Page 34 of Texas Hold Em'
One in. One out.
He breathed deeply, the way a man might who didn’t worry about the noose tightening around his neck.
Two in. Two out.
I shifted slightly, my yellow daisy-printed sheets rustling softly beneath me, and cupped my hand under my cheek while I lay on my side and watched him.
He slept on his back with his face turned away from me. The moonlight pouring in the warehouse windows over our heads painted his skin a moody dark blue, and he looked like a movie character basking in the waning light of night. Somewhere outside, an early morning bird sang, and Tex’s eyelids fluttered in a dream.
Three in. Three out.
What did a man like him dream about?
I smiled and drew the blankets up under my chin.Racing motorcycles and drinking beer, probably.
In sleep, he hardly looked like the man who’d just fucked me senseless in the kitchen the night before last. He’d been animalistic then—a primal force of lust and reckless abandon unlike anything I’dever felt before. Our energy felt as though we were made for each other. He gave me something I had never felt before and I wished I had the words to define it. Unfortunately, I did not, and I knew nobody from the outside looking in could ever understand the magnetism I felt between us.
Four in. Four out.
Hell, I wondered if I could ever explain it to Tex. Did he feel it, too? Or did he just crave the superficial layer of what we were? Surely, he didn’t think anything real was forming between us. For lack of a better word, our affair was taboo. Jackson would never approve, and since Tex was part of such a tightknit MC, I found it hard to believe he’d go against Jackson’s wishes if push came to shove.
Five in. Five out.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the exposed pipes in the ceiling overhead.
What is wrong with you?
It didn’t matter if he picked me over Jackson because that wasn’t how this story was going to end. I knew the ending already. Bates had to go to prison, and so did his daughter, who I still wasn’t sure whether or not she was a psychopath, sociopath, or both. Once that was done, I’d hop on a plane and head back to Austin and leave Reno behind me where it belonged.
I’d go back to my old life and so would Tex.
At least, that was how itshouldend.
I hated waiting. It felt like it was all I was doing these days. I’d confronted Caroline in the salon over forty-eight hours ago and had yet to hear a peep from her or her father.
Perhaps I needed to make myself more accessible. Perhaps I needed to remind them that I was still a valuable player on the board.
Slowly, carefully, I pulled the blankets down, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and rose to my feet. The mattress creaked softly beneath me but didn’t disturb Tex. I found my pistol, where I kept it hidden in my suitcase, and strapped it to the inside of my thigh before stepping into a shin-length dress. I’d bought it for a friend’s baby shower yearsago and hadn’t worn it since, but it worked perfectly for what I needed tonight. I dropped a pocketknife in my purse, threw my hair up in a ponytail, and snuck out of the bedroom to fetch the keys to the Chevelle.
There weren’t many bars open at this time of morning in Reno. The only place I happened upon with a red neon sign flashing “Open” was a place with a sign that read “BAR” over the awning above the front door. As I approached, the bouncer stood up a little straighter and looked down the length of his wide nose at me.
“Evening,” I said, knowing full well I looked out of place there.
He looked me up and down before stepping aside to let me pass.
“Thanks,” I muttered, treading over the carpet in the foyer of the bar.
It smelled like calamari and sour beer. I scrunched up my nose as I looked around. It was dingy, that was for damn sure, and looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the seventies. The carpets were a deep burgundy brown with little burnt-yellow diamonds on them. Wall sconces provided dim, amber light that didn’t penetrate the corners, where clusters of men in leather jackets and hats stood shoulder to shoulder, most likely dealing.
Charming place,I thought as I waded into its depths. I couldn’t linger at the door too long. I’d draw too much attention.
I moved to the bar at the back, where a man in his sixties wiped out cocktail glasses with a stained rag. He peered up at me from under his mop of gray hair. “What can I get you?”
I licked my lips as I settled onto the barstool and set my purse down on the open seat beside me. I wanted the knife within reach just in case. The leather seat was cracked and poked at my rear end. I wished they had a menu so I knew what I could order in a bottle or a can. A joint like this gave me the creeps, and the last thing I wanted was a mixed drink from a guy who looked like he had a criminal record longer than my hair.
“Corona?” I asked.
He snorted in judgment but fetched me a bottle of beer anyway. I shook my head when he asked if I wanted a lime wedge.
