Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4)

by Lindsay J. Pryor

  Yet though she was sat with Pummel’s crew, there was something undeniably peripheral about her presence amongst them. Despite everyone being engaged with someone in the room, she remained alone, hunched over her crossed legs and absorbed in her book – an activity that made her appear even more alien in that environment. It was as if no one took any notice of her. More so, it was as if the others were purposefully staying away from her. It created a sense of fragility about her, despite her deadliness – a fragility that had intrigued him as much as the shock in her eyes as he’d kissed her.

  Now he just needed to see if her loyalty to the notorious con was as fallible as her willingness to save a stranger, let alone keep him alive, had shown.

  So when she tucked those long dark ringlets behind her ear to reveal her pretty face fully, her gaze locking straight onto his – the fact she knew precisely where to look further confirming she was far from human – came the test of whether she truly would squeal as she’d threatened to.

  He’d made sure his exit was clear – his route already planned to give him the greatest chance.

  Her alarm was palpable as her startled eyes met his. Reassuringly, her instant wary glance in Pummel’s direction only confirmed her desperation to cover her tracks. She’d clearly been telling the truth when she’d said any news of her speaking with him would end only one way. Only seemingly the consequences were grave for her too.

  His angle was confirmed.

  Which was fortunate considering it took less than a minute later for Pummel to also notice him.

  Muscular legs parted, shirt loose on his chunky body, Pummel held the match poised at the end of his joint.

  Pummel – aka Nathan Stark. Any con who was anyone didn’t go by their birth name in Blackthorn. They earned names based on their reputation, and Nathan Stark had undeniably earned his.

  Two others sat to the left of him. The one immediately to his left was maybe in his early thirties, his floppy blonde hair scraggy over his forehead. Saul Harker. His crimes were mainly petty, but he had an unpleasant penchant for the vulnerable. His scarily high IQ would have no doubt proved useful to Pummel. Harker was nicknamed Chemist for one simple reason – he was experimental with his victims, inflicting all sorts of concoctions for whatever purpose took his fancy.

  The one next to him had a shaved head like Pummel’s. He was the youngest at late twenties. Troy Blackwell, aka Dice. Absent of conscience, he was eloquently able to justify every action he took by the flip of the cubes he kept in his pocket. He had a list of crimes from petty to downright violent.

  The one sat opposite Pummel was Lennie Masters. Of the same stocky build though visibly younger by maybe ten years, Lennie, as his numbers suggested, had a streak as brutal as the scar that appeared from the side of his neck and, as Eden knew, spanned down to his stomach. He had survived the gutting attempt whilst still in the penitentiary; the three who had attempted it hadn’t. He was known as Homer. He was Pummel’s right-hand man – his intellectual adviser.

  This was Pummel’s main crew. And each pair of eyes rested on him in succession.

  Eden crunched through the remainder of his mint, being mindful not to look back at the girl as he crossed the room towards them.

  And the girl, from what he could see of her downturned head, had equally opted to act smart and keep her curiosity to a minimum too.

  If she was going to squeal, she was taking her time thinking about it.

  As he’d predicted, Homer stood instantly, squaring up in the horseshoe entrance to block Eden’s way. Despite his puffed-up chest and jutted-out jaw, he still didn’t meet Eden’s six-foot-one frame nor, more importantly, his relaxed composure. And it was the latter that evoked a hint of well-masked apprehension in Homer. More to the point, it had stirred Pummel’s curiosity enough to give his second in command the nod before finally lighting his joint.

  Eden knew the routine. Without protest, he slipped his coat off. He handed it to Homer who promptly threw it at Chemist. Eden placed his hands behind his head, a stance that also exposed his forearms to the crew. He retained his calm but direct and unflinching eye contact with Homer, just as he had with Pummel, just as he had with Grayson and the others trying to beat him to death in the alley. Along with the array of numbers now revealed, that would warn them he had the self-possession of someone used to conflict, used to standing up for himself. And that, he hoped, would increase the inquisitiveness he needed to create in Pummel. It also created a small but satisfying edge of wariness in Homer as the con proceeded to frisk him.

