Page 8 of Vicious Little Games

My reaction to the hair pulling was the most unexpected thing of all. I don’t like being at anyone’s mercy, but Cole looked so furious and stupidly hot staring me down while having the upper hand, even if it was only temporarily.

I could’ve hurt him and got away if I wanted, but I didn’t. One quick knee to his balls would’ve had him backing off.

That’s what I will definitely do next time.

Not that I want or think there will be a next time.

I’m sure my father has already given Cole plenty of warnings about what he will do if he touches me or Sophie. He may have been caught up in the moment in the pool, but there’s no way he would’ve let things go any further.

No man would risk screwing me in broad daylight in my father’s pool.

I should forget everything that happened and focus on what’s most important—Cole knows about the guards.

Or at least he’s guessed that something is up with them.

I have to find out what he plans to do with that information and make sure he drops it before the bastard runs his mouth around my father and gets someone killed.

That’s a conversation that can wait until later, though. Right now, I need to put as much distance between us as possible. And I want to kick someone’s ass.

Good thing my daily afternoon session with Saul is about to start. Early mornings and afternoons we train.

For the past few months, my father has actually allowed my ancient instructor to supervise, and of course record through surveillance cameras, fighting his guards and hotel security. Saul convinced Daddy that the guards could use some training, and that the more experience I have with fighting actual big men, the better I’ll be able to protect myself.

Not that my father would ever concede that fact.

As soon as I take a cold shower to wash away the sunscreen, I get changed into black spandex shorts and a matching sports bra, then make my way to the stairs, down to our home gym on the second floor.

The luggage sitting open on top of a guest bed has me stopping abruptly in the hallway.

“No. That’s impossible,” I mutter to myself, going inside to do some snooping. Maybe Eli is just being relocated from the first floor to the second. My father would never allow Cole to live under the same roof as Sophie and me, would he?

The clothes tossed around the suitcase are nothing but causal attire—jeans, tees, boxer briefs and socks. It all smells like a fresh, warm towel from the laundry that you want to bury your face in for whatever reason.

Moving away before I stick my nose in Cole’s undies, I find a laptop that I’m sure is password protected lying on the side of the mattress as if it was recently used. There’s a puddle of water on the carpet nearby. If I take a little peek in the en suite bathroom…yep, there are the wet clothes and shoes Cole shed before leaving.

Maybe he’s just staying here for the weekend. He didn’t bring a ton of clothes, so I’m sure that’s it. On Monday he’ll be gone, and everything will go back to normal. If I can just convince him to keep his loud mouth shut for two days, we’ll be good.

Slipping out of his room before he catches me snooping, I finally make it to the gym, pushing aside that asshole from my thoughts for the next few hours.

“Hello, my beautiful babies.” I run my fingertips over each of the marble bases of the trophies. They sit on three individual floating wall shelves, one for jujitsu, another for judo, and the third for Muay Thai, all with golden cups mounted on the top, making them well over two feet tall. The awards never fail to give me a much-needed confidence boost.

Winning them in my first tournament, beating every single competitor in attendance in all three events while barely breaking a sweat, is what truly convinced my father that I could take on any of his big, fat untrained guards.

And just as I suspected, pinning a much larger, heavier man to the mat had the desired effect.

“Dusting off your prizes?” Saul asks from behind me when he walks into the giant open space the size of some private dojos.

“The maids do that for me,” I tell him. “I was just saying hello to them.”

The lanky, completely bald, nearly seventy-year-old man wrinkles his forehead in annoyance. “We do not train for prizes. We train to defend ourselves against enemies, of which your father has many.”

“Yes, but if he never lets me leave the casino, then I won’t ever get to kick anyone’s ass for real.”

“I have three new security managers for you to throw around today.”

“Ugh, the employees here all so flabby and weak,” I mutter. “But at least they’ll be a nice distraction.”

“A distraction from what?” he asks.

---