Devil’s Hollow.
My monthly poker game is in full swing. On the surface, the cave bar hums with a good time, and the excitement of Christmas being just around the corner adds an electric edge to the night. Between the Christmas trees spilling out from every alcove, drinks flow over bars and dice roll over tables. Underneath, tension broils like a dangerous undercurrent.
After a few phone calls, my VIP clients were back on board with the night, but Tor hasn’t shown up. I knew he wouldn’t, but throwing one of these nights without him feels like a bullet-sized hole in my chest. And then there’s the irritating issue of Angelo shooting eye daggers from the roulette table. He doesn’t even play roulette, but he’s still pissed at me for popping a cap in Kelly O’Hare’s head yesterday. Not even because he doesn’t want his sadist wife to be exposed to any more violence, but because now I’ve given Gabe an excuse to focus on something more exciting than lacing Dante’s associates’ cigarettes with cyanide: starting a war with the Irish.
“Um, okay. Hit, I think? Yeah, definitely hit.”
Speaking of Angelo’s sadist wife, Rory sits on the other side of Gabe, muttering under her breath. We’re playing Visconti Blackjack. I usually refuse to play with her, and not just because beating her has become boring, but because I’m pretty sure she does something weird every time she loses.
Like spit in my drink.
But if my brother wants to ignore me, I’ll happily take more of his money. Besides, Rory is the only family member who’s not been giving me shit all night.
My jaw ticks as a bandaged hand comes down on my shoulder.
“Are the rumors true, cugino? You really shot from your own gun? Dio mio, what are your minions for, then?”
Keeping my smile tight and pleasant, I stare at the space above Rory’s curls and ignore Benny. Unfortunately for him, he keeps going. “How was your aim? It must have been rusty after all these years.”
I take a lazy sip of whiskey, set the tumbler down on the table, then draw my elbow back to connect with his groin.
“My aim is just fine, Benny.”
He grinds out some profanity in Italian and hobbles off.
Despite the smirk lifting my lips, I get why my recent outburst is the talk of the family. I haven’t pulled a trigger outside our Sinners Anonymous game in years. Griff’s fuming. Gabe’s amused. Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, because why else would I be impulsive enough to put a bullet between Kelly O’Hare’s eyes? He’s been an excellent business partner for years.
It started how it always does: with me unable to say no to a bet. Only this time, I wasn’t ready to lose what he’d asked me for.
Penelope.
Christ, I’d never bartered with one of my girls before. It’s barbaric, something the Russians would do. But the way he kept looking at her, touching her, clawed under my skin and skewed my rationale.
Before I’d connected the dots between my newest employee and his brother’s casino fire, the most bitter part of me hoped he’d take her off my hands. My favorite watch, the port explosion. Losing Miller and Young and the hit-and-run at Lucky Cat. Doom card or not, there’s no denying my empire started to fall apart like a cheap suit the moment she stomped down the stairs at the Blues Den in those muddy boots.
So, I slid her across the coffee table like a poker chip, offering my morals with her. I didn’t think Kelly would actually win—he was off his nut on whiskey and benzos, for fuck’s sake.
Even before the ace of spades hit the table, I knew handing her over was never an option. There were only two: cheat, or shoot him.
And the day I cheat is the day my mother rolls over in her grave.
Ah, well. At least my hands are still clean. The day I have busted knuckles is the day I know what the bottom feels like.
Sucking in a lungful of festive air, I lean back in my seat and glance at the card Gabe, who’s acting as dealer, just tossed on the table. Nine of diamonds. “Hit.”
Gabe turns over the four of clubs.
My eyes move up to Rory. She’s frowning, strumming her fingers against the table.
“All right, I need a minute.”
I turn my attention back out to the crowd, but my mind is still on Penelope.
It’s crazy. I’ve just lost millions of dollars and put a price on my head, all with the squeeze of a trigger, and my first instinct was to check on the girl I suspected started this mess. And then when I confirmed it—in the woods with no witnesses, of all places—I didn’t squeeze my trigger again. No, I told her I’d handle it for her.
I’ll have to kill Martin before he kills me now, but I have a niggling suspicion that, even if that wasn’t the case, I’d hunt him down regardless.
As I lift my whiskey to my lips, the faceted tumbler refracts something red on the other side of it. I slide my gaze over the rim and see the devil herself floating through the door.
My chest tightens at the sight of her. Not only because her appearance is unexpected, but because she’s a vision in satin and lace. Christ, the way her body is poured into that red dress; it can’t be real. I don’t want it to be—she’s just walked in and already half the men in the room are looking up at her.
“Rory. Did you invite Penelope?”
“Yes, but her name’s Penny. And Wren and Tayce.”
Ah, yes. I didn’t even see them behind her, and neither is the type of girl you miss.
“Why?”
“Uh, because she’s my friend?”
I pretend I don’t see Gabe smirk into his whiskey glass.
My eyes track Penelope’s movements as she carves a path through the crowd, Wren and Tayce by her side. Sensing I’m watching her, she looks up at me and falters, as if she’s as surprised to see me as much as I am her. As if I don’t own thirty-three percent of the ground those ridiculous heels are sauntering over.
I slide my hand under the table and curl it around a poker chip. I’m trying—failing—to ignore the swell in my groin. The unease in my blood. Every part of my body is at odds with another, because tonight, she doesn’t look like a delinquent that starts fires in casinos.
She looks like the Queen of Hearts. I look away.