  Guns in Blackthorn were rare, but knives were commonplace. Makeshift weapons were certainly frequent with the amount of iron and steel left lying around. But Eden wasn’t stupid enough to go in there with a weapon – just a small enticement he had gone to collect in the time he’d had between the girl leaving and him arriving there. Because there was only one way he was getting close to her again – and that was through Pummel.

  ‘He’s clean,’ Homer announced.

  ‘Except for this,’ Chemist declared, pulling the packet out of Eden’s inside jacket pocket.

  He tossed the clear plastic bag to Pummel whilst Homer resumed his wary attention on Eden who’d simultaneously dropped his hands casually back by his sides.

  It only took a tilt of Pummel’s head in the direction of the vacant seat opposite for Eden to know it wasn’t a request.

  Pummel threw the bag down on the table between them; gave Eden the quick once over as he watched him sit down. ‘Let’s take a proper look,’ he said off the back of a long exhale of his joint.

  Like sharing war wounds, Eden upturned his inner forearm to reveal the full extent of the tattooed row of numbers that spanned from wrist to elbow.

  Pummel’s eyes momentarily flared at what he would have deemed an impressive array of crimes even by his standards. ‘What’s your name, kid?’

  ‘Reece. Eden Reece. And I’m guessing you’re the one they call Pummel.’

  Holding Eden’s steady gaze, Homer resuming his seat, Pummel leaned back into the sofa again. ‘Just arrived, huh?’

  ‘And looking for a place to stay. I hear you’re the man to ask.’

  ‘And you hear right. But lodgings here aren’t free nor an entitlement.’

  ‘Nothing ever is.’

  Pummel nearly smiled at that. But Eden knew only too well that smiling wasn’t always a good sign.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ Pummel asked, indicating at the plastic bag between them.

  ‘It’s a sample, yes.’

  Pummel raked his gaze slowly over Eden again. ‘That array on your arm tells me you’re trouble. Real trouble.’

  ‘I am. But I’m also real well connected – as you can see. I’ve no doubt you know how hard it is to get your hands on that around here.’

  Pummel stretched his free arm along the back of the sofa. ‘So you’re here to make a deal.’

  ‘And, lucky for you, you’re my first choice to make it with.’

  ‘Why me?’ Pummel asked.

  ‘I only work with the top of the food chain.’

  Pummel exhaled another steady stream from his joint. This time his hint of a smile revealed undeniable flattery. ‘And in return?’

  ‘Like I said, I need a place to stay.’

  ‘You strike me as the type that can look after themselves.’

  ‘As can you. But we both know the advantages of this kind of set-up.’

  Pummel’s eyes narrowed contemplatively. He exhaled a puff of smoke that formed a distinct hoop in the air. ‘You think you can handle working for me?’

  ‘I can handle working for whoever pays me the highest price.’

  Pummel leaned forward, poured himself a shot and poured one for Eden too, shoving the glass towards him with his chubby fingertips. ‘You’ve got guts, kid.’

  Eden leaned forward to accept the offering. ‘Enough to tell you I don’t like being referred to as a kid,’ he said, knocking the drink back in one, his gaze resting st
eadily on Pummel’s again as he placed the empty glass back on the table. Because play ball though he needed to, compromising by being the underdog had never been a pill he could swallow. ‘Enough to want to make that clear at this stage.’

  Pummel’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re a long way from home, con. I don’t know what kind of power you had wherever it is you’re from or why they thought it better to send you here, but you’re in my territory now so I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. And if this is going to work, you’ll answer to whatever I call you.’ He leaned back in the sofa again, his elbows resting along the back as his glare locked on Eden. ‘So let me know now if you still have a problem with that.’

  Eden stared right back, not even flinching under Pummel’s scrutiny, at the prospect of being beaten to a pulp by his henchmen at any point. ‘Depends,’ Eden remarked. ‘Are your rooms en suite? I’ve missed having my own bathroom.’

  Silence dropped like a two-tonne weight.

  But then Pummel laughed. Hard. Deep. He seemed genuinely amused, albeit fleetingly. ‘You prove yourself as useful as I think you might be, you can have an entire fucking floor to yourself.’

