybe even Monterey.”

  Tony is sitting in a sofa opposite Eric, smoking a cigar. “Isn’t Pebble Beach there?”

  “Yeah, but you got to have aspirations. My dad is known for developing some of the world’s best golf courses. If anyone can give Pebble Beach a run for its money, it’s us. All we need are some visionary investors.”

  “Like the Lee family.”

  “Exactly. Since you guys have a lot of hotel experience, we might even let you advise us on that piece.”

  Seeing me, Tony puts out the cigar. I feel a tiny bit guilty that he’s cutting short his smoking. But it’s better for him.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say as I walk toward the billiard table. “I was just going to shoot some pool.”

  Eric spares me a glance, then goes back to talking to Tony. “Your family should stick to development. Forget all that tech investment. This resort I’m developing is going to return so much more for your family if you get in on the ground floor.”

  “Undertaking large development projects in California isn’t easy from what I’ve heard.”

  Eric puts down his glass of bourbon and helps himself to a cigar. “Which is why we’re not doing it in or near the Bay Area where liberal politicians are going to make us jump through hoops convincing them that our project isn’t going to damage the environment or force us to sign fucked-up project labor agreements.”

  “Aren’t project labor agreements about living wages?” I venture. I know next to nothing about real estate development, but it just so happens I read an article in the newspaper last week about some housing project being delayed over project labor agreements.

  Eric looks at me, then back to Tony. “You picked a crazy one.”

  Tony turns to me. “Living wages is a major reason a politician would support PLA’s.”

  I nod a thank you for answering my question, then look at the balls on the table. I’ve only played pool a few times, and these balls are not the multi-colored ones I’ve seen before. The balls look smaller and most are red.

  “No,” objects Eric. “Democrats support PLA’s because they want to shore up their base of support among the unions. And because they’re fucking communists.”

  Tony gets up and walks over to where I’m standing. He picks out a cue stick.

  As if worried that he might have offended Tony, Eric quickly follows with, “Your family’s not what I would consider communist. If you didn’t embrace capitalism, you wouldn’t have made the kind of money you did. I heard that your family didn’t lose all its property to Ho Chi Minh because of its triad connections.”

  Tony doesn’t say anything and passes balls my way, sliding them across the table.

  “I understand one of your family members is the head of the Jing San Triad.”

  Tony tells me to rack the balls. I start sticking a bunch of them into the triangle.

  “How close are you and your brother to that part of the family?”

  Tony comes up next to me and pulls out the non-red balls inside the triangle. I can smell the cigar on him, which isn’t my favorite, but my pulse skips a beat at his nearness.

  Eric takes a puff of his cigar, his gaze keenly on Tony. “What’s it like to kill a man?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I remove the triangle, but Eric’s question jars me, and I knock several balls out of place. I look over at Tony, whose jaw tightens. Is Eric asking for real?

  “You did a lot of this ‘opposition research,’” Tony notes.

  Eric grins. “We know the dirt on all our business partners.”

  “And, as with your political opponents, you’re not afraid to use the dirt.”

  I stare at Tony. He hasn’t refuted Eric’s question.

  Eric holds up his hands. “Look, I don’t hold it against your family.”

  “You shouldn’t. Your family has its share of shady dealings.”

  Eric looks surprised. “Yeah, well, our lawyers say we’re covered. You don’t have to worry about any of that, especially when we’re on the same team. If you ask me, the mafias know how to run business. There’s the godfather, the CEO, that everyone listens to. We’d get so much more shit done in this country if our government was run the same way. So the dude you killed, was he a rival triad member?”

  My eyes widen. Tony turns to me.

  “My cousin, May, and I were ambushed in Hanoi,” he explains as he continues to look at me. “I was cleared by the court as having acted in self-defense.”

  Eric leans over the sofa with rapt interest. “Was it really just self-defense?”

  Tony narrows his eyes at Eric. “What are you suggesting?”

  “After watching The Godfather movies—best flicks of all time, though Goodfellas is a pretty close second—I’ve wondered if I could ever kill someone. If I had to, you know, because that’s what happens when you’re part of the mafia. My father was approached by the mafia once, decades ago, about a business deal, but my dad wanted to go it alone. When you’re as rich as us, who needs the mafia?”

  I can’t quite believe the words that are coming out of Eric’s mouth except that it’s overshadowed by the revelation that Tony killed a man. How involved is he with criminal elements? Somehow I’m not as surprised as I should be. The wariness I felt when I first met Tony returns double.

  Before I can form a question, Sierra prances into the room holding a tray. “Guess what I made today—Jell-o shots!”

  She’s changed outfits and is now wearing a crop top, shorts that allow her butt cheeks to peek out of the bottom, and platform sandals. Compared to her, I must look frumpy in my sweats, t-shirt and flip flops.

  Eric’s eyes light up. “Sweet!”

  She plops down next to Eric on the sofa and puts the tray on the coffee table.

  “What did you use?” Eric asks.

  “Your best bottle of vodka.” She takes a puff on his cigar.

  “You ever try a Jell-o shot?” Eric asks Tony.

