Page 57 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

Seconds later, Burlone’s man comes sputtering to life when Lou tosses a bucket of ice water in his face.

“What the—”

He blinks quickly in an attempt to get rid of the frigid liquid clinging to his lashes.

“Morning, Sunshine,” I offer with a grin.

The moment he recognizes me, his jaw drops, and absolute terror takes over his expression. “Fuck,” he breathes as the smell of piss permeates the air.

“You’re about to be,” D jokes, slapping his big paw of a hand on my back before shoving me toward the table. “Get to work, Boss. I have a bet with Stefan to see how long it takes you to make him squeal.”

“Come on, D. You’re not supposed to tell him! That changes the odds!” Stefan interrupts from the doorway.

“He’s right, D. Plus, where’s the fun in that? Sometimes the foreplay is better than the main event.”

D scoffs. “Says the guy who isn’t getting laid.”

“Watch it,” I mutter under my breath. He’s right, though. I need to get this shit done so I can figure out my next move with a certain brunette who’s been the center of all my thoughts. I received a text from Reggie earlier tonight as she stepped onto Burlone’s territory, but I haven’t heard a word since. The thought makes my jaw tighten. The sooner I get this shit taken care of, the sooner I can find Ace and make sure she’s still safe.

Gathering a small chisel and hammer from the table, I walk toward the guy I’m about to decimate and squat down so we’re eye to eye.

“Hi. By your reaction, I’m going to assume you know who I am. Is that right?”

With a trembling lower lip, he whimpers, “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good.” I pat his knee. “What’s my name?”

“K-Kingston, sir.”

“Is that all?”

“K-Kingston Romano. The D-Dark King.”

“Good. Now, social etiquette would suggest it’s your turn to introduce yourself.” When he stays silent, I squeeze his knee.

“M-Marty, sir. My name is Marty.”

Again, I praise him. “Good. So tell me this, Marty. You seemed a little…,” I pause, “anxious when you woke up and saw me. Why is that?”

With an audible gulp, a terrified Marty starts shaking. “B-because of the rumors, sir.”

“And what rumors are those?” I push.

“That you’re ruthless.”

“And?”

“That you know how to hurt people.”

Tsking, I say, “Many men in my line of work know how to hurt people, Marty. I think you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“P-please don’t hurt me,” he begs, turning into a blubbering mess right before my eyes.

“Now, now, Marty. Don’t be a coward. I haven’t even touched you yet. All we’re doing is chatting. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?” I address the rest of the spectators in the room. A rumble of yesses echoes throughout the space in response.

“See? Just chatting, Marty. But if you don’t keep talking, then we’re going to have a problem. Understand?”

With his eyes squeezed shut, and a mumbled prayer on his lips, he nods.

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