Page 7 of Wicked Embers

Horror claims his features: mouth agape, skin blanching under impossible choices that strip dignity down to bare bones. “You can’t—“

My eyes narrow, and my voice is cold. “Here’s the deal. Your daughter to cover your bet and win or lose... for Leigh, I’ll also clear your debt. You walk away free. But if you fold, I’ll double your debt by morning.” I glance at the pile of chips and then look menacingly at him, lowering my voice warningly. “And I’ll still come for your daughter.”

His eyes widen, and the fear in them intensifies. To give him his dues, the man still hesitates, torn between desperation and whatever scraps of dignity or humanity he has left. I indicate for Fredrik to bring the spitting-mad Leigh he’s struggling to hold onto over to the table. The whole way, her green eyes blazing hotter as she’s dragged to stand before me. She’s even more beautiful up close.

Her gaze connects with mine, a flicker of recognition sparking in those vibrant green eyes —eyes that hold fire and defiance, but also something deeper, something that tempts me to look closer. For a heartbeat, fear dances in their depths, quickly masked by fierce defiance.

Her open sweater frames a tight pink T-shirt clinging to her form, highlighting her lithe figure. It accentuates her pert breasts and trim torso, each breath subtly shifting the fabric. Her faded denim jeans grip her hips snugly, tracing the length of her legs like a second skin.

My pulse quickens at the sight of this brazen interruption to my well-ordered world. I steel myself against the rising tide of desire, knowing that before dawn breaks, I will have unraveled the mystery she presents and claimed not just victory at this table but perhaps something even more compelling: Leigh Dalton herself.

I turn my attention to Mark.

“What’s your move, Mark?” My voice cuts through the tension, deliberate and loud enough for Leigh to catch every word.

“Mark’s hand trembles as his gaze darts between me and the mountain of chips dominating the center of the table. “Please,” he stammers, “I can get you the money.”

“Dad?” Leigh’s jaw clenches. Her posture stiffens. “What the fuck are you doing?” Her eyes cut to the pot, and she sucks in her breath. Fury ignites in her, turning her eyes a dark leafy green and narrowing to slits.

My eyes lock on Mark, steady and unrelenting. “Your daughter…” The words hang in the air as I turn my gaze to her,slow and deliberate, like appraising a prize at an auction. Her eyes widen, filling with horror and disbelief, and I let the silence stretch, giving the meaning time to take root. Then I shift back to Mark, dismissing her without a second thought. “To cover your bet and clear your debt.”

“You’re not seriously considering this,Dad?“ Leigh’s voice slices through the room, sharp with incredulity. Her eyes flick to Mark, widening as her father’s hesitation betrays his thoughts. Then she swings back to me, her face tight with disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

I arch an eyebrow, sinking deeper into my leather chair. The weight of her gaze presses against me, but I maintain my composure, watching her intently. The air thickens with tension, heavy with unspoken accusations.

“I…” Mark stutters, not meeting Leigh’s eyes.

“Dad!“ she cries out, her voice cracking. The raw betrayal in her tone hits me unexpectedly, twisting something deep in my chest. I clench my jaw, forcing down the unwelcome pang of emotion.

“Well, Mark?” My voice cuts through the tension.

I deliberately ignore Leigh’s desperate cry, forcing down the sharp pang of guilt clawing at the edges of my resolve—uncharacteristic, unwelcome, and utterly infuriating. But it refuses to go away. Like a silent enemy, my conscience rises, stirring something within me—soft, unfamiliar, and entirely out of place.

It twists in my chest, an unwelcome force that unsettles and infuriates me. I war with it, reminding myself with cold precision that Leigh is nothing more than a woman caught in thewrong place at the wrong time—a pawn, a weapon to use and discard. Nothing more.

Leigh struggles against Fredrik’s grip, her fingers clawing at his arms. Her green eyes blaze with a mixture of fury and desperation. She turns to Mark, her lips curling in disgust.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Leigh warns her father. “I swear, old man, if you do this, it will be the last thing you do on this earth.”

“I…” Mark starts and runs a finger around his collar as if it’s a noose slowly tightening. He’s a man caught in the middle. But I’m pretty sure I know which way he will lean.

“Okay, then!” I put my cards face down on the table and reach for the money. “I guess this game is over.”

“Wait!” Mark snaps, not looking at Leigh as he utters, “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“No, fucking way, you asshole!” Leigh yells at Mark. “You fucking backstabbing low life.” Fredrik clamps a hand over her mouth, muffling her protests.

Mark calls, and my eyes meet Leigh’s. She’s gone stock still. I can see her holding her breath, hoping that, by some miracle, her father will have the winning hand. Her eyes burn into mine, and for a moment, I wonder how someone like Mark could have created someone like her.

I lay my cards on the table, never breaking her gaze. I don’t have to look at them. Marks defeated gasp echoes the truth:in my house, the game only ends one way.

Chapter 4

LEIGH

My attention is locked on the dark-haired devil’s icy blue eyes. His gaze pinning me, cold and predatory, stealing my breath and freezing time itself. I cling to a flicker of hope, knowing deep down that luck has long abandoned my father, and even if it hadn’t, the odds were stacked in favor of the house.

The dark lord’s fingers move with precision, spreading his cards across the felt. His gaze never leaving mine, tightening an invisible vice around my chest. My father’s sharp intake of breath tells me everything before I even glance at the devil’s cards—a full house. The sight sends my stomach plummeting, a cold weight settling deep in my gut.

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