Go With It (A Go Novel Book 1)

by Scarlett Finn

  The kiss was sickening to watch, but it was easier to witness that physical act than it was to observe the way Ryske smiled at the simpering Ophelia who wouldn’t stop touching him.

  “Everyone’s waiting,” Ryske’s voice rose.

  Harlow knew he wasn’t talking to her and did her best not to react to the deep sound that had been such a tormenting comfort to her so often since they’d met.

  “Then what are we doing here?” Hagan said and put a hand to the small of her back. “Come with me.”

  Still facing the bar, Harlow kept her lips on her champagne flute while she hissed at him through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you go to hell?”

  Leaning in, he brushed her hair from her shoulder and kissed her ear provoking her instinct to pull away. Her recoil prompted him to slide his hand across her back and onto her opposite hip to tug her to him.

  “I would rethink your attitude,” he grumbled. “The target you care about is within my sights. Do you think I would hesitate to hurt him?”

  Turning her head was her only option. The rest of her body was locked in the clamp of Hagan’s half-embrace. With her shoulders tensed and her elbows on the bar, there was no room for maneuver, but she was grateful Hagan only had access to her hip.

  “What would that get you?” she asked and took her time about drinking some more champagne before discarding the flute. “What’s to stop me from walking over there and sticking my tongue down his throat?” Pushing Hagan back, she twisted her body to face him, ignoring how his hand found its way into the slit of her dress. Letting Hagan provoke a reaction from her would provoke one from Ryske, she’d bet that was what Hagan was banking on. So, Harlow focused her glare on him and blanked out the feel of his fingertips on her inner thigh. “Better yet, what’s to stop me walking over there, dropping to my knees and—”

  “I’m not the only one watching,” Hagan said. “You or him. Do you want to take the risk of blowing his cover? You know how precious he is about that.”

  Pressing her lips together, Harlow wasn’t sure if there was steam coming out of her nose; it felt like it. She hated this. Hated being out of control. Hated being under Hagan’s control. Hated what Ryske must think of her.

  Though he hadn’t reacted to seeing her, he must have been hurt, or at least pissed, to see her with the man who’d ordered the stabbing. Hagan wasn’t only a mark, there was history between the men that she hadn’t understood. Now, given that Hagan wasn’t forthcoming, and Ryske probably hated her, she may never learn what had gone on between them.

  “I will scream rape if you touch me again,” she said, sliding off her stool and resenting how close Hagan stayed to her.

  Harlow held her breath when he inched closer still. When he touched her cheek and smiled at her like he was a boyfriend complimenting his girl, she had to clench her jaw.

  “I’m not a man who takes to being taunted,” he murmured like they were words of love when they were anything but. “The more you say it, the more you make me want to show you just how helpless you are. I get what I want, your feelings are irrelevant to me.”

  “What’s the delay?” Ophelia asked, approaching with Ryske at her side, her arm around his waist.

  “No delay,” Hagan said and took Harlow’s hand to put it inside the crook of his elbow again.

  “Good,” Ophelia said, opening a hand to the man at her side. “Harlow, I’d like you to meet Ryske.”

  Turned out they all had roles to play in this crazy game. Fine, she was a newbie, but she’d figure it out. Harlow hadn’t introduced herself to Ophelia, though there was no reason for Hagan to know that, so Ophelia’s introduction should go under the radar.

  Disgusted as she was, Harlow wasn’t going to endanger herself or Ryske. That didn’t mean she planned to make any of this easy for her jailor.

  Widening her smile, she pinned it on Ryske. “Your boyfriend is extremely attractive, Ophelia,” Harlow said, offering her hand to Ryske.

  A pro at appearing neutral, this was his job. It was no surprise that he could do passive. Ryske took her hand and bowed to kiss it.

  Ophelia laughed. “Oh, he’s not exactly my boyfriend.”

