Page 30 of Sinister Intentions

Dom grinned. “Well, those two are not mutually exclusive.”

I raised a single eyebrow and waited, flirting and joking aside; if he was pressed for money, I needed to know. “Tell me.”

Dom sighed. “You’re my oldest friend, Vince. And you know I don’t want money in the equation.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. That had been his stance for as long as I could remember, and his unwavering principles were one of the reasons he was my closest friend. In a world where everyone had an angle, an ulterior motive, he remained steadfastly loyal to me and true to himself.

“I know,” I said, holding his gaze. “And I respect that. But?—”

He leaned forward and got right into my face. “Shut up. I don’t accept any financial backing from you. End of discussion.”

He was probably the only person in the world who could get right into my face and be rude as fuck and my ego didn’t even bristle. We’d both accepted the other as they were and vowed nothing could ever come between us so long ago, so nothing would ever change that. I threw him an air kiss. “I love you, too.”

A smile flickered across his features, and he settled back into the booth. Our conversation drifted to other topics, but my mindwas still stuck on ways I could help him. Starting with forcing my brothers to start training there.

If word got out that Dom’s gym was where the most powerful bachelors of the city hung out, people would flock to the gym. In particular, women.

Women like Jemma—who, according to one of the earlier reports—had very recently started training BJJ at a gym in Boston.

Jemma.

My eyes wandered back to her. She was still sitting at the same spot, typing furiously on her phone. Did she really think I wouldn’t recognize her?

I couldn’t wait to start the next stage of this delicious game we were playing.

Maybe, once I had her in my apartment, I shouldn’t interrogate her right away. No, it would be far more entertaining to let her stew for a couple of hours, to keep her off-balance and guessing.

A slow-burn approach would be much more satisfying, especially with someone as feisty as the little punk. And who knew? Maybe I could finally get a few definitive answers out of her without losing my mind first. Answers that I should’ve had weeks ago.

I grabbed my phone and texted Hawk. Gabe told me Raptor Security was the best, and I trusted him. The whole thing was way more complex than I’d anticipated.

I looked back up and caught Jemma staring before she hid again.

Her obliviousness made me chuckle.

This game is just getting started, little girl.

I excused myself, muttering something about needing to use the restroom. Dom barely acknowledged me, too engrossed in a text he’d just gotten.

My gaze flicked to her, and Jemma immediately hunched over, turned her back to me, and buried her face in an oversized menu as if that measly camouflage could conceal her from my probing eyes.

The little punk thought she was being sly, but it was painstakingly clear she had no clue what she was actually doing.

She was so obvious, it was almost insulting.

For a fleeting moment, I considered marching over and confronting her head-on. Dragging her out of the restaurant and forcing her to face me in public. But the other way was so much better. The thought alone sent a delicious thrill zinging through my veins—the intoxicating rush of imagining having her at my mercy, squirming beneath my scrutiny.

I couldn’t wait to see her squirm, and there would be time for confrontation later, once I had her precisely where I wanted her—alone, trapped, with nowhere to run.

I made my way toward the restrooms, pretending I had no clue she was there watching me.

I rounded the corner, out of her line of sight, and pulled my phone from my pocket. A few taps and I was connected to Michele on the other end.

“Everything in place?” I kept my tone clipped.

“Yes. We have eyes on the target and are prepared to execute the moment she exits the restaurant.”

“Good. Get rid of her security detail. And tell everyone to handle her with care. If there’s a single scratch on her…” I trailed off and ended the call without another word. My men would follow my directive to the letter anyway.

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