“Looking as beautiful as ever ladies,” I say to Tayce and Wren. I stand to pull out their seats on either side of me, while Penny sits beside Rory. Wren flashes me a nervous smile and glances at Gabe. Tayce plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Rafe.”
“Apart from the top of your waiting list.”
Tayce laughs. “God himself couldn’t get to the top of my waiting list.”
Feigning an eye roll, I sit down beside her. I don’t just keep Tayce sweet because she’s the best tattoo artist on the planet, although it’s definitely part of the reason. But she’s also laid back, witty, and I always enjoy her company, whether she’s sitting in one of my chairs or I’m sitting in hers.
As I rest my arm over the back of her seat, she leans over and slips off my collar pin and unbuttons the first few buttons of my shirt.
“You know; I think you’re meant to take me out for dinner first.”
She ignores me in favor of peering down my open collar. “How’s the serpent healing?”
“Beautifully.”
Feeling a stare heat my cheek, I slide my eyes over to Penelope. Rory is whispering in her ear, but she’s not listening. She’s too busy glaring at Tayce’s hand on my chest. A spark of satisfaction ignites inside my rib cage, because clearly she makes me want to be as petty as a fourteen-year-old school girl.
I shift my attention back to Tayce. Pin her with a charming smile. “Tayce, have you seen Tor?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, the idiot didn’t turn up for his appointment last week.”
Unease stirs inside me. Tor would walk over burning coal in order to make an appointment with Tayce.
“Blackjack!”
Rory’s excited squeal cuts over the table and catches me by surprise. Frowning, my eyes fall to the cards in front of her, and sure enough, they total twenty-one.
“I must be living in an alternative universe,” I say dryly, raising my drink to her. “At least you can cross beating me at Blackjack off your bucket list.”
Her gaze sparkles. “Let’s play again.”
“Feeling lucky?”
She grins. “You have no idea.”
My eyes slide over to the four-leaf clover around Penelope’s neck. Clearly her misplaced optimism is rubbing off on my sister-in-law.
“Very well. Let’s order these ladies some drinks, first.”
I beckon a server and he takes orders from the other end of the table. While Penelope is distracted by the menu, I take the opportunity to drink her in.
Who the fuck are you, girl? I wish she’d just use the Sinners Anonymous hotline for its intended purpose, instead of a sounding board for every vapid thought that crosses her brain, because now, I know shit about her I wish I didn’t. Like what she prefers in her bagel, and the color she’s going to paint her toes next Friday. Her ramblings haven’t given me answers, just more questions.
I want to know why she can sleep in my car, but not in her bed. Why she’s still wearing my watch, instead of selling it. What she puts in my whiskey to make me want to protect her, when I should be putting a bullet in her head.
My watch slides up her elbow as she hands the menu back to the server. Although I’m sure she’s wearing it in the hope it’ll piss me off, I can’t ignore the sick thrill that sweeps through me. I suppose it’s similar to how men get a kick out of seeing women wearing their shirts. Not me, though. They always get lipstick on the collar and embed the stench of their perfume in the fabric.
“I’ll have a lemonade, please.”
Wren has been so unusually quiet that I’ve forgotten she was here until the server asks for her order.
“Just a lemonade?”
She stares at the table, hands clutching the purse in her lap. “Yes, please.”
“I can’t tempt you with something stronger?”
She shakes her head, offering him a polite smile. “I don’t drink.”
“Aw, come on, it’s almost nearly Christmas—”
The combination of Gabe’s chair scraping back and the crack of his fist connecting with the table sweeps a deafening silence through the cave. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angelo rise to his feet.
“She said, she’ll have a lemonade,” Gabe growls.
The server fumbles with the menu and scurries off. Wren turns red and mumbles something about using the restroom, and with a dark mutter under her breath, Tayce follows her through the crowd.
Bemused, my gaze heats the side of my brother’s face. He doesn’t look up from shuffling the deck in his inked paws.
“Fire him,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear. “Or I’ll carve his eyeballs out with my rustiest pen knife.”
I groan into my whiskey. With all the problems clamping down on my shoulders, this is the last thing I need.
“Right, let’s begin.”
Rory is visibly relieved at my suggestion, clearly wanting to break the tension as much as I do. Gabe slams down both our cards with more force than necessary, and Rory stares at hers for a stupid amount of time.
Boredom biting at my edges, I nod to the two of hearts she’s been dealt. “I’ll give you a clue—two is pretty far away from twenty-one.”
“Shh,” she hisses, putting her fingers to her temples. “I’m thinking.” A moment passes. “All right, hit.”
I hit too, adding a seven of spades to my four of diamonds.
As the dealt cards grow and the deck in Gabe’s hand thins, an uneasy awareness climbs up my spine and squeezes the nape of my neck.
Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t so hyper-aware of every movement Penelope makes. If I wasn’t already staring at her plump lips when she whispered, low value, or if I wasn’t admiring my watch around her wrist when she squeezed Rory’s arm.
I shift my attention to Rory and start honing in on other things I chalked up to her quirkiness. And then I realize: the strumming of her fingers against the table isn’t a nervous habit; she’s fucking counting.
“Blackjack!” she squeals again.
This time, I don’t congratulate her. Instead, I drag my eyes up to meet Penelope’s and raise my brows.
Something in my expression wipes the grin off her face.
“Penelope.”
Her shoulders stiffen.
“I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”
But by the time the warning slides from my mouth, the little brat is already on her feet.
