by Diana Gardin
But that’s not something that discourages me, the way it would other girls I know.
I crave it.
I like all the ways he’s different. I like the way his sandy-colored hair shags and tumbles into his eyes. I like the way his jaw isn’t clean-shaven and smooth like Noah’s.
His expression mirrors mine, studying, reading, assessing. His eyes roam over my face and my body again and again in a way that not only tells me he’s interested, but that he’s invested.
And I can honestly say that no man has ever looked at me like that before.
Sure, guys stare. They gawk because I come across differently than the other women they’ve met. I’m exotic, I’m flavorful. And a lot of them want a taste.
A piece of me that I’ve never even been tempted to give.
Because I know that after it’s over, they’d throw me away like the nearest piece of trash.
Deep sown I know all signs point to the fact that Ace will, too. But with Ace, I can’t fight the draw between us, even though the word danger is scribbled all over his beautiful packaging.
“Tell me something true.” I pull the bottle from my lips, licking the drop of sugary sweetness that escapes and lands on my mouth.
He follows the trail of my tongue with his eyes, making a shiver roll through my body.
When he looks up again, curiosity reigns in his expression. He conveys so much with those eyes of his. Does he realize how much he gives away?
“Anything true?” His smile is hesitant, like he doesn’t want to give over his secrets.
I don’t blame him for holding them close to the vest. I plan to do the exact same thing.
Lifting one shoulder and dropping it, I nod. “Anything.”
“I think your boyfriend probably has a limp dick.”
Riotous laughter bursts from me before I can stop it. Glancing at the table, he reaches out and clamps a warm hand over my mouth, and I almost stop breathing. A jolt of electricity travels from where he touches me to all the most tender parts of me, and I suppress the urge to lick his hand.
Lick his hand? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Shhh.” His eyes flick toward the craps table, where none of the guys playing have even looked up. “Not ready to give you back yet.”
He slides his hand from my mouth and back toward his body, the movement slow and precise. I regret not tasting him.
Ace’s eyes turn stormy as he reads what’s written in mine. “Your turn.”
“Turn?” Ripping my eyes from his perfect lips, I focus on his steady gaze. “For…?”
Smirking, he leans forward just a tiny bit. “Tell me something true, Naima.”
Oh, wow. My name, from those lips? Holy shit.
Giving myself a mental shake, I square my shoulders and look him in the eye. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Everything happening around us stops.
Silence.
Clamor.
All at the same time.
Ace and I focus on nothing but each other. He draws closer, closer, closer.
“Hey.”
Noah’s voice snaps me out of whatever trance Ace conjures with those green eyes and full lips. My gaze flicks to where Noah now stands, in front of the high-top bar. He looks pissed. My instincts tell me to take a step back from Ace, but it’s the last thing I want to do and my feet stay rooted in place.
Ace doesn’t move a muscle, keeping his gaze on me. But he speaks. “Can we help you?”
Noah stands taller, his expression incredulous. “Uh, yeah. Want to take a step back from my girl, man?”
His tone challenges, but Ace doesn’t even blink. “Naima? Are you his girl?”
My glance flickers between Ace and Noah. Bryn steps up beside Noah, her hand clasping Jaxon’s. Jackson places a hand on Noah’s shoulder, presumably to calm him. But Noah moves to step around the bar, his eyes nailing Ace to the wall behind us.
Ace still doesn’t move; he’s granite, a statue frozen in the moment. Only focused on me.
Glancing at my friend, the concern in Bryn’s eyes should warn me away.
But it doesn’t.
“No.” My voice is clear. “I’m not.” I walk around Ace, around the bar. Squeezing Bryn in a quick hug, I whisper. “I’m okay.”
She nods, trusting me to make my own decisions.
“Thanks for the ride, Noah. But I’m good. Ace will take me home.” I glance over at the man in question. “Right, Ace?”
Nodding, he rests his elbows on the bar, the intent look in his eyes never wavering even as his lips curve upward. “That’s for damn sure something true.”
Sheer disbelief breaks across Noah’s face as his lips curl in disgust. “Seriously, Ny? Him?” He jerks a thumb toward Ace like he’s a lesser being, like me choosing to stay with him is the biggest mistake of my life.
I open my mouth at the same time Ace straightens and speaks. “Word of advice: next time you take a woman out, pay more attention to her than your craps game.”
Noah jerks like he’s been punched, and then takes a step back. Throwing up his hands, he turns and stalks toward the door. “Whatever. She’s not worth it.”
“Hey!” Bryn slaps Jaxon’s arm, glaring up at him. “Don’t let him talk about my best friend like that.”
Clearly torn, Jaxon stares between his retreating best friend and his furious girlfriend.
Saving him, I wave a hand at Bryn. “It’s okay. He’s pissed, but he’ll get over it soon. Go, B. Call you tomorrow.”
With one final glance at me, she strides out the front door, which the huge bouncer is now holding open with an amused grin. He lets it slam behind them and turns back to face Ace.
“You good here, boss?”
Ace still looks at me, his expression unreadable. “All good, Borg. See you back here in a couple of days.”
