Page 18 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“But it’s not your turn,” I repeat.

“Answer the fucking question,” he growls with an icy cold stare.

Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I search for a way out of this. Out of this situation. Out of this room. Out of this whole freaking conversation. Everything.

“Now!” His tone is sharp, making me jump.

It’s just enough to snap me out of my panic attack. I tell him the truth, spewing my disdain like word vomit across the basement floor. “I hate Burlone with every fiber of my being, and I would do anything to see him buried in the ground.”

The silence hangs heavy in the room, and I just pray to whoever might be listening that Kingston isn’t friendly with Burlone. Because if he is, I might’ve just dug my own grave by admitting my hatred for the man who ruined my life.

“Truth.” The word is nothing but a whisper as it leaves Kingston’s mouth before he divulges a piece of honesty I haven’t asked for. “Burlone is trying to frame my family for something. All I need you to do is frequent Sin for the next few days and see if you hear anything.”

“Hear anything? Like what?” My chin dips to the toe of my shoe as I drag it against the linoleum floor and wait for him to answer.

“I need a time. A day. I know the what and where. I’m looking for the when.”

The conversation I overheard a few nights ago buzzes in the back of my mind, tugging at my memory. Looking up at Kingston, I ask, “And what if I already know it?”

He locks down any expression from his face, leaving it nothing but a clean slate. “And how would you already know it?”

“I was there the other night. I overheard him talking to two men.” I close my eyes and try to remember what they looked like. “One had a small diamond tattoo on the side of his face. He had long, greasy hair that he slicked back, and his teeth were stained yellow. The other one was cleaner cut with a giant X tattooed on his forearm. I might even call the guy good-looking if I didn’t know who he was acquainted with.” Opening my eyes, I find Kingston’s attention glued to me. I clear my throat and continue describing Burlone’s guy. “He seemed smarter than the others. He kept looking around the room, practically begging them to shut up until they got somewhere private.”

“What were they talking about?” Kingston probes.

“Burlone mentioned something about a tournament and having a solid alibi. It sounded like something was going down that night, and he’d be safe from the repercussions of whatever it was because he’d be at the casino with a ton of witnesses.”

Kingston’s expression remains indifferent, though I know I’ve just given him whatever he’s looking for.

“Am I free to go?”

With a shake of his head, my feet remain glued to their spot on the concrete floor.

“Did they see you listening?”

I shrug before looking around the room and searching my memory. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

His expression is blank as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. “I need you to memorize this number then throw it away. If you hear anything else, call me.”

I take the piece of paper and attempt to focus on the jumbled numbers.

“That’s it?” I ask, feeling confused. I’m missing something, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. Something about the way he asked did they see you listening, irks me. What if they did see me listening? Am I in trouble? Should I even be here? It’s obvious I stepped into something that I shouldn’t have, but am I going to be okay?

“Ace.” My head snaps up at the sound of his thick voice. “I’ll be in touch.”

He goes to take a step toward the door, but I interrupt his departure, feeling the unfamiliar need to keep him close.

“Wait!” I call out, shocking the hell out of both of us.

He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What did I step into?”

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he releases a heavy sigh that tells me more than any words he could possibly say right now. “Something an innocent girl like you should know nothing about.”

“That’s not an answer.” I fight the panic that threatens to spill over.

With a forced smile, he murmurs, “My game. My rules.”

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