by Kelsie Rae
“Sorry,” Jack apologizes.
“It’s okay. So…” I let the word drag out, attempting to find a solid subject change to save us from the awkwardness.
“So…,” Jack mimics. “Do you play anything else? Or are you a blackjack girl through and through?”
Rule #6 and Rule #8 whisper in the back of my conscience before I decide his question is relatively harmless and give him an answer. “I play a bit of poker too. How about you?”
“Naw, blackjack for me. Poker brings in too many variables. But did you see the tournament they just started advertising? A shit ton of big players are flying in from all around the states to get a piece of the action.”
No freaking way.
Schooling my features, I lean forward in casual interest. “Really? That sounds interesting. Where will it be held?”
“Here at Sin. I heard the owner is going to participate, too, which is crazy. I didn’t even know that was legal.”
When you’re a mob boss, you’d be surprised what you can get away with.
“Yeah, that’s crazy,” I agree with a smile. “Do you know when it is?”
Jack remains silent, his brows pinching together in concentration. “I can’t remember, but they have a billboard over there announcing it. Come on.”
With an excitement I didn’t expect, a friendly Jack grabs my hand from the bartop and pulls me with him, leaving my drink forgotten. After we round the corner, weave through copious amounts of slot machines, and take another left near a bunch of shops, I’m greeted with a big ass sign revealing exactly what I’ve been searching for.
October 15th.
“Do you see how much money the buy-in is?” Jack says, breaking the silence. “Fifty thousand dollars. Can you even imagine having that much cash lying around?”
“Yeah,” I hedge. “Crazy. Hey, I gotta go. It was good seeing you, though, and thanks for keeping an eye out for me. We’ll talk soon.” Spinning around, I make my escape while the numbers on Kingston’s business card gleam in my memory.
Seems I have a call to make.
Chapter Fifteen
Ace
Fun Fact: Pay phones are almost non-existent nowadays. However, Dottie is a gem and hasn’t renovated her diner in almost forty years, which means I’m still in luck.
Rushing into my home away from home, I slide my hand into my pocket in search of change before putting the quarters into the phone and dialing Kingston’s number.
“Ace! I’m over here!” Gigi calls, waving her hands up in the air.
I lift my forefinger to motion for her to give me a second.
With pinched brows, a confused Gigi slides back into her seat, waiting for me to finish whatever I’m up to. I’m sure she’ll interrogate me in a minute, but I’ll deal with that later.
The ringing stops echoing through the earpiece, and I wait to see if he’s answered. “Yeah?” a voice barks on the other end.
“Um, hey.” The diner is practically empty at this time of night, but it doesn’t stop me from looking over my shoulder while remembering my rules. I can’t believe I’m actually calling him.
There’s a soft rustling on the other end of the line before Kingston murmurs, “Ace?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“You okay?” His tone is softer now––or maybe I’m imagining things––but the sound of his voice doesn’t stop my heart from racing.
“Yeah,” I whisper before twisting my finger around the phone’s cord and scanning the empty diner for the thousandth time. “I just wanted to tell you—”
“Shh,” he interrupts. “I’ll meet you tonight.”
Meet? Again?
There’s a heady pause as an angel and a demon on my shoulders give their arguments for whether or not this is a good idea. Maybe some distance would be a good thing. When I’m around Kingston, he tugs the control from my grasp whether I want him to or not.
Blowing out a slow breath, I mutter, “I don’t think that’s––”
“It wasn’t a question, Ace.”
“Hmph.” I look around before tugging on the cord and gritting my teeth. “Fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“At your place. You can leave the bat under your bed though, Babe Ruth.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and it brings a grudging one to my own.
With a snort, I murmur, “Whatever. See you then.”
After the call is disconnected, I head to the corner booth when Dottie stops me. “Usual order, doll?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Dottie.”
“No problem, darlin’. I’ll bring it over in a few.”
I take a seat across from Gigi and prepare for the inquisition in three…two…one….
“So, who’d ya call?”
My teeth dig into my lower lip in hopes of containing my smile at the predictability of the conversation. “No one. French toast today, huh? Are they all out of pancake batter? Ya know, with how much shit you give me for ordering the same thing, I’ve never seen you eat anything that isn’t drenched in butter and syrup. Just sayin’.”
“Well, maybe I need a little something sweet in my life. Ever think of that?”
Raising my hands in surrender, I nod my thanks to Dottie as she places a hot plate in front of me. “Thanks, Dottie. That was fast.”
“I put in the order when ya walked in, doll.” With a wink, Dottie moves along to her next task for the evening, leaving Gigi and me alone in our booth.
“Ha! Now that’s what I call perfect timing,” Gigi teases. “So how’d tonight go? You’re here earlier than usual. Was it bad?”
My face nearly splits in two from my grin as I remember why my night was cut short.
“I take that as a no,” she quips.
“It’s a definite no,” I reply, feeling giddy. “The tournament is official. They must’ve announced it in the last few days, but I just saw the billboard tonight.”