  “Not exactly?” Harlow asked, keeping Ryske’s hand even after he tried to release hers. Building a façade like she was just a flirt who didn’t want to let him go gave her the opportunity to be close to him for another few seconds. “Then I may have to fight you for him.” She licked her lips. “Ophelia, how do you restrain yourself?”

  “Okay, ladies, form a line,” Ryske said and winked at her, making her giggle in a way she never had before.

  Hagan yanked her hard against his side, shaking the smile from her face. “Behave yourself.”

  “Not something I’m known for,” Harlow said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Ryske asked.

  Hagan snatched Harlow’s hand away from the man in front of her. “No,” Hagan said. “Everything is as it should be.”

  Ryske looked to her, more intrigue and concern on his face than there had been before. There was no outward sign that he was asking her, as himself, if she needed him to intervene. Yet, that felt like the opening he was giving her.

  Pasting a smile on her face, she didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt. “Just peachy,” she said.

  “Then we should join our friends,” Ryske said, turning to put an arm around Ophelia’s shoulder to lead her through the crowd.

  21

  Harlow and Hagan followed close behind Ryske and Ophelia as they moved through the partygoers. Wherever they were going could be full of friends or foes, she had no idea if their destination would be hostile or jovial. Though Harlow wouldn’t put money on it being the latter.

  On an op, Ryske liked to have a plan. Being an unexpected variable didn’t make her feel good. Neither did knowing that Ryske probably resented her for getting involved. Not that any of this was her choice. Hagan wanted to use her to hurt Ryske; a man she cared for and respected.

  Her infuriation didn’t matter, neither did Hagan’s motivations. Harlow resolved herself to being an asset for her friend. Whatever it took, she’d keep Ryske safe, even if that meant playing along with Hagan or going home with him.

  Unless it meant certain death for Crash, Harlow wouldn’t sleep with Hagan. But, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t come to that. She couldn’t think of any situation in which sex would be necessary to keep Ryske safe. But, no matter what, that was her priority. Safe. She wanted him safe.

  Having Ryske close, yet, out of reach, was torture. Like she’d said to Hagan, it came in many forms. She wanted to touch him and explain how she’d ended up crashing the op. But with Hagan watching their every move, that wasn’t possible.

  Doing her best to keep her mind switched on, Harlow memorized their route out of the ballroom and into a corridor. The thick carpet beneath her feet threatened to envelop her heels and make her wobble, which didn’t make it easy to walk with grace.

  Ryske swung a right, stopping at a door with a security lock. It didn’t slow him down; he keyed a code into a panel and opened the door that led to a very different kind of corridor.

  The new hallway didn’t scream swish, expensive hotel corridor like the last one had. It was a cold, industrial space; long with a grey vinyl floor and off-white walls. Even the doors were non-descript in their plainness.

  Nothing was signposted. There were no carts standing around or monogramed panels. If she had to guess, Harlow would say this was an employee-only space. Yet, there they were and, as far as she knew, none of them were employees.

  Noon came to her mind. Go with it. That’s what he’d said. That’s what she had to do.

  Acting as though this was normal, or she knew exactly what to expect, Harlow didn’t even blink when Ryske stopped at a second door to key in another code. Watching his fingers, as she had on the first panel, she memorized the number he put in, noting that it was only one digit different from the previous code, which would make
it easier to remember.

  Memorizing the numbers was probably stupid. Certainly, if she never came back to this place again, it would be too soon. It wasn’t like she had plans to use either number. Still, they’d be good to know in case a quick exit was needed.

  Opening the door, Ryske stepped aside to let Hagan enter first. That meant letting her enter in front of him too; her hand was still locked inside Hagan’s elbow. Harlow’s trust didn’t waver, but she didn’t like being sent into a viper’s nest before Ryske checked it out for danger, especially since she didn’t necessarily know what danger might look like.

  The sight presented to her inside, sinister as it was, didn’t appear immediately dangerous. There were no weapons trained on her, no thugs hiding in corners. No thugs, but they weren’t alone. Three other people were already there, two men and one woman.

  Two couches with end tables and a coffee table between them dominated the space in front of her. The three people sat facing them on the furthest couch, which had a large table behind it.

