CHAPTER 4
JAGGER
Carl intercepted me just before I reached the doors.
He looked the way men did when they were close to an ulcer. It was a miracle he hadn’t dropped dead yet with how much the man stressed. He didn’t even have to shoot anyone; what was he stressed about?
“Mr. Thatcher,” he said quietly, positioning himself in front of me like a speed bump. “Do you need me to close the room?”
I glanced past him at the velvet rope, the muted clatter of chips and low voices bleeding through, and I smiled as I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Why would you need to do that, Carl? We don’t want to make it weird, do we? Just keep the drinks coming and tell your staff to relax.”
Carl exhaled, relief rushing out of him as though I’d just spared his life. “Of course. I’ll send in my very best employees to serve you.”
I hummed out an acknowledgment, not particularly caring either way, and pushed past him before he started trying to talk to me about casino numbers.
The moment I stepped into the high roller room, the temperature immediately shifted. I would have been offended if it hadn’t, but this was the Irish mob we were talking about, and with them, you never really knew.
Declan O’Rourke locked eyes with me immediately, and we didn’t break eye contact as I crossed the floor. He had a new scar slicing through one eyebrow that he hadn’t had in the picture I’d seen of him, and I idly wondered how he’d gotten it.
He watched me the whole time the way men like him watched threats . . . cataloging, calculating, deciding how much damage they could do if things went sideways.
Spoiler alert, I could do a lot.
“This looks like fun, boys,” I drawled as I pulled out a chair and sat. The table shifted almost imperceptibly. A throat cleared. Chips were adjusted. One of the guys leaned back, giving me just enough space to pretend it was courtesy and not caution.
Declan, though? He didn’t move an inch.
He just kept staring in that beady-eyed way of his. From where I was sitting, he sort of resembled a rat.
Hadn’t his mother told him it was rude to stare?
The dealer started the next hand, the cards sliding across the felt in smooth arcs. Declan finally glanced down, lifting the corners of his cards with two fingers before setting them back in place. “Buy-in’s steep,” he said casually. “Wouldn’t want you getting in over your head.”
I stacked my chips neatly in front of me. “If I get in over my head, I’ll let you know. I assume you’ll be too busy figuring out where it all went wrong to notice.”
A few of the men around the table coughed to cover laughs, and Declan’s mouth twitched.
Three cards hit the felt. Declan studied them for half a second before tapping the table. “Check.”
“Already?” I asked. “That was fast. I thought Boston boys could last longer than that.”
He leaned back slightly. “Oh, I last,” he spat. “I just don’t waste energy on the warm-up when I know I’m taking the whole pot in the end.”
“I’m sure,” I said, tossing in a stack of chips.
Declan’s smile turned sharp. “Big talk.”
“Big stack,” I corrected, tossing in a call without breaking eye contact. “Let’s see which one holds up.”
The turn card slid down, and Declan shoved a heavy pile of chips forward. “All in.”
A ripple went around the table.
“Are you scared yet?” Declan mused, and it definitely felt like he was talking about something other than cards.
I relaxed back into my chair. “‘Scared’? That’s an interesting word.” I looked him up and down, letting my lip curl just enough. “I think I would have problems if a receding hairline and a gambling problem did me in.”
Another choked laugh came from the other end of the table. Declan coldly eyed the guy, then glanced back at me. He pushed his chips forward when the flop hit. “Careful,” he murmured. “You don’t know who you’re playing with.”
I glanced at my cards like they were mildly interesting at best. “I know exactly who I’m playing with. A man whose left eye twitches when he lies.”
His hand stilled on the felt.
The door opened, and I automatically glanced over . . . and everything in the room seemed to fade away. A woman walked in carrying a tray, and it was like someone had turned the lights up without warning.
Brown hair spilled down her back in thick, glossy waves, threaded through with auburn streaks that caught the light and made it seem like a spotlight was following her as she walked.
Her eyes were a clear, striking green, bright enough to stand out even in a room designed to dazzle, framed by lashes too dark and thick to be fair.
She looked completely composed, and it didn’t seem possible she couldn’t be aware of what she was doing to every man in the room.
