Page 33 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

My body feels like I’ve gained an extra fifty pounds as I carry the bottles up to my apartment. Dammit, Eddie! Why do you have to ruin your life like this? My grip tightens around the bottles, my feet pounding up the stairs until I reach my floor. After I enter my tiny apartment, I head straight for the sink and pour the liquor down the drain. The potent stench of alcohol burns my nostrils as I watch it disappear.

When I’m done, it takes me a second to notice the cold, disconnected presence behind me.

“Finished?” a harsh voice barks, making me flinch.

Spinning around, my mouth open in shock, I clutch the empty bottle to my chest when I find a scrutinizing Kingston staring daggers at me.

“Shit, Kingston. You scared the crap out of me!”

“Didn’t take you for an alcoholic.” He turns his glare to the bottle in my hand before bringing it back to my puzzled expression.

“I’m not. If I were, do you think I’d be pouring it down the drain?”

“Maybe you found a moment of strength,” he offers, pushing himself up from the worn couch in the corner and stalking closer.

“I have many weaknesses, but alcohol isn’t one of them,” I reply bitterly.

“Truth,” he acknowledges with a lift of his chin before clenching it in frustration and crowding me against the wall. “In a way, I was hoping you were inebriated tonight. That was the only possible explanation I could come up with to explain why you did what you did.”

I pull back, my spine straightening. “Excuse me? Did what exactly?”

I’m not in the mood for this right now. Not after I found Eddie wasted when I was so sure he was getting better. I don’t think I can handle a lecture, and I really don’t think I can handle having a mob boss mad at me, either.

His eyes heat with fire, showing me he’s beyond pissed right now. In the blink of an eye, he puts one hand on each side of my face, caging me in before slamming his palm against the wall behind me. “I gave you one fucking rule, Ace. One rule.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper, losing a bit of my earlier frustration and replacing it with defeat. Apparently, I failed again, though I don’t even know how.

As I peek up at Kingston, a tremble races down my spine because the beast in front of me is terrifying. He’s nothing short of a nightmare. But the part that really freaks me out is that I don’t want to wake up from this particular dream. If I focus on Kingston, I’m able to put my own issues on the back burner and forget about all of my problems. Seeing him like this makes me want to understand and soothe the monster in front of me who’s clawing to get out, though the fact that I’m not scared out of my mind makes me question my own sanity. It’s obvious he’s pissed, and that rage is completely centered on me and my mistake.

“I told you to stay under the radar. I told you to keep your head down. And what do you do?” he growls. “You sign up for the fucking tournament.” His anger is palpable. I can touch it. Taste it. Feel it seeping into my pores.

My lower lip trembles. “You don’t understand—”

“You’re wrong,” he spits, cutting me off. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ace. You don’t know what he does to random women on the street, let alone someone who pisses him off. He kidnaps. He rapes. He beats. He maims. He twists them up like a dirty dishrag, squeezing whatever the fuck he wants from them before tossing them aside, usually to another asshole who buys them from him and does the exact same thing. And that’s if you cooperate. If you don’t? He shoots heroin into your veins to make you more compliant, but only after he’s beaten you within an inch of your life.”

A breath catches in my lungs, making me feel like I can’t breathe. Like he’s sucked all the air from the room, keeping it hostage until he sees fit to gift me with some.

“Is that what you want, Ace?” He leans forward until I can feel his cool, minty breath on my cheeks. “Do you want that kind of future? Do you want to be on his fucking radar? Because, if you participate in that tournament, you will be.” His jaw tightens until I’m sure he’ll crack a molar as he grits his teeth. “I think you already are.”

Panic blossoms in my chest, taking over any rational thought. “What do you mean I’m already on his radar?”

“You think he doesn’t check the roster for the tournament whenever someone signs up? That he doesn’t do background checks on every motherfucker who shows interest? You screwed up, Ace. You screwed up big time.”

“I’m being careful,” I start.

He scoffs. “Not careful enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What the hell do you think it’s supposed to mean?” His brows pinch in frustration, trying to understand why I would put myself in this position. With staggered breathing, he tries to get ahold of himself.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I admit, “I wanted to have a chance to make him hurt.” My voice is nothing but a whisper, nearly getting lost in the heavy silence that follows it.

“And how exactly were you planning on doing that?”

In a daze, my fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, rolling the starched fabric back and forth between the tips of my fingers until I realize what I’m doing. Eyes widening, I look down to see my hands playing with the material. The action catches his attention. With flared nostrils, a mesmerized Kingston watches my fidgeting hands before bringing his gaze back to mine, shocking us both by allowing my inappropriate touch.

“Tell me, Ace.” His tone surprises me. If I didn’t know any better, I might even consider it to be gentle. But that can’t be right. This is Kingston Romano. He’s never looked more the part of a badass mob boss than he does right now. There’s a fire in his eyes and a crisp suit covering his muscular frame. The combination screams power, making me feel like an insignificant little blip on his radar.

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