Chapter 7
I kept my ass parked on the sofa for several minutes after Ace left.
Inside my soul, I both despised the man and wanted to climb him like a damn tree.
It was clear he was obsessed with me, and I couldn’t blame him for that.
Yet not being able to read his intentions left me hesitant to allow him any closer than he had already gotten.
Too close.
Ten minutes after the door shut behind him, I finally pushed off the couch and examined my surroundings more closely.
The floor beneath my bare feet was smooth, cool.
It was made of polished wood with char marks throughout, deviating from the rest of the building’s two-toned theme of black and silver.
At least this place would be moderately acceptable if I were stuck here much longer. It wasn’t up to my standards, but a little redecorating would go a long way. That was if I stuck around long enough to even call an interior designer. Which I had zero intention of doing.
The living room had all the markings of a bachelor pad with the oversized television that took up most of the space on the wall, plush leather seating, a bar cart filled with rare whiskeys, and various forms of entertainment in the form of darts, chess, and what looked like an expensive set of Liar’s Dice.
From the coffee table that looked like it was fashioned from an old whiskey barrel, I picked up a magazine, Superbian Elite.
On the front cover of the publication was Ace’s smug face, his stance at ease with his hands tucked into the pockets of his black dress slacks that hugged his hips just so.
It oozed confidence and staged casualness, perhaps a bit over the top in terms of the man’s supposed charm.
The fabric of his charcoal grey dress shirt stretched across his torso tight enough to show the lines of muscle—not that I noticed.
The coverline read, “Casino Powerhouse. Knight of Hell. Superbia’s Most Eligible Demon. Ace Reynard talks power and prestige, wealth, and guilty pleasures on page 7.”
My thumb ran over the edges of the pages, tempted to flip to the featured story on page seven. Instead, I huffed out and tossed the damn magazine back down onto the table. The slap of glossy paper against polished wood echoed annoyingly loud in this fucking neat freak’s wet dream of a living room.
Sheer masculinity radiated from every corner and screamed either desperately single or toxic addiction to women. If not for the knowledge of his wealth that likely afforded him a maid, I may have been otherwise impressed at how clean and organized it was.
The furniture was set in all warm brown tones with neutral accenting. Leather seating and oak tables filled the space. Above the back of the sofa on the wall hung what seemed to be his pièce de résistance, a large plaque with two identical swords mounted on it.
The accent lights above the display gleamed off the black steel of the blades, which looked like they had never been used given how much they shone.
Each handle was decorated with both functional and visual beauty.
The grip was a mixture of black and silver, feeding up to the straight crossguard, bearing the same dual color scheme before the manganese length glimmered with elements of silver hues within the metal itself.
Stepping closer, I read the inscription beneath the weapons.
In honor of his service as a Knight of Hell, these swords are bestowed upon Barnabel ‘Ace’ Reynard for all eternity. Ardeat Clara In Fraternitas.
Barnabel?
A giggle trickled out past my lips despite my fingers pressed to my lips trying to hold it in. No wonder he went by his nickname. At least my parents had the intelligence to grace me with a timeless name that emanated superior elegance and beauty.
Exploring the rest of the penthouse at a leisurely pace, I checked out the fully stocked kitchen before wandering upstairs to where Ace had pointed out the location of his bedroom. He’d left the door cracked open.
Pushing the door open wider, I peered into the darkness for a moment before deciding I didn’t want to find out what lay beyond the threshold.
For all I knew, the room could have been loaded with things I wouldn’t be able to unsee.
Things that could either be hallmarks of a serial killer or just an unhinged freak.
Or the worst case scenario? Completely mundane and unimpressive.
Backtracking downstairs to the other side of the penthouse, I came to the bedroom he had relegated as mine. Braving it, I stepped inside, the lights automatically flickering on, sensing my movement within the space.
This room was different from everything else in the penthouse.
It didn’t scream self-absorbed bachelor.
Instead, it was cozy and filled with feminine warmth.