  To the left, the room opened up to accommodate a bar and there was another door up there too. Another door could mean another exit. But, her gaze snagged on the desk in the corner. On that desk was a phone. A phone. Harlow almost laughed. All week she’d wanted access to a line so she could reach out to Ryske and the first time she came across one, he was in the damn room with her. Yet, he was no more accessible.

  There were no windows, which was maybe the most striking thing. Though the corridor that had brought them to this room was internal and meant to be functional not impressive, the room itself was the opposite and clearly meant to be impressive, as it was decorated like an upscale drawing room.

  Everything about this op and the things she learned were a juxtaposition of contradictions.

  “It’s about time,” one of the men on the couch said and turned to whisper something to the woman seated between him and the other man.

  The woman got up without uttering a word and crossed the room to sit alone at the bar.

  “I think the women should be excused,” the second man said.

  Harlow wasn’t sure what to think of that. Being excused would give her an opportunity to flee—providing she wasn’t intercepted by one of Hagan’s agents or detained by Ophelia. Much as it seemed Hagan’s sister was working with Ryske to some extent, Harlow would guess her compliance only went so far. Ophelia could still have some loyalty to her brother. Her aid may be conditional and dependent on some kind of intimate agreement.

  “Suits me,” Ryske said, leaving the group by the door to go over and take a seat on the empty couch.

  “You know damn well I won’t be cut out of this, Anthony,” Ophelia said, holding her head up as she followed Ryske.

  Sitting at his side, thigh to thigh, Ophelia didn’t let a slither of light break between their bodies.

  Intimate, whether it was their agreement or not, was certainly what Ophelia wanted from the man she pinned herself to.

  The first man spoke up again. “You’re a tenacious woman, Ophelia, but—”

  “Keep your insincere compliments, Gilbert Parratt,” Ophelia spat. “You’re a misogynist hell-bent on controlling every woman in your life. You can’t control me, and I don’t give a damn what you think.”

  Wow, that woman had spunk and balls too. The man, Parratt, appeared to be in his early forties, too young to be considered an old fool who might try to get away with holding onto nineteen-fifties views.

  “We don’t know this new woman you’ve brought,” Anthony said. “Strangers make me nervous.”

  “Everything makes you nervous, Yarker,” Hagan said, resting a hand on her lower back to urge her forward. “She’s here on the clock. You don’t have to worry about her interest in this.” He gave her a shove. “Go sit at the bar.”

  Had he just implied that she was… What the hell? Glaring over her shoulder at Hagan had no effect. He didn’t respond to her venom and just kept looking at her as she stumbled her way towards the bar. Ryske hadn’t even glanced her way, so he apparently had no problem with everyone believing she was a hooker.

  Instead of being like the lady already perched on a bar stool with her legs neatly folded, Harlow went around the bar and began to poke at the bottles. All those years spent studying and building her career, and it had taken just a few seconds to reduce her to a working girl. Her father would be mortified by the implication.

  Although it was frustrating to be belittled, it wasn’t worth the fight. Harlow couldn’t care less what these men thought about her.

  “So…” Parratt said.

  Hagan had taken a seat at the end of the table behind the couch Parratt and Yarker were on. Doubting his choice of location was meant to intimidate the other men in the room, she resented that he’d positioned himself to keep an eye on her. Part of her was tempted to go and try the door in the corner next to the bar. Just to see if she could provoke him into leaping up and running the length of the room.

  “Yes,” Yarker followed up. “So… are we all in? On course?”

  “Yes,” Ryske said. “And, yes. You?”

  “I once again wish to raise my objections to this man being present,” Hagan said. “He can’t be trusted.”

  “This again?” Parratt groaned and sighed. “I think we all know the source of your objections.”

  Fixing herself a drink, Harlow tried to be subtle about stealing glances over the bar to observe what was going on between the members of the meeting. Ryske was drumming his fingertips on Ophelia’s knee and letting them slide a little higher, distracting her from the meeting, but she appeared happy to be distracted.