The realization that my plan is finally coming to fruition is enough to make me dizzy with anticipation. It’s so close that I can almost taste it. The revenge I’ve been plotting for years is in reach. I just need to finish strong and grab onto it with both hands.
As I take a giant bite of eggs and hashbrowns, G starts probing, “So, are you going to make the buy-in? I know you were worried about the deadline…” her voice trails off.
After swallowing my bite, I lean forward and keep my voice low. “Yeah. I’ll have enough. I can’t believe it’s only a week away, though. I thought I’d have more time to mentally prep.”
“I thought you’ve had years to mentally prep to face him again.”
“Yeah, but this is different. Initially, I was simply counting to get by. It’s the only thing I knew how to do, and it was fun sticking it to the man. But then I saw Burlone and pieced together he owned the place during the last poker tournament a few years ago, so I started saving up.” The memory surfaces as if it were yesterday, making my stomach churn with anxiety. I know I’m not the little girl he abused all those years ago, but it doesn’t stop the fight or flight response from flaring up every time I think about him. Shaking the feelings off, I continue. “I never felt like I’d actually have a chance to take him down, ya know?”
“Yeah, I get that. Do you think you’re ready?”
Now that’s the question. I don’t know what else I could’ve done to prepare for this tournament. I’ve practiced. I’ve watched. I’ve learned. I’ve put in enough hours to last me a lifetime. Now, I just need to pray it’s enough to make him hurt.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I shrug, taking another bite of eggs.
As Gigi watches me devour my breakfast, I can see the wheels turning in her head before she works up the courage to ask me something. “Do you think he’ll recognize you? I mean, you’ve said you’re the mirror image of your mom.”
The eggs nearly get stuck in my throat as I contemplate the answer. “I’ve been dying my hair for years, and my arms are track-mark free. Other than that? I don’t know what else I can do to ke
ep it from him.”
“To be fair,” Gigi offers, “he probably doesn’t even remember her. The guy’s a slimeball and has been doing shady shit for a long time. I mean, we’ve all heard rumors of what he does even if no one’s able to prove it. I doubt he recalls everyone he’s screwed over in the past. And like you’ve said, you usually hid out in your room when he was there, anyway. Maybe he doesn’t remember that your mom had a daughter in the first place.”
I stare into the distance as visions of his fist connecting with my face as a kid––and the night my mom wasn’t home––scream their rebuttal, but I choose not to voice it.
After a few heavy seconds, I murmur, “Maybe.”
The eggs and hashbrowns I’d eaten a few minutes ago roll in my gut, so I push my plate away.
“Do you want me to come to the tournament? To show some support?” Gigi’s smile is hesitant, and I think she knows it isn’t a great idea, either. We both have our reasons for only ever meeting at Dottie’s even if neither of us has voiced them out loud.
“No, it’s okay. Meet me here, though. We’ll celebrate with a kickass waffle smothered in butter and syrup.” I grin, and she returns it with one of her own.
“Deal.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ace
I’m anxious. I don’t want to admit it to myself, but it doesn’t stop the way I keep tossing and turning in my bed, my heart skipping a beat every time I imagine hearing a sound in the house, only to find it empty.
I can’t believe I actually agreed to this. The guy is breaking into my apartment for Pete’s sake, and I’m allowing it? Just because he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen doesn’t mean he should get a free pass for breaking and entering.
Fidgeting with the sheets, I finally sit up and head to the kitchen for a glass of water. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep tonight when I know I’m going to be woken up by an intruder any minute now. As I open the cabinet and reach for a cup, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the window latch being unlocked.
With barely restrained anticipation––though I refuse to admit it to myself––I turn on my heel to see a very sexy Kingston grinning at me.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I murmur while folding my arms and popping out my hip.
He ignores my snarky tone and replies, “Likewise. Although I think I prefer the other pajamas.” I look down at my baggy hoodie with threadbare sweats that nearly swallow me whole.
“And why’s that?” I ask with a quirked brow.
His deep laugh reverberates through his chest, softening a bit of my prickly demeanor.
“Skin, Ace. Guys like when you show it off.”
A smile cracks on my face before I join in his laughter.
Dammit, he’s charming.
An ass. But a charming one.
“Well, maybe I want a guy to like me for my mind instead of my body. Ever think of that one, Sherlock?”
“Is this your way of trying to find out if I’m still attracted to you or not?”
“Are you saying you were attracted to me in the first place?” I counter.
With another deep laugh, he asks, “Are you fishing for a compliment?”
“Are you going to give me one?”
Shaking his head, he stalks closer. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for being so feisty.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for being so stubborn.”
“Lie.” He grins, calling me out.
With my eyes crinkled in the corners from smiling so hard, I admit, “Touché. I definitely pegged you for being stubborn.” My voice is light. Airy. The opposite of how it should be when addressing a mob boss. Especially when he just broke into my freaking apartment. But right now, in a pair of low sweats and a t-shirt, he appears to be the furthest thing from it.
