Masters of the Game: Cobra

Chapter 1

The moment the woman walked into Swanky’s, wearing a tight-ass dress with a split nearly to her waist, Cobra Masters had known that the night would end with him in her bed, or her in his.

Her name was Allison, and she’d explained that they’d have to go to his place, since she had two small kids at home with a babysitter.

No problem. They had left her car at the nightclub, and on the drive over, he had explained his expectations and rules.

All they would have was one night. He didn’t do sleepovers.

Nor did he do repeats. No exceptions. She expressed her understanding while keeping her hand firmly planted on his crotch as he drove. He couldn’t wait to get her into bed.

She made some admiring comments about his house as he drove up the long-winding driveway, and he accepted her compliments in stride.

There was no need to tell her this was not his primary home.

He lived in New York and was only in Savannah on a short visit.

Nor did she need to know that he was part of a set of triplets, and that all three brothers owned second homes in the town where they had been born and raised.

A ton of Masters lived in Savannah. And Cobra had friends who still lived here. Sheriff Liam Strawberry had been his best friend since forever, and Titus Gaffney, the newly elected mayor, was his best friend from college at Harvard.

But the only thing Allison needed to know was the rules he’d told her, and he’d deliver a night she wouldn’t forget.

He’d barely turned off his alarm system and hustled her inside his house before she began removing her clothes.

Then she raced upstairs—naked—after snatching the bottle of wine and two glasses off his counter.

He followed her, loving her energy and ready for the fun to begin.

He hadn’t felt this playful in years. Damn, she was beautiful naked, and he couldn’t wait to get inside of her.

While she poured two glasses of wine and set them on the nightstand, he stripped down to his boxers…then remembered something. He let out an expletive.

She was already in his bed, legs spread wide. Propping up on the pillow to look at him, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to do something downstairs.” He absently tossed the condom pack he’d taken out of his pants on the nightstand near the wine glasses. “Stay in that position, Allison. I’ll be right back.”

Rushing down the stairs, he went into his office, where a good friend from high school, Anthony Tombstone, had installed state-of-the-art video cameras around his property and in every room of his house.

Tombstone owned a security company, and the last thing Cobra wanted was for anyone—including his friend—to see video footage of what was about to go down in his bedroom.

He was about to switch off that particular monitor when he saw Allison slide off the bed.

Hadn’t he told her to stay where she was?

His greedy eyes were glued to her naked ass, so he almost didn’t notice her quickly pulling a miniature packet from the wide-band gold bracelet around her wrist. Looking over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t coming back into the room, she quickly emptied the contents into one of the wine glasses.

What the hell! She was spiking his drink! If that wasn’t bad enough, she then pulled a decorative hairpin from her hair and began using it to poke holes in the condom pack, destroying at least half a dozen of them.

His arousal was now replaced by fury. Picking up his office landline, he pushed a button. Seconds later, a male voice said, “Cobra, I heard you were in town.”

“Tombstone, I need you to permanently save tonight’s video footage. Inside and outside. Especially, from my bedroom. I came into my office to disconnect the camera in my bedroom and saw the woman I’d left upstairs not only spiking my wine but also poking holes in my condom packs.”

“Damn! It’s a good thing you saw her—and got a recording of it. You need to file charges against her ass. Have her arrested. Poking holes in condoms is considered a form of sexual assault, and there’s no telling what she put in your drink.”

“You better believe I will be pressing charges,” Cobra said. “Contact Straw. Send him here immediately.”

“Will do. I know for a fact he’s on duty tonight.”

“Good,” Cobra said.

“In the meantime, make sure she doesn’t try to get rid of the evidence. And I know just how to make sure that she doesn’t.”

“How?” Cobra asked, almost too afraid to know. In high school, Tombstone was the class prankster.

“Listen up, Masters.”

Moments later, Cobra rushed back up the stairs. Allison appeared to be in the same spot he’d left her. Quickly grabbing his pants off the floor, he stared at her. Seeing her legs open wide in invitation was suddenly a total turn-off. “Get up! We need to get out of here and hide in my basement.”

“What!” she shrieked, closing her legs. “Hide in your basement? Why?” she asked, getting off the bed.

“A few guys from my gang found out I ratted on them. I just got word from my homies that they’re on their way to kill me, and anyone I’m with. Execution style.”