  Tony eyes the jiggling globs with skepticism, “I prefer my vodka straight—without lots of sugar and...green-ness.”

  Eric slurps down a shot. “You’re missin’ out. Man, I don’t think I would have made it through college without these babies.”

  “Maybe it would be more appetizing taking it off my body,” Sierra offers, pulling off her top to reveal a lacy balconette bra.

  “Hell yeah!”

  She shimmies out of her shorts and lays over the coffee table in her lacy thong underwear. Eric plops several shots on her midsection. I turn away and watch Tony place the non-red balls in various places on the table.

  “What is this game?” I ask. What I want to ask is about what happened in Hanoi, but I doubt he wants prying questions from someone he barely knows.

  “This is a snooker table,” he explains.

  No wonder this all looks unfamiliar.

  “I don’t know how to play.”

  He hands me a cue and chalk. “The goal is to score more points than your opponent. You can go first and break the balls, but don’t try to spread too many of them all over the table the way you would in pool. Because if you do and you miss, you give me more balls to sink.”

  I do as he instructs and dislodge three red balls, but my mind is only partially on the game.

  “Red balls are worth one point each,” he tells me, “and you have to sink a red one before you can attempt a colored ball worth more points.”

  Sierra giggles loudly. I feel isolated with Tony in our corner of the room. Well, we’re just playing a billiard game. Nothing dangerous about that. I aim t
he cue ball at a red ball closest to a pocket.

  “Hold the cue further back.” He takes my hand and repositions it closer to the bottom. “You’ll have more control and extension holding it back here.”

  “Thanks,” I say. His touch sends flutters through me, either because I’m nervous or because I’m back to being a teenage girl crushing for the first time. I force myself to focus on the game and surprise myself when the target ball falls into the pocket.

  “Now you can aim for the yellow ball, which is worth two points.”

  I walk over to the other side of the table where the cue ball has come to rest and lean down to view the target. He walks over and, placing his hand on my back, presses me lower. My breath skitters.

  “Try to sight the ball at the level of the table,” he advises, his hand resting on my back longer than necessary. “And make sure you follow through on your shot.”

  I nod and surprise myself again when the yellow ball rolls into the pocket. Only the cue ball does, too.

  “Too much top spin,” he explains, retrieving the yellow ball and placing it back in its original spot.

  “I didn’t mean to give it top spin,” I say as he takes out the cue ball. “That didn’t happen the first time.”

  “Your cue struck the ball above center.”

  He sets the cue ball on the table, aims for a red ball and sinks it. The cue ball comes to a rest perfectly in line for him to sink the green ball, which he does, followed by another red ball.

  “I think I know who’s going to win this game,” I say.

  From the corners of my eyes, I see Eric pull down Sierra’s bra cup and put a shot of Jell-o over her nipple. With his mouth, he envelopes the shot and her nipple.

  The brown ball misses the pocket by less than an inch, and it’s my turn again. I select the red ball I think is the easiest target and lower myself over the table.

  “So I should avoid hitting it too high if I don’t want it to spin forward?” I ask.

  Tony leans his cue against the table. Hovering over me, he puts each of his hands on one of mine. I feel his chest against my back, his body heat wrapping me. How the heck am I supposed to concentrate now?

  “Make sure your bridge doesn’t move,” he says, pressing my left hand firmly to the table. With his other hand over my right, he manipulates the cue, putting the tip at different parts of the cue ball. “Hit below and you’ll get back spin. Hit here and the cue ball will spin right after striking the target. This side will take it left. And if you wanted top spin, you would hit the ball higher.”

  He backs away to let me take the shot. Although his nearness excites me, it’s better that he doesn’t discompose me. I hit the cue ball the way I want, and the red ball rolls into the pocket. I glance at Tony with a smile. He returns my smile, looking relaxed. In that moment, he doesn’t seem nefarious at all. He killed a man in self-defense. If that wasn’t true, he’d be in jail right now. I don’t know why I question any of it. I look over the table for my next target.

  “Survey the entire table,” Tony tells me. “You’ll get a better sense of the possibilities that way.”

  After looking over my options, I choose to go for the blue ball. I miss terribly because just as I move the cue, Sierra emits a shriek and giggle. Eric is lapping bits of broken Jell-o off her breast.

  Now it’s Tony’s turn, and he knocks off six balls in a row. In the meantime, Eric and Sierra have started making out.

  “You ever think about becoming a professional snooker player?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and successfully sinks another red ball.

  “What else do you enjoy doing?”

  He applies more chalk to his cue. “I think you have a sense of what else I enjoy doing.”

  I feel my face redden. “Do you...like to travel? Read? Watch movies?”

  “What do you like to do?”

  “I like going to Andre’s basketball games. When Mo was alive, I loved hanging out in the backyard whenever he fired up the grill. I think I might like to travel someday. Maybe see what pho tastes like in Vietnam.”

  “Hope you guys didn’t want any of the Jell-o shots,” Eric calls to us, “’Cause we finished ‘em all.”

  Sierra tosses her hair and giggles. “Let’s do the hot tub. But I’m going to need something cold to drink. You got any expensive beer?”

