Page 65 of Made For Ruin

“Damn right I do.”

He pulls my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. His eyes rake over me hungrily before he leans down to capture my lips in a searing kiss. It’s possessive and demanding, just like him, and it leaves me dizzy with want.

When he breaks the kiss, he sits back on his heels and starts unbuttoning his flannel with deliberate slowness.

My eyes follow every movement as he reveals more of that broad chest covered in tattoos and scars. There’s somethingabout the way he carries himself—confident and in control—that makes my heart race.

“Don’t move,” he commands as he shrugs off his shirt. “I think a little punishment is in order for that ‘old man’ comment.”

My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of him - all hard muscle and rugged strength. A thrill runs through me at his words, heat pooling low in my belly.

“Oh yeah?” I challenge, my voice coming out breathier than I intend. “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

Marcus smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye that makes my toes curl in anticipation. He leans over, his hands planted on either side of my head, caging me in beneath him.

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” he rumbles.

And then he shows me—over and over again—exactly why age has nothing to do with it.

SIXTEEN

MARCUS

The Summit’sground floor lounge looks different in daylight. Quieter. More civilized. The dark wood paneling and leather chairs can almost fool you into thinking this is just another upscale restaurant, not the exclusive club where Cooper Heights’ elite come to indulge their darker appetites.

I scan the room automatically, marking exits and evaluating threats. Old habits. The lunch crowd is sparse. A few business types in suits huddle over contracts while society women pick at salads. No sign of Castellano yet, but Reign mentioned he’s been spending his afternoons in the private poker room upstairs.

Reign sits at our usual corner table, perfectly pressed suit making him look more like a CEO than the ruthless bastard I know him to be. His eyes track my approach, and I catch the slight tension in his shoulders that tells me he’s doing his own threat assessment. We’ve known each other too long to break those instincts.

“You’re late,” he says as I take the seat that gives me clear sightlines to both exits.

“Traffic.”

We both know it’s a lie. There’s no real traffic in Cooper Heights. But saying ‘I drove past the diner three times hoping to catch a glimpse of her’ sounds pathetic even in my head.

“Castellano still upstairs?” I ask.

“Game’s been going since ten.” Reign studies his own menu with practiced casualness. “Your girl’s brother’s taking quite a beating.”

“Derrick’s here?” The menu crinkles in my grip.

“Lost thirty grand in the first hour alone.” Reign sets his menu down. “Down another twenty since then. Castellano keeps dealing him in.”

“Where’s he getting that kind of money? Buy-in for Castellano’s games isn’t cheap.”

“That’s what caught my attention.” Reign gestures to the waitress. We pause to order, and I use the moment to consider what he’s telling me. When she walks away, Reign continues. “Twenty-five grand to even sit at the table.”

“Castellano floating that too?”

“Initial buy-in was cash.” Reign leans back. “Then Castellano started extending credit. Lot of credit.”

Shit.

“How deep is he in?”

“Close to two hundred grand.”

The number lands like a sucker punch. Two hundred thousand dollars. The waitress returns with our food. Steak for me, salmon for Reign. The routine of cutting into my steak gives me a moment to process.

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