  It was Eden’s turn to smile. ‘Throw in fresh linen and I’ll prove exactly how useful I can be.’

  Pummel held his gaze on Eden in the painful moments that passed. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ He puffed a few more smoke rings into the air. ‘I need to make my mind up about you. Give myself a little time to think.’

  Eden leaned back in the sofa as if he held all the cards. ‘Sure,’ he said, glancing across his right shoulder at the pool table. There were ways into every situation, and he’d already sussed Pummel. At least he hoped he had. Besides, a cue in his hand would grant him the only semblance of a weapon should things turn nasty. ‘Are you a pool man, Pummel?’ he asked, looking back at him.

  ‘I play, yeah.’

  ‘You want to play me while you do that thinking?’

  ‘Are you hoping for a wager?’ Pummel asked.

  Eden shrugged as he stood, leaving his jacket behind as if he were amongst friends. ‘Or we could play a game for the pleasure of the game,’ he said, passing through the gap in the sofa to cross the fifteen-foot room towards the pool table.

  ‘Are you any good?’ Pummel called after him.

  Across his shoulder, Eden flashed him a grin. ‘I’ll whip your arse.’

  Instead of being enflamed by the challenge, another smile crept across Pummel’s lips. He held his hand up to indicate for Homer, Chemist and Dice to take it easy as he exhaled the remains of his joint before stubbing it out in the overflowing ashtray between them. Thankfully he stood, the others following behind him. ‘If you manage to whip my arse, con, you’ll get a room until dawn.’

  Eden accepted the cue from one of the players who promptly took the hint to forego their game, leaving Eden to restock the table as Pummel approached. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Pummel grabbed his own cue from the other retreating player, before resting his hands on the table, staring Eden down as the latter refilled the triangle. ‘Don’t you want to know what’ll happen if you lose?’

  Eden shrugged. ‘Not going to happen,’ he said, removing the triangle.

  Pummel smirked. ‘Best of three?’

  ‘Two games it is then,’ Eden said, flashing Pummel another smile before bending over the table to break.

  4

  It was the longest hour of her life as Jessie intermittently checked out the action at the pool table.

  What had started as stilted conversation gradually eased into the relaying of pool-hall successes. Before too long, full-on banter had erupted – shared experiences and exploits, discussions of sport, drink preferences, their feats in other games they had played both in and outside the penitentiaries. Eden may have had a smart mouth, but he worked Pummel with an infectious charm, his easy composure clearly relaxing to be around, his smile appeasing to the point she couldn’t tell who was playing whom in the end.

  But what the hell he was doing playing with Pummel at all was more forefront in her mind as she remained consumed by the anxious irritation that stilted her breathing and maintained the tense knot in the pit of her stomach. He’d ignored her advice. He’d made a mockery of her threat. And if Pummel decided to take an about-turn, their dark secret would be out – because there would be no other reason for Eden’s ability to take so long to die, let alone heal so quickly, other than from what was still in his system.

  Then it would be over for him.

  And any semblance of freedom she had left would be gone.

  Ever since he’d walked in there, he’d been counting on her keeping her mouth shut. With every minute that passed, he knew it was becoming harder and harder for her to do anything to the contrary. He was silently cornering her – right under Pummel’s nose.

  Clearly he either he had his sights set on working for Pummel and had no intention of being thrown off track or he had worked out what she had done for him and he was back for more. Neither option endeared him to her any more than his arrogance to reappear had. An arrogance she was fuelling by cowering in her chair at a safe distance.

  There was only one way she was going to get him to rethink and that was by securing some doubt in him about her intentions. She’d see how much of that calm and collected exterior he’d maintain amidst the threat of possible disclosure at any point – maybe even create enough tension in him to make him break for air, subsequently giving her the opportunity to get him alone again.

  And this time she’d be sure he’d take her seriously.

  As usual, no one took any notice as she crossed the room to join them, as she perched on one of the low-backed bar stools lining the wall on the far side of the pool table, her back to the shelf of drinks. The others’ indifference to her presence was routine, but even Eden didn’t acknowledge her at first – something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Pummel.