  “He’s sleeping with your sister,” Yarker said.

  “And slept with my fiancée, but that’s beside the point,” Hagan said.

  The ice Harlow had been holding in the metal tongs fell in a clatter, skidding across the bar and smashing on the floor. Without lifting her head to see if she was the focus of the room, she allowed her legs to buckle, and dropped onto the floor, giving the illusion that she intended to clean up the mess.

  Harlow didn’t really care about cleaning up. For appearance sake, she grabbed the larger pieces of ice and tossed them over her head into the sink, which succeeded in causing another loud rattle. Damn. Drawing attention to herself hadn’t been the goal, but it seemed to be all she was capable of.

  Staying in a crouch, she squeezed her eyes closed and covered her face with both hands.

  The meeting continued, offering her some relief.

  “Hagan—”

  “There isn’t a woman in the room he hasn’t slept with,” Hagan said. “Is this the kind of man you want to trust with our investment?”

  “He’s… had your hooker?” Yarker stuttered. “When? Just… tonight?”

  “What do you think caused the delay?” Ryske asked, but his voice was flat and unimpressed. “My sex life is irrelevant to our business deal… I don’t seem to recall you having a problem with me screwing your wife, Yarker… How much did you get in that divorce settlement? Evidence of infidelity was what you wanted and it was what you got.”

  “I… don’t think we should discuss—”

  “Why not?” Ryske asked. “Hagan brought it up.”

  “Yes, and he was the only one,” Parratt said. “I don’t give a damn what you do with your dick. All I care about is that you pony up. Do you have the cash?”

  “Yes,” Ryske said. “Do you?”

  Hagan interjected with a loud bluster. “No, now, wait a minute… This is what I take exception to,” he said. “I know he doesn’t have the money. I know it for a fact.”

  Letting her hands slide from her face, Harlow folded her arms on her bent knees and laid her temple against them.

  “Okay,” Parratt said with measured patience. “Show us the proof.”

  Some of the gusto was taken from Hagan’s tone. “I… I can’t show you proof of a negative.”

  “Then I guess you’re up the creek,” Ryske said, the sati
sfaction of his smile obvious in his intonation. His amusement grew into teasing. “Come to think of it, Jarvis, I’m damn sure you don’t have the cash-on-hand either.”

  Parratt’s patience was stretched. “Thirty days, a million apiece,” he said probably tired of the men baiting each other.

  Wondering at the finality of his tone, Harlow rose to her feet to check out what was going on. Looking beyond the peering woman seated on the other side of the bar, Harlow didn’t expect for Parratt to be on his feet.

  “Since when did you become defacto leader?” Ryske asked. “You’re as liable for this as us… We’re not done here. I want to discuss Hagan’s creeping.”

  Parratt sat down again. “What do you mean?”

  “His third-rate operation.”

  Hagan sat up straight like someone had prodded his spine. “My… my operation is—”

  “Rigged? Illegitimate?” Ryske wasn’t shy about being blunt.

  “Do you have evidence?” Yarker asked.

  “That there’s cheating?” Ryske asked. “Yes.”

  Parratt opened a hand to him, giving him the floor, while settling back and crossing his legs. “Then show us.”

  “I lost,” Ryske said. “That’s all the proof I need.”

  Lost on purpose, that’s how she’d taken what had been said at Bale’s. Except Ryske was using his loss as evidence that Hagan’s operation was shoddy.

  Managing an illegal casino had to be risky enough. To be accused of fraud, cheating, running a sham establishment, could lead to all sorts of problems for Hagan. Customers may not want to visit at all if they didn’t think games were fair or winnable. Those that did, wouldn’t have to worry about Hagan running to the law if they got violent after an unjust game or decision.

  Hagan scoffed. “Because you can’t play the game and win, doesn’t mean there’s cheating.”

  Both Parratt and Yarker were looking at each other like they weren’t so sure about that. “When was this?”

  “Seven weeks ago,” Ryske said.