Page 8 of Reckless Pawn

Every miserable thing she endured in the past as well as now was because of this man. A man she should have been able to trust. Someone who should've loved her unequivocally. Without conditions and rules that couldn't be broken.

Instead he betrayed her in the worst way a father could betray a daughter and now he saw it as his personal duty to make sure the man paid.

If he had to repeat that mantra in his head a thousand times to get it done, so be it.

"I'm glad you could make it." He boomed loudly before lowering his voice to continue, "It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did tonight." Frank grabbed two flutes of champagne from a nearby waiter and handed one to him. "A toast then?"

"Sure." What else was he supposed to say? While his personal goal might be to kill this man, he had another mission to complete first.

"Here's to the beginning of a new lucrative venture." Frank's sideways glance made Houston uneasy.

"I'm not sure I know what you have in mind. But if you want to keep paying me like you did tonight, I'm down." Houston took a gulp of champagne after Mr. Mazzeo clinked their glasses together. He grimaced at the bittersweet taste. He'd much rather have a bottle of whiskey in his hand and burning down his throat than this fizzy girly shit.

Although he imagined this place was far too classy for someone like him who right now would prefer to drink straight from the bottle.

"Come on, let's go somewhere for a private talk," Frank said, interrupting his thoughts.

Nodding, he followed him through an adjoining room and out onto a small balcony. From here, even in darkness, there were sweeping views of the Puget Sound. Yet another reminder of a beautiful woman and several nights spent together not too long ago, although at this point it felt like a lifetime. The rush of guilt he couldn't control over Izzy surged through him and festered out of control.

"Have a seat." Frank took the mostly untouched champagne glass from Houston's hand and set it on a nearby table. "I'm sure I can find something more appropriate for you, Mr. Reed." He snapped his fingers and a waiter appeared through the glass sliding door. "Bring us some McAllen 12."

Houston lifted his chin. Pricey, but not so pricey as to insult him with his ridiculous and overrated wealth.

"Today I learned you're not only an excellent fighter, but you take suggestions extremely well."

He quirked the side of his mouth. "Is that what we're calling it these days, suggestions?"

Frank laughed. "Sense of humor, too. You should hold on to that. Sometimes a laugh or two's the only thing that can bring a bit of levity to this business. So tell me. Do you really believe you could have beaten your opponent tonight?"

The waiter returned with the exact bottle of McAllen that Frank had requested along with two crystal tumblers and a bucket of ice. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Mazzeo?"

"That'll be all." He waved him off.

Houston watched the waiter's face for any outward sign that he was offended or annoyed and got nothing. Even the waitstaff in a hotel at this level came exceptionally trained.

Frank dropped back in his chair after pouring the scotch and handing him a glass as Houston considered his answer.

"Yeah. Without a doubt. And to be honest, I didn't enjoy having to pull back to make it happen."

Frank nodded. "That's fair enough. Not all men are the type to sit back and waste the talent just for money. So tell me about your goals then, Mr. Reed. Do you aspire to be more than a fighter?"

"Depends on what you're offering. I have a variety of interests these days."

Frank tipped his head and smiled. Although it didn't reach his eyes and it held a certain look that didn't settle well.

"You've got balls, I'll give you that. Fortunately for you, I need a man with steel ones. This business isn't for the fainthearted or pussies. Neither of which I believe you are."

If that was supposed to be his style of compliment, Houston ignored it and dove straight to the real reason he was there. "You've said something along those lines twice now, about 'the business'. What kind of business are we talking about exactly?"

"I have many business dealings, Mr. Reed. In your case, my international commodities division is dealing with exponential growth and needs new employees. Particularly the kind who know how to protect my investments."

"You mean security? Why not hire one of the many firms that specialize in exactly what you're looking for? I'm sure Seattle has a number of good ones." They were playing a strange game of cat and mouse, wherein Frank told him about a job without telling him about the real job.

"I could. But from my experience, those firms don't come properly motivated. I need someone who understands discretion more than most. And I believe your background," he snagged a file folder from the table and handed it to Houston. "Both personally and professionally suits you to exactly what I'm looking for."

He opened the file folder and thumbed through the pages, shocked to see the details of both his youth inside the Sins of Wrath motorcycle club and his subsequent years as a sniper for the US Marine Corps. There were details and photographs of every single mission he ever participated in.

"So much for top-secret clearance," he muttered.

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