The guy he calls Borg lifts his chin in acknowledgment and heads out the front door, too.
His words roll over me in a crushing wave of shock. Boss?
Ace runs this gambling ring?
Wow.
I know this place is illegal. I know I shouldn’t be impressed.
But the gap between what I know and how I feel stretches and grows, swelling with every passing minute tonight.
Because I am. I’m just as impressed as I am shocked. I haven’t seen him gambling all night; that should have been my first clue.
And something tells me that the more I learn about Ace Wells, the more intrigued I’ll be.
My attention shifts back to the mysterious man beside me when the front door clicks. He’s still focused on me. Stretching out a hand, his fingers curl around mine, and the effect of it impacts me everywhere.
Pressing his hands on my shoulders, he nudges me until I’m sitting on the couch, and then he leans over me, caging me in with his hands.
I should feel intimidated. It should be off-putting.
But I don’t, and it isn’t.
I have good instincts about people. I always have. Reading between the lines when it comes to the things people aren’t saying is a gift I’ve had since I was a child.
Ace isn’t like the people I grew up with, or the young women in my sorority. He’s nothing like the guys in the fraternities we mix with on a regular basis, with the money and the breeding and the opportunities.
But because of that? He just might be better.
From the swirling storm of indecision in his eyes, I can tell he doesn’t know that. When he speaks, he confirms it.
“You’re too good for this place.” It’s not a question. Ace’s tone is flat and matter-of-fact, his expressive jewel eyes boring into me while his strong arms hold firm on either side of me.
“You don’t know me,” I whisper, not trusting my full voice enough to use it.
I can’t take my gaze off of him; he’s too captivating. His throat bobs as he swallows, and my eyes are drawn right there, to that spot.
How can every inch of him be so perfect?
“I
don’t need to. One look at you? I knew it from the second I saw you that you didn’t belong here. But something else was clear, too. You’re also too good for the man who brought you here.”
I lift my hands, tentative and slow, and bring them to rest on his shoulders. His muscles jump under my touch, and a surge of raw power coasts through me.
He reacts when I touch him…just the same as what he does to me.
My palms follow an invisible trail down his arms, my small hands circling halfway around his hard biceps. I squeeze, a gentle crush against him. He closes his eyes and blows a harsh breath out through his teeth.
“Do you want to?” My voice lifts, courage playing peek-a-boo.
He opens those brazen eyes and they lock on me. There’s a fire burning there now that wasn’t clear a moment ago. Heat curls inside my stomach.
A loud banging on the door makes me jump and jerks his gaze from me toward the interrupting sound.
“Damn.” The curse falls from his lips in irritation as he takes a step back. His eyes jump back to me before he strides toward the door.
More banging. Each staccato knock jars my senses, bringing me further away from that super-intimate moment between Ace and I back into the present room.
“Easy!” yells Ace. He unlatches the door and swings it open. “What?”
His body blocks the opening, but the sound of a man’s voice travels inside.
“—Forgot something. Need to come back in.”
My muscles stiffen. Something about the man’s tone just isn’t…right. It’s too amped up, too uncertain, all at the same time.
“No.” There’s finality in the single word from Ace. “You can get it next time you—”
His words drop off like they’ve been shoved over a cliff.
The man’s voice changes into a high-pitched steam of sound. “Get inside! Or I blow a hole through your chest!”
Slowly, Ace glances over his shoulder at me, a war raging in his eyes. Fear drops my stomach somewhere near my knees, and I can’t suck in a breath. He jerks his head back to the man standing in front of him. And then he steps back.
The man, someone I recognize from being in the ring tonight, walks in after Ace. He kicks the door shut behind him, and the glint of a gun shimmers softly under the lights. It’s pressed against Ace’s chest, and the sight of it sends a jolt of revulsion through my body.
Fear chases fury along my spine.
No. God, no. This can’t be happening.
That gamut of emotions I’ve run through tonight collide inside me, as terror takes flight in my chest. I can’t believe my bad luck, but more than that—I can’t stand the idea that Ace having me here with him tonight might have put his life in danger. Maybe he wouldn’t have let all his bounces go home if I weren’t here. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone to deal with this now.
The man is wearing a suit. It makes him so recognizable, because he stood out in the crowd tonight among the college and graduate school young men in their polos and khakis. He’s also clearly a few years older than the rest of us, in his late twenties.
His dark hair is unruly, wild, like he’s drawn a hand through it over and over again. His eyes, when they suddenly turn and lock on mine, are flat and dark.
Hopeless.
It’s a look I’ve seen a lot when I’m staring in the mirror. Like no matter what you do, nothing will change. No matter how hard you try, some things in life are inevitable.
“Hey.” Ace’s voice is sharp despite our situation. “Eyes on me, man. Don’t look at her.”
The authority in his tone doesn’t deter the man with the gun.
Eyes still on me, he sighs. “Sweetheart, you just made this a whole lot harder than it needed to be. Move, and your boyfriend here gets a bullet to the heart. Got it?”
Stiffening, my spine lengthening and hardening with his cold words, I nod. I don’t meet Ace’s eyes. I just keep staring at the gun.
