Page 28 of Kings Against the World

The kind of sexy strut you see the models do on runways as they show off tiny little bikinis or racy lingerie.

Zoe Strauss knows how to do it—she knows how to turn on her sex appeal like a damn switch. Her hips sway naturally with every step, one long, shapely leg after another. The hem of her pleated skirt flutters against her upper thighs, drawing attention to how smooth and radiant her dark skin is.

All while she confidently maintains eye contact the entire time.

Almond-shaped eyes that feel like they’re set on you andonlyyouin a roomful of other men.

More heat creeps up the back of my neck and I find my throat tight when I go to swallow.

“Hey, babe,” she greets, bending forward to kiss my cheek. For a millisecond, I’m caught up in the light, sweet scent of her perfume as it lingers behind. “Would you gentlemen like more drinks?”

“We thought you’d never ask, sweetie,” Boone answers. “Why don’t you skip on over to the bar and grab us another Don Miguel 1948? Let us enjoy the view as you go.”

Chmura and Estrada chuckle at the crude joke.

Strauss looks back to me briefly, then gives a nod and promises to return.

My right hand’s curled into a loose fist. The molten heat that’s scalded over me has only intensified, creeping onto my face. Into my expression.

Boone spots my scowl and grins. “C’mon, you can’t be pissed at us forlooking. We look at all the girls at these places. Matter of fact, take a glance at Venus. That girl’s tits are the size of melons! I might take her back to my room later and feel ’em myself.”

They all roar with more laughter as I crack my neck and close my eyes.

This is intentional. It’s how Boone gets under people’s skin. He’s picked up on what he thinks is the relationship between Strauss and me and he’s using it to needle me. His way to dominate and maintain control.

He’s got another thing coming if he thinks it’ll ever work.

I’ve got no problem blowing up his plans if it means sticking it to him.

Nobody owns me. Nobody tells me what to do.

“Anyway,” Boone says once the laughs die off. “What we really need to talk about is the final plans for this tournament. Everybody at this table is a major contributor. We need to all be on the same page.”

“I agree,” Estrada says. “The casino will make for an excellent cover. It will make it easy for the money to disappear.”

“All the players have arrived,” pipes up Chmura.

Boone blows more smoke from his cigar. “Damn skippy they have—the hotel’s crowded as fuck!”

“I presume the cuts will remain the same,” Estrada says, steering us back to business. He seems to have politely laughed at enough jokes and inhaled enough cigar smoke that he’s on the verge of leaving.

“That’s right, Carlito. You provided the venue and the cover. That’s thirty off the top. Chmura’s my recruiter, he’s got his twenty. I get forty. And Oz… you get your ten if you make good and win.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then that complicates matters,” Boone says. “For you and for me. We’ve been over this, Oz. We don’t want to do that, do we?”

“Benz get a cut too?”

The grin drops off Boone’s face. “Why would Benz get a cut?”

“He seemed concerned about what we’re discussing. He mentioned the winnings.”

Boone pops his cigar back into his mouth and makes a hum noise with his throat. He says nothing else about the matter, but he’s staring over at the bar area from behind his dark sunglasses, right at Benz.

Strauss returns a moment later with the new bottle of Don Miguel. She serves us to more leers from around the table.

I don’t know what makes me do it—probably the same thing that made me claim Strauss in the first place—but I reach out and curl my arm around her hips. I pull her closer to me as if about to drag her down into my lap.

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