Page 70 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

A strange echo bleeds into the speaker seconds later, and my brows furrow in confusion.

“Sorry about that, Kingston. I had to put you on speaker. I’ve got a handful of ladies in my office now, but your sister is definitely included. Ladies, can you say hello for me?”

A chorus of sobbing ensues, followed by my sister’s expletives that bring a soft smile to my face, along with the rest of the guys in my office.

The strange echo is cut off seconds later, bringing me back to a more private conversation between Burlone and me.

“See what I was saying about that feistiness? It’s just so…refreshing. Both of you are exactly that. Now, back to what I was saying. Your girlfriend beat me in the tournament last night, and my ego’s a little wounded, so I was thinking…what if I throw another one? Only this time, I’ll invite my associates who also deal in fruit, and we’ll have a unique buy-in. You might be too young to remember, but in the good old days, I used to throw these things quite often. What do you think?”

As a child, I remember my dad mentioning Burlone’s tournaments. They were vile. Despicable. Depraved. They were something my father wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to pull myself from the past and focus on the conversation at hand.

“I don’t play poker, Burlone.”

Recognizing a soft creak from the call, it makes me assume that Burlone just took a seat in his chair, his weight testing the strength of the furniture.

“But you should,” he argues. “It’s all about reading people. And you’re good at that, aren’t you? I’ve been told it’s one of your most unique assets, and I’d love to see it firsthand. Anyway, play if you want. Or don’t. But if you want to get your sister back, then you’ll want to come. Meet the gang. Have a beer. Consider this my grand invitation. However, like I mentioned before, there’s one minor catch.”

I’d give anything to rip the office phone off my desk and throw it against the wall to end this conversation, but I can’t. Not if I want to save my sister. I feel like I’m in the middle of a bullfight but wasn’t given a sword or red flag to defend myself. And now, the damn psychotic bull is racing toward me full speed ahead, and I’m helpless to fight him off.

“And what’s the catch?” I voice, mimicking my casualness from earlier when my blood is boiling.

“I’m afraid you’ll need the proper buy-in.”

The tension spikes, followed by a sense of foreboding that’s so thick, I’m afraid I’ll be suffocated by it.

Shifting my gaze to D, I ask, “And what’s that?”

I’m afraid I already know.

“Your little girlfriend.” The smile on his face is clear in his voice. And I want to slit his throat for it.

“Cut the shit, Burlone,” I spit, my wavering patience from earlier obsolete. “I don’t mess with women. I leave that enterprise to you, remember?”

“Yes, just like your lack of interest in gambling. But I’m afraid this tournament will be your only opportunity to see Regina before she’s out of my hands––and into someone else’s. So, for her sake, I think you’d be wise to reconsider.”

You’d think my father’s office was an exhibit at the Met with how silent everyone is. Hell, my men are practically made from marble as they digest Burlone’s terms, feeling as squeamish as I do.

“If you touch one fucking hair on her head—”

“Two weeks, Kingston. I’ll try to remind the men to keep their hands to themselves but…you know how they are. Boys will be boys, am I right?”

Seconds later, the call ends with a soft click that sounds louder than a damn blow horn.

Two weeks.

Chapter Forty-One

Kingston

My dark voice fills the silent office. “Ace doesn’t leave the premises ‘til I decide what to do with her.”

“You really gonna do this?” D asks.

Shifting my scrutiny to him, I narrow my gaze. “Any other suggestions? ‘Cause it didn’t really sound like I had much of a choice.”

Lou pipes up, “Well if we know where it’ll be located, we can just go in guns a blazing and get her out.”

I shake my head, my shoulders sagging from the weight of the situation.

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