Page 12 of Kings Against the World

“What the hell do you want, Oz?” Boone asks, recognizing him like I do.

Ozzie tilts his head to the side, hands deep in his pockets. “I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing with my girl.”

4

OZZIE

“Yourgirl?”Boone repeats, shooting a glance at Strauss and then back at me.

“You heard me the first time, Ace.”

He flicks his cigarette butt to the ground and glowers at me from behind his dark shades, his cheeks ruddy from all the alcohol he’s been drinking. “Well…” he says slowly, mulling over every word. “That changes everything, doesn’t it?”

Boone’s men exchange looks. Nobody’s got a clue what the hell to do next. The dumb fucks stand there like dogs waiting for their master’s next command.

Moe clutches a knife between his greasy fingers. His puffy eyes shift from me to Boone to Strauss pinned against the wall. He’s looking almost disappointed the show’s been put on hold.

For her part, Strauss struggles to keep her game face on.

There’s no way she was ever expecting me, of all people, to interrupt what was about to go down.

It reflects on her face as her brows draw close and her lips twitch like she’s about to speak, but she catches herself lastsecond. She settles on a blank slate, staring at me without an ounce of emotion to be found anywhere.

It would be a decent poker face.

IfI wasn’t a pro at poker and reading people. I was once a regular at Boone’s gambling tournaments for a reason.

Special Agent Strauss is pissed. She’s actually so damn prideful that she’d rather I not interrupt. She’d rather handle Boone and his men on her own… and the consequences.

But I’m not in the business of letting shit I don’t agree with slide.

This kind of situation happens to be one.

Suddenly the night buzzes with promise of a good time. What was a huge letdown minutes ago becomes a moment where I could have a little fun. Adrenaline pulses through my veins at all the possibilities.

The good, the bad, the ugly. The fucking insane.

I’ve always been a risk-taker. Somebody who gambles every chance he gets. This could go very right or very wrong, and the thrill of that unknown excites me.

“If this is your girl,” Boone says, stroking his beard, “then I’m mistaken. She can’t possibly be the snitch we’ve been looking for… right?”

A strained silence hangs in the air. Nobody dares utter a word.

His question sounds innocent enough, but nothing’s as it seems with a dude like Asa Boone. The question’s a test, like everything is with him.

My gaze bounces from him to where Strauss’s pinned against the brick wall. She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling and looking fucking fantastic in that bra. Lacy and fancy like the ones the Victoria Secret chicks wear. The same bubblegum pink as the wig she’s using for a disguise, the shade popping against her dark brown skin.

But her nice rack can’t distract from what I’mreallylooking at. No matter how hard she tries to lock down her emotions and play unbothered, I see it all. The subtle flare of her nostrils and the way her pupils contract. She glares at me like I’m her mortal enemy.

…real believable that’s my girl.

“Sounds like it to me,” I answer Boone finally. I give a shrug, keeping my hands in the pockets of my cargo pants. “Why’d you think I was hanging around after you canceled the tournament? I was waiting for my girl to get off work.”

Boone’s long fingers stroke at his beard and ruddy cheeks some more. His lips are spread in a way that hints at a grin, but he holds off, like we’re in the middle of a poker game and he doesn’t want to reveal his hand.

Not yet.

“Alright,” he says. “Then it sounds like that’s cleared up. Let her go, boys.”

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