  When he finally had the sense to at least look in her direction, instead of it ruffling Pummel, it only seemed to appease him as Eden did so swiftly and nonchalantly.

  Whether a part of his game-playing or genuine disregard, she couldn’t be sure, but a fragment of disappointment scraped through her.

  ‘Just so you’re clear, she’s out of bounds,’ Pummel said, as Eden moved around to her side of the table.

  Eden glanced across his shoulder at her as he leaned over to take his next shot, but still avoided eye contact. ‘Ringlets?’ he asked, glancing back at Pummel whilst lining up his cue. ‘She’s not my type.’

  Uttered with a heavy dose of sincerity, it was a metaphoric stab to her chest. Worse, far from being perturbed by her joining them, he took his shot without hesitation, smoothly pocketing another ball and finally winning the game. His aloofness caused a stirring deep in her gut, not helped by his proficiency.

  ‘Do you want to break this time?’ Eden asked Pummel, releasing the balls from their entombment as he instantly diverted the topic of conversation.

  Seemingly, for now, Pummel was appeased. She knew she should have at least been grateful for that, but her unease was about far more than the threat of Pummel discovering what she had done. The knot in her stomach, the quickened pace of her otherwise naturally slow heartbeat as she watched Eden play, weren’t solely triggered by anxiety.

  He played the second game as easily as he played the first, the cue naturally smooth in his hands, his precision impressive amidst carefully measured control and pressure.

  Jessie lingered over the strength in his shoulders, the way his T-shirt pulled tight over his chest as he took each shot. His taut, flat stomach remained that way even as he leaned over the table, exacerbating the strength in his parted thighs, the curve of his tight behind. He expertly slid the cue back and forth between his strong and masculine spread fingers, the silver rings that he wore on his left hand – one on the thumb, the other on the middle finger – glinting in the overhead light along with the dial of the watch he wore on his right wrist. Sh
e watched the flexion in his biceps and powerful forearms, not least when he braced those arms like he was mid press-up to check by eye that the set-up was as aligned as it could be – eyes that were focused, meticulous, compelling. Even when he bantered between shots, it was always with a strategic and calculated eye on the table. And her presence did nothing to hamper that.

  Eden Reece wasn’t just a game player – he was a very worthy opponent. An opponent who was using that pool table as a clever platform to show Pummel, and her, exactly what he was capable of when under pressure, when he was surrounded, when his life was hanging in the balance.

  Eden Reece was trouble. Serious trouble. And she had allowed him into her world – a world she realised was about to get a hell of a lot darker when victory began going Eden’s way again, when Pummel subsequently whispered something in Homer’s ear, Homer instantly sloping off.

  The exchange hadn’t gone unnoticed by Eden either. So when Pummel eventually won the next game after a couple of misaligned shots from Eden, she knew, as she had the feeling Pummel did, that Eden had let him win. And that was something that only gave Pummel even more drive to redeem his crown.

  Only Pummel’s determination and focus meant he’d failed to notice Eden’s bottle creeping closer and closer towards her each time he’d placed it on the shelf. And with Homer gone, Chemist and Dice locked in conversation with a couple of others, and Pummel focused on his next shot, no one noticed that, when Eden retrieved his drink again, he did so coming in from behind her.

  His proximity alone was enough to make her stomach clench, but when he discreetly glided his thumb across her lower back, a spark of electricity shot up her spine.

  She dared not flinch despite her heart jolting. Heat rushed between her legs not only at his furtive and sensual acknowledgement, but that as well as being brave enough to do it in Pummel’s presence, he was adept enough to keep it from him.

  He cleverly and timely pulled away just as Pummel looked up again, the con’s grey eyes narrowing as if he was questioning what he had seen amidst Jessie’s gaze not flinching from the table. Whether it was Eden’s arrogant attempt to taunt her or to show her the fallacy in his earlier indifference, the thrill of it made her blood pump. She took a steady breath and reminded herself to keep any reaction shielded from Pummel as Eden sauntered back over to the table to smoothly and successfully pocket his next shot.