I’d never seen someone more beautiful. And my cock was definitely in agreement. I’d actually never played poker against a murderous mobster while sporting an inconveniently obvious erection, but I guess it was good to have new experiences . . . as long as this one ended with her in my bed.
She was not the kind of woman that made you fall asleep mid-thrust.
Fuck, I wanted her.
She glanced up, and our eyes met across the table . . . and I was starting to wonder if I’d fallen into some strange romance film. Birds were going to start singing at any moment.
The look should have been nothing, but instead, it felt as though something locked into place.
The heat in my body didn’t disappear, but it shifted, threaded with something deeper, something I didn’t have a name for.
A strange tightness spread through my chest, not painful—just unfamiliar.
Like something inside me had been pulled taut without warning.
I frowned slightly, confused by it. I didn’t get rattled. I didn’t get . . . whatever this was.
Her green eyes held mine a second longer, and I could tell it wasn’t because she was trying to flirt with me. It was like she was assessing me the same way I was assessing her.
The room came back slowly, the sounds filtering in again and reminding my suddenly dormant brain that I was currently playing a game. Declan was speaking, his voice edged with irritation, but I couldn’t have repeated a single word.
I had to consciously pull my attention away from her . . . and it sort of hurt to look away.
Get it together, Jagger. You’re acting like Jace. And we can’t have that.
Declan had noticed my little trip down erection lane, and he shot me a knowing look, one brow lifting slightly as the girl approached the table and set the tray down with practiced ease.
I let out a huff, realizing I’d been holding my breath since she walked into the room. No wonder I was acting so insane . . . I was oxygen deprived.
I forced my focus back to the cards, but it was useless. I could feel her presence like static under my skin, and I could track her movement without looking. When she passed close enough for me to catch the faintest hint of her scent, that weird sensation in my chest tightened more.
Maybe I was having a heart attack. The cholesterol in Mrs. Bentley’s burritos had to get me sometime.
Declan cleared his throat. “Vegas sure hires well,” he murmured, quiet enough that she couldn’t hear.
I kept my face blank as if I couldn’t care less what he’d just implied, but I was very aware of how everyone’s eyes were following her.
Something ugly and . . . almost possessive was uncoiling in my gut.
A dark little voice was suddenly arguing that it wouldn’t be that bad if I did, in fact, pull out a gun and shoot everyone.
She finished the round and began to move away from the table, her tray tucked against her hip, when the guy seated to my right leaned back and slapped her ass as she passed by him.
She gasped, and before the idiot could even stop smirking, I slammed his hand flat against the table and drove a blade down between his fingers.
The steel buried itself into the felt with a violent thunk.
I didn’t want to hear Maddox ever saying I didn’t have self-control. I could have stabbed him right in the hand.
The room froze, and I watched in satisfaction as the man’s breath hitched, a wet, panicked sound tearing out of him as he stared down at the steel trembling between his splayed fingers. His face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive.
I leaned back in my chair like I’d just adjusted a cuff. “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I wrapped my fingers around the handle and drew the knife out slowly, letting the scrape of metal carry through the silence. “How did that get there?”
No one laughed, which said a lot about the men in this room. That was funny.
The man yanked his hand back like it had been burned, and his chair screeched as he stumbled to his feet. His eyes flicked to mine, then to Declan’s, then anywhere but back to the table.
“I—I was just—” he choked out. Whatever excuse he had planned got lost in a whimper as he turned and bolted, nearly tripping over himself as he shoved past the door and disappeared down the hall like I was actually running after him with the knife.
I let myself look at her because I’d already restrained myself enough for the day.
She was still standing there, gripping that tray.
Her pulse quivered visibly at the base of her throat.
Her eyes flicked to the spot on the table where my knife had sunk into the felt, then back to me.
There was something else in her expression now. Not just shock.
Something softer . . . warmer. Something that tightened that strange place in my chest again.
Fuck. Was this what they called butterflies? Unacceptable.
I held her gaze. Up close, her eyes were even prettier, green with flecks of gold near the centers. “You all right?” I asked, slightly impressed that my voice came out normal.
She nodded quickly, like words had failed her.
I studied her for another second, making sure she meant it before I forced my attention once again back to the game, wincing at how hard my dick was. Knives and gorgeous women were apparently some kind of catnip for me.