  Eric grabs bottles from the fridge, and the two of them stumble toward the patio doors.

  “You must read,” I say to Tony. “You knew about Fifty Shades Darker. What else do you like to read? For fun.”

  It intrigues me that he reads and makes him seem less...criminal. My impression of men is that they don’t read that much, and if they do, it’s usually the Wall Street Journal or Sports Illustrated.

  Tony leans across the table and aims for the yellow ball. “I do not have many hours for pleasure reading these days, but when I was younger, I read Arsan, Réage, and de Sade.”

  I don’t know the first two names, but I shouldn’t be surprised by the last one.

  “Are they any good?” I ask.

  Tony steps up to me, invading my space. He has that look in his eyes, and I wonder if I’m in trouble. “Only read de Sade if you’re ready to see the darker side of humanity. Or your own.”

  “I guess I’ll stick to Fifty Shades. For now.”

  He cups my jaw and draws me to him, his gaze searing mine. “Bad enough you crossed my path.”

  My heart beats twice as fast as before.

  Run away.

  But part of me wants to be even closer to him. I don’t understand why I’m drawn to someone that unsettles me as much as he does.

  Abruptly, he releases my jaw. “Your turn.”

  Too rattled, I fail to pocket a red ball.

  He runs the table till there’s only a red ball and a black ball left. Sierra comes in, still in her underwear but dripping wet from being in the hot tub. She grabs two bottles of ale from the fridge before heading back outside.

  I look at where the balls are, and if I can pocket the red ball, the black ball is sitting within easy shot of the corner pocket. I get the feeling Tony left the setup for me on purpose.

  “You win regardless of whether I get these balls in or not,” I say.

  The cue ball is in the center of the table, and I have to stretch my body to reach it. My breath catches when Tony leans over me, his mouth an inch from my ear.

  “Then how about I give you an incentive?” he asks. “Pot the balls and you win. If I win, I get to spank you with the cue.”

  I lose focus on the cue ball as I consider how heavy and hard the cue stick is. I don’t think it would feel good on my bottom at all.

  “That’s okay,” I say with a shaky laugh.

  “Virginia, you don’t have a choice.”

  I was afraid of that. He moves away to give me space to make my shot. I stare hard at the cue ball. I visualize it going in. I need it to go in.

  Drawing back the cue, I bring it forward, hitting the cue ball. After rolling about two feet, it hits the red ball.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The red ball teeters at the edge of the pocket. I can’t believe I didn’t hit it hard enough.

  A second later the ball falls into the pocket, and I jump with excitement. I look over at Tony.

  “Nice shot,” he says, “but you still have to pot the black ball.”

  Feeling like a soldier going into battle, I nod and brace myself. Based on where the cue ball ended up, I can’t hit the target ball straight on. It’s resting near the rail. I could try to ricochet the ball off the rail, but that leaves room for a lot of error, and I’m not skilled enough to attempt that.

  Tony goes to stand behind the black ball and points to the side of it. “You want the cue ball to gently kiss the black ball here.”

  Is he helping me out because he doesn’t think I can make this shot or because he’s not that vested in spanking me with the cue?

  He puts a finger on the bumper just an inch or so
to the left of the black ball. “Aim the cue ball right here.”

  I chalk my cue and position myself over the table. I don’t want to think about how hard the cue is or about the possibility that if Tony hits me really hard, it might even break.

  Instead, I visualize the cue ball heading toward his finger and tapping the black ball on its side, and the black ball rolling toward the corner pocket, falling in.

  I can do this.

  As soon as I hit the cue ball, I worry that I’ve hit it too softly again. It rolls rather slowly toward the black ball and might not have enough power to send the black ball into the pocket. Tony walks over to me, and together we watch the cue ball hit the spot his finger had been pointing to. The energy transfers to the black ball, which rolls toward the corner of the table. My grip tightens on my cue as I realize I might have done it.

  The ball falls into the pocket.

  “I did it!” I squeal and turn around to face Tony.

  His eyes seem to reflect my delight as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him.

  “Congratulations,” he says. “You escaped a brutal spanking.”

  He’s exaggerating, right? Nonetheless, my relief increases. I hadn’t wanted to consider what kind of spanking he had intended.

  He crushes his mouth over mine, making my head spin. I’m glad I didn’t take any of those Jell-o shots so that I can experience his kiss unadulterated by alcohol. It’s a high unlike anything I can think of. I feel powerless to stop him from devouring my lips, provided I would want to. Which I don’t. I love how strong his mouth feels on mine, yet there’s a finesse there. It’s not just about pressing lips to lips like some passionate kiss from an old film in a time when actors couldn’t kiss with mouths open. I feel like Tony is savoring my mouth while claiming every millimeter of it as his.

  Without separating his mouth from mine, he takes my cue from my hand and lays both mine and his on the table. Scooping me, he sits me on the edge of the table and continues to kiss me, probing deeper this time. His hand at the back of my neck alarms me a little, just because it’s such a vulnerable place. How had he killed this man in Hanoi anyway?