“Where’s the suit?” I ask, lifting my chin at his attire.
“A suit doesn’t exactly blend in, and when I’m trying to be discreet—”
“You go for ghetto. I like it.”
“Ghetto?” A mock-offended Kingston clutches at his chest. “I was going for casual. Are you saying I look like a thug?”
Casually, I check him out from head to toe, turning the tables on him and enjoying the power that thrums through my veins. When I’m away from Kingston, I can almost convince myself I’m imagining his good looks, but nope. Here he is, in the flesh, and I definitely can’t argue with the fact that Kingston is sexy as hell.
For once, I notice that he looks his age. Only a few years older than me, instead of the man I met who let his experiences age him right before my eyes.
The tension in the room spikes as he scratches the scruff on his chiseled jaw, but it doesn’t stop me from blatantly checking him out.
“So that’s what it’s like,” he notes.
The huskiness in his voice distracts me, and I catch myself peeking up into his hypnotic eyes.
“That’s what what’s like?” I ask.
“Being checked out.”
I laugh while covering my face as my cheeks heat to epic proportions. “Yup. How’d you like it?”
With a shrug, he offers, “Meh. Not too bad. I don’t know what you women are always complaining about.”
Again, I just shake my head as another fit of giggles rolls through me.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re gorgeous. Even with no skin showing,” he compliments. I’m positive I’ll burn up from embarrassment as I drop my gaze down to my bare feet, speechless. Taking a step closer until we’re nearly chest to chest, he changes the subject. “You wanted to tell me something?”
Clearing my throat in hopes of breaking the spell, I look back up at him and reply, “Uh, yeah. I wanted to let you know that I found out the date of the tournament.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. We already figured that part out.”
“How?”
“The casino has been advertising the hell out of the tournament since the night you and I talked. It was even on the news, Ace. How did you not know about it as soon as it was announced a few days ago?”
Well, that’s not embarrassing.
My cheeks are on fire as I admit, “I don’t exactly watch the news.”
“I figured.”
I open my mouth to respond before closing it again, and he watches with amusement as I stumble along. “S-so why’d you come if you already knew the date of the tournament?” My voice is laced with confusion, and Kingston hears it loud and clear.
“I didn’t know that’s the information you were going to give me.”
“But you suspected it,” I counter.
“Yeah.” Lifting his hand, Kingston tucks a few dark strands of hair behind my ear, then confirms my suspicion. “I suspected it.”
Frozen, I let his calloused fingers brush against the shell of my ear before he drops his arm back down to his side. But he doesn’t back away. Nope. That would be way too convenient for me and my muddled feelings.
I’ve never felt more confused in my entire life, but a question tugs at the back of my mind, and because I’m begging for punishment, I voice it aloud. “Do you always touch your informants like this?” My chest squeezes with curiosity, though I refuse to admit why I’m anxious to hear his response.
With a flash of a smile, his tongue sneaks out between his lips to moisten them before his piercing gaze pins me in place.
“Not usually,” he rumbles.
“Then, why me?”
The question hangs in the air, making his silence speak louder than words. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. It’s not like I’m special or anything. He probably just thinks I’d be an easy lay, and since he’s using me for information, I bet that he assumes he could pass the time with a solid screw too, right?
My head screams this is a terrible idea, while the rest of my body is shouting the opposite. I mean, is there anything wrong with a solid screw? I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but I’ve heard good th
ings. Things that have made me wonder if the entire world is smoking something when it comes to the idea of sex, or if my childhood has screwed me up to the point that I’ll never understand what it’s like to enjoy a solid orgasm unless I’m alone in my bed with an itch that needs to be scratched.
As I stare at the tan skin along the column of his throat, that same insistent curiosity threatens to take over again. What would it be like if someone else scratched that itch for me? Chewing on my lower lip, I can’t seem to find my voice, but I don’t know what I would say, anyway, so maybe it’s for the best. Hell, I can’t figure out how my body betrayed me by rubbing up against his as I find us standing so closely together that I can feel his warmth radiating through my thin hoodie. However, at least leaning closer to him is the only thing my traitorous body did when the possibilities running through my mind are endless.
“I should get going.” He steps back, taking his heat with him. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”
I nod but don’t move another muscle as I watch him go. Once the window is securely closed behind him, I whisper, “Okay.”
What the hell was that?
Chapter Seventeen
Ace
“Hi,” I squeak. My voice is high and mousy as I address the hotel concierge, who also happens to be the one handling the tournament registration.
“Hello.” His voice is a stark contrast to mine. Low and monotone that would put me to sleep in minutes. “How can I help you?”
Wiping my sweaty palms on my skinny jeans, I clear my throat in hopes of keeping it from cracking. “I’d like to sign up for the tournament, please.” I probably look like I’m about to pee my pants as I catch myself shifting from foot to foot in front of him, but I can’t stop the need to bounce up and down in excitement that this is actually happening. I’m registering for the tournament. The tournament.