“Jesus!” she said, “I need to leave here now.”

He heard the panic in her voice. “You can’t leave. They already have this place surrounded. They will blow your head off the minute you open the front door. Since I parked in the garage and the lights are still off downstairs, they don’t know for certain that I’m home.”

“What about the light in here?”

“The window in this room faces the backyard, they probably can’t see it. We need to hide out in my basement until I’m sure they are gone. Hurry up. Your clothes are downstairs. Grab them off the floor. You can dress in the basement. There’s a light down there.”

Her naked ass rushed past him, literally running down the stairs at breakneck speed. He had put on his pants and slid into his shirt by the time he joined her. She had managed to slide into that tight-ass dress in the dark, but carried her shoes in her hand.

“Come on,” he whispered.

“Shouldn’t you call the police?” she whispered back.

“I already have. But there’s no telling how long it might take them to get here. They know the kind of business I’m in and probably wouldn’t be too sad if I got my head blown off.”

“Mercy!”

He opened the door that led to the basement. “One of my homies will alert me when the danger has passed.”

“I have two kids at home who need me,” she wailed, seemingly on the verge of a panic attack. “I would never have come here with you tonight had I known you were a gangsta. I assumed you were some high-class businessman.”

“Please keep your voice down if you want us to get out of here alive,” he warned, not wanting to hear anything she had to say.

She glared at him, but did lower her voice. “I should have known you were a liar when you claimed your name was Cobra. No sane mother would name her kid that. When this is over, I hope I never see you again.”

He had news for her: he would be seeing her again. In court. He would make sure they locked her up and threw away the key. Instead of responding to her continued tirade, he remained quiet and kept his cool.

A short while later, his Apple watch dinged.

“What was that?” she asked, standing close behind him.

“An alert to let me know the police have arrived.”

“Praise Him!” Allison said, almost dropping to her knees in thanks. “The sooner I leave here, the better.”

Cobra opened the basement door, and she swept past him. Just then, he heard his name being called from the living room. Recognizing the voice, he said, “In the kitchen, Straw.”

The kitchen lights came on and three police officers entered.

Liam Strawberry had been given the nickname Straw in elementary school, a shortened version of his last name and a reference to his physique—he was tall and lanky.

He’d played basketball in college until a knee injury had ended what everyone had assumed would be a promising NBA career.

“I was on the other side of town, but I got here as fast as I could. Tombstone told me what was going down, and some of my men are collecting the evidence. By the way, Tomb sent over a copy of the video.”

“Good.”

“Look, officer,” Allison was saying, “I need to call an Uber for a ride back to my car. I had no idea things would end up like this when I left Swanky’s with this guy.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. And I’m not an officer. I’m the sheriff. Sheriff Strawberry.”

She nodded. “Sheriff Strawberry, it’s nice to meet you. But as I said, I need to go. I’m not the type of woman to associate with gangstas.”

“Unfortunately, miss, the only place you’re going is down to the station. You’re under arrest.”

Shock crossed her face when two officers approached her with handcuffs. “Under arrest?”

“Yes,” Sheriff Strawberry said, not smiling. “And I’ll need these for evidence,” he said, removing her bracelet and the hairpin and slipping them into clear evidence bags.

“But I’m not the gangsta. He is,” she said, pointing at Cobra. “And you have no right to take my belongings.”

“Ma’am, you are under arrest for sexual assault.”

“Sexual assault!” she exclaimed, nearly screaming the words at the top of her voice.

“Yes, tampering with a condom is a crime. As is spiking someone’s wine.”

A flash of guilt on her face was quickly replaced with fury. “Lies! You can’t prove a thing.”

Sheriff Strawberry chuckled. “Unfortunately, we can. You were caught on a video camera in his bedroom. And it can be backed up by evidence—the tampered condom packets, the drink, as well as this bracelet, which has a secret compartment. It shouldn’t be too hard to prove that the holes in the condoms were made by that hairpin.

” He nodded to the two officers. “Put her in the squad car.”

She turned and, with her hands cuffed, she struck out at Cobra, hitting his knee and thigh with her feet, while spewing obscenities. It was apparent she’d been aiming for his balls. The two officers finally got her under control.