The gunman’s eyes shoot back to Ace. “I’m really sorry about this, but I don’t have a choice. I’m leaving here with all the money you made tonight.”
Eight
ACE
If I could change one thing about tonight…
It’d be her.
I’d wish, in spite of all the crazy thoughts and feelings swirling through me when I look at her, that she’d never come into my warehouse. Because if she hadn’t?
She wouldn’t be trapped in a room with a crazy man and his pistol.
The fact that I have my own piece strapped to my waist doesn’t change anything. Pulling it might get Naima killed.
If it were just me here, I wouldn’t hesitate. A fight would already be happening, and whoever came out on top would be the outcome. I definitely wouldn’t be standing here letting this guy pull a gun on me in my own ring.
Forget that shit.
But I need to be smart now. Need to make sure Naima walks out of here unscathed. I owe her that much, because if it weren’t for me, she’d already be gone.
I suck in a deep breath and stare hard at the Suit. “What’s your name?”
He bristles, his head jerking back while his body goes rigid. “You really wanna go there right now, man?” He shoves me in the chest with the silver pistol in his hand. My eyes, always roving, drift down to stare at the spot where the gun meets my chest. Hot anger radiates outward from that point, coating me with a rage I’ve previously never been able to control.
God…please let me control it now.
“Hey. Okay, man. I can get the money for you…but let the lady over there head on out first.”
Knowing that if Naima can just walk out the front door, she’s resourceful enough to get herself home.
I try to keep my voice even as I hold his gaze. It flicks toward Naima and then back to me. He shakes his head, a quick turn that screams agitation and impatience.
“Not happening! Get me the cash. Now!” The last word is a shout bordering on hysterical, and it comes with another shove to the chest.
I toss my hands up, trying to pacify him.
Glancing at Naima I expect tears. I expect sobbing, a frantic mess of a young woman in her very first life-and-death situation.
Because given the way she must have grown up? It’s got to be her first. She’s not like me. This girl was raised in a good home, with two parents. Sheltered, protected.
And I’ve ruined all that in just a matter of hours.
But I when I assess her, I’m rocked with shock because I don’t see any of what I expected.
Her big brown eyes are wide. That’s a given. She follows every single movement the Suit makes. Her expression is wary and watchful. She’s kneeling on the couch, her arms resting on the back, her hands fisted. Her mouth turns down at the corners, and overall, she looks scared.
But more than that? She looks pissed.
Like if she could get close enough, she might wrap those small-fisted hands around his neck and squeeze.
Tough. Strong.
And so much different than any woman I’ve ever met.
I back toward the door to the office.
In the second I took to glance at Naima, my heartbeat slowed. But now that I’m focusing on the Suit and what I’m gonna do next, it’s right back to a full-out sprint, beating against my chest like a pounding gorilla.
“The office, where I keep the money, is just past this door. I’m gonna push through with my back, all right?” Keeping my tone calm is a challenge. All I want to do right now is explode all over this guy and make him regret ever having the balls to pull a gun on me in my own place. When that urge grows to the point where my blood threatens to boil over in my veins, and the heat on my face nearly burns me alive, I glance at Naima. Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth, the skin around the place she bites turning white. Her eyes are on me for the first time, and the fear in them blares. But still, she’s stoic. She’s not falling apart. She’s just watching. I can almost feel her confidence in me. Like I’m going to make sure everything turns out okay.
I want so bad to be the guy who deserves that confidence. It’s a realization that strikes me hard and fast. I’ve never felt that way before. Like I want to be better than I am for someone else’s benefit.
My back just grazes the door leading to the back hallway, where the office is located. At the end of the hallway there’s a door that leads to the back parking lot of the warehouses. It’s where my motorcycle is parked. Thank God Counts went home earlier in the night.
With a booming slam, the front door busts open at the same time I brush up against the door.
Two men rush in, both dressed in black.
My heart flies into my throat.
I thought this night couldn’t get any worse, but I was wrong. When it came to the Suit, I knew what I was dealing with. Deep down, I knew. A guy obviously desperate to climb out of the hole of debt he’d dug himself into. He thought he could win back what he owed at my ring. But he didn’t know the G-Ring is real, no matter how young the guy running it might be. He couldn’t take advantage, couldn’t make his winnings match what he owed.
His Plan B? Robbing me.
I can handle him. If it weren’t for Naima and the fact that I’m worried about her safety, that when I look at her over there on the couch, I want to rip my hair out with the desire to protect her, I could handle him. I’d have taken him out already, or I would have died trying.
But another unpredictable element just launched itself into my warehouse, and the fear of the unknown swims inside my veins.
Growing. Multiplying. Suffocating me.
Glancing at Naima, I jerk my head to one side. Hoping she can figure out what I want.
I want her closer to me. And she should do it now, with the distraction of the newcomers.
Without making a sound, she slips backward off the couch, and slides along the front of it. I turn my attention back to the three unwelcome men.
The newcomers have taken in the scene, assessing the Suit’s gun and me, backed against the hallway door.
One of them smirks. His greasy look makes me feel like I need a shower. He cocks his head to the side. “Really, Tristan? You think robbing this place is gonna get you what you owe?”