A vase filled with stunning and fragrant blooms sat on a vanity, adding to the pleasing aesthetic of the decor.
The bed was neatly made with an array of bedding in shades of neutral creams and soft pinks.
An explosion of pillows of various sizes lined the upholstered headboard.
Initial thoughts of how beautiful and welcoming this room made me feel were too good to last. I approached the walk-in closet and opened the door.
The space was filled with women’s clothes, shoes, and accessories for every possible occasion.
My fingertips brushed along the rows of hangers, pushing a few to the side to catch a glimpse of the tags.
Each article of clothing was exactly my size.
Turning to leave the closet, I noticed a small note on the floor. Bending down, I picked it up and read the words scribbled on it.
Things to add to my Little Spade’s room: flowers, books, bath oils, lingerie.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the way he had been fawning all over me. Though the last item on the list had me rolling my eyes. In his goddamn dreams.
I wondered how long this had all been in the works.
Not wanting to examine that train of thought any further, I dropped the note back to the floor and high-tailed it out of there.
I didn’t have time to play house with this man, no matter how much he had me melting at my core.
Normally, flattery got someone everywhere with me.
Ace was the exception. His particular brand of attention was unpredictable, and that made him dangerous.
He was so incredibly dangerous that thinking about the way his hands had drifted over my body earlier sent a shiver through me—and not one of the bad kinds, just one of the threatening kinds that carried consequences.
Ace wasn’t just a walking red flag, he was the emergency siren and public broadcast announcement.
Not being able to draw glimpses of the near future with him made me even more wary.
I didn’t like making bets without knowing the outcomes, and this man was my biggest damn blind spot in the riskiest game I’d ever played.
There had to be a way out of here without that stupid playing card he took with him.
Collecting my shoes, I slipped my feet into them.
Then, determined, I yanked on the handle of the front door to test how secure it was.
Well, I nearly fell backward on my ass when there was absolutely no resistance, and it swung right open.
It almost clocked me in the face in the process.
Didn’t he say that I wasn’t getting out of here without that ace card?
Fuck it. His mistake was my opportunity to seize. Dumb bastard was probably too busy thinking about his dick to actually seal the door properly.
The first step out of the penthouse was tentative, I looked both ways down the short hallway wondering if lightning was going to strike me down.
Empty.
When nothing nefarious transpired and no henchmen popped out of the shadows, I confidently strode towards the elevators. Ace could find someone else to be his Little fucking Spade.
Within moments, I was back down on the casino floor, convinced that I could leave this joint in my proverbial rear view mirror. Nobody dared to stop me; no one even had the thought as I walked by. When I stepped out through the main entrance, I knew I was home free.
The night air wrapped itself around me like a familiar glove of desert air and smoked jasmine. My victorious grin spread from ear to ear as I strutted down the sidewalk.
It was nice knowing you, Ace Reynard.
My brother Tighe and I had shared an apartment before he had been unfairly tossed into Blackscale.
Now, I had the place all to myself until I could bail him out.
Truly, the classification of our shared living space as an apartment was a disservice.
It had more square footage than some houses around here.
Located on the outskirts of Superbia, it was a bit of a hike from Sevenfold.
It would take an hour tops if I walked, even less if I called a cab.
Shit.
I patted down the sides of my dress and its lack of pockets.
Double shit.
When I had gotten my princess treatment from Iggy, he held onto the clothes I had arrived in for me to pick up after the tournament.
Inside my jeans? All my personal belongings.
Phone, wallet, and most importantly, all the chips I had won today.
Everything that mattered was still inside the very building I was attempting to distance myself from.
The journey down the sidewalk gave me space and time to get stuck in my thoughts.
Could I afford to abandon everything and start from scratch?
How would I make up the remainder of the funds I needed to bust my brother out of prison?
Would Ace rat me out to other casinos? How long would it take him to notice I left?
I could have turned around and marched right back into Sevenfold to retrieve my things, but pride held me back. There would be no giving Ace the chance or satisfaction of seeing me willingly step back into that place.