Page 71 of Kings Against the World

We both freeze up at the deep, gravelly voice that seemingly comes out of nowhere.

Boone’s strolled up to us wearing a broad grin, drink in hand. He’s in his usual uniform of dark shades and all-black clothes, tonight a bomber jacket and some worn jeans and boots.

Sugar continues looking perplexed enough you’d think someone asked her a complicated math equation.

But it’s clear Boone’s speaking to me. I’m the source of his attention as he steps toward me and Sugar’s forced to back out of the way.

“Tell me, sweetie. What brings you back to my neck of the woods?” he drawls, raising his glass for a sip. His grin remains even as he drinks from his glass of liquor—Oro Sonto tequila if I could guess—and he stares down at me like he’s amused by my mere presence. He knows I’ve returned for a reason.

I take a second to gather myself, my mind and body still abuzz. “I need the extra hours. I wanted to see if I could pull another shift.”

“The lounge closes in two hours, sweetie. Benz went night night. Hell, I was about to ’til I saw you scurrying out the elevator.”

“Two hours is two hours. I need the work.”

He slants his head to the side. “You’d think you wouldn’t be so hard up with Oz looking after you. Don’t tell me he has his girl struggling.”

My heart skips a beat at his cavalier mention of Ozzie, though I give no discernible reaction otherwise. I’m desperate and restless in this moment and this isn’t even about Ozzie anymore. This is about carrying out what I need to do as soon as possible.

I can’t rest ’til I’m done.

“Tell you what, how about you take the last of our customers in the lounge?” Boone asks. He cuts a dismissive glance at Sugar, who for some reason, has idled by. “That means you’re no longer needed. How about you skip along?”

I follow Boone into the lounge, which is virtually empty at this hour. The VIPs, spectators, players, and even most of the employees have long since gone home. Jay Chmura remains, in the middle of a lap dance from Venus.

Boone selects his usual table and then shakes his glass of liquor, rattling the melting ice inside.

“Time for a new drink.”

I take the hint, collecting his old drink and heading to the bar counter for a fresh one.

“Thanks, doll,” he says when I return. “How about you take a seat and tell me what really brings you down here this time of night.”

“Sure… okay.”

My tone’s uncertain for two reasons.

The first being that I’m supposed to be Jade Fowley in this moment. Jade would be hesitant to be alone with Boone in any capacity. She’d be uncomfortable because she has a boyfriend and Boone’s a predatory creep.

The other, real reason I sound uncertain is because I’m actually Zoe Strauss. I’m instantly reminded that I hate this man more than any other being on this earth. I’d love nothing more than to jam a knife into his eye and watch as he screams in agony. I’d like to empty the clip of my Sig Sauer in him… many, many times.

It feels like a betrayal taking a seat with Boone and pretending to be cordial with him. Now more than ever because we’re alone. The other times were different; there were people around and we were in crowded rooms.

One on one, there’s no greater reminder that I’m sitting across from the man who took Zani away from me. He probably doesn’t even remember who she is.

“So tell me. What’d that boyfriend of yours do to piss you off now?” Boone asks conversationally. He leans closer, his elbows folded on the table. He reeks of smoke and liquor, both smells adding to the sensory overload I already feel. “Did you catch him doing you dirty? Oz is a Steel King, sweetie. They’re rarely faithful.”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that.”

“So? Then tell me. What’s got your panties in a bunch? Assuming you’re wearing panties, that is.”

He chuckles at his own quip, indifferent to the fact that he’s encroaching on my space. Every fiber of my being screams at me to move away. For me to slam my fist into his face and shatter those stupid dark sunglasses he seems to never take off.

But I can’t do either of those things. I can’t risk blowing my cover or fucking this opportunity up.

I have a moment alone with Boone and I need to milk this for all it’s worth.

Duchovny said it himself—so far I’ve failed at gathering substantial evidence that links Boone to the criminal activity he’s being investigated on. I need to cozy up to him, gain his trust, find an opening so I can bust him myself.

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