Page 37 of Dark King (Advantage Play 2)

With a clenched jaw, I dig deep and find some semblance of control before putting my hand against the small of her back and pushing her forward. “I think it’d be best if he saw you first, Wild Card. Because if he sees us swarm him, he might have a heart attack.”

Laughing awkwardly, she takes a step toward the booth before turning on her heel. “Come over in two minutes. I’ll try to prep him, but I don’t want to give him a chance to actually leave, ya know?”

Both D and I nod before D jokes, “We’ll be right over by the hostess table. But don’t make us wait long. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was hungry.”

Giving D a playful wink, Ace says, “I’ll place your order when Dottie comes over. Eggs, sausage, and breakfast potatoes?”

His stomach growls. “Yes, please. And order some for Kingston too. I don’t want him getting handsy with my sausage.”

Snorting, she waves us off. “See you in a few.”

With the confidence of a runway model, Ace approaches Jack and sits down across from him before a waitress comes and takes their order. I watch as her mouth forms my name, quickly followed by the douche slapping his hand against the table angrily, his posture turning rigid. My nostrils flare when I see Ace put her delicate little hand on top of his to calm him down.

Sensing my frustration, D grabs my forearm. “Give her a second, King. It’s all good. She’s taking care of it.”

“I don’t like her touching him,” I grit out.

I don’t like it at all.

“You don’t own her, man. Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

Giving him the side-eye, I see an amused smirk on his face, and if we weren’t in public, I’d wipe it off with my fist.

I don’t bother responding to his remark because I’m afraid he might have a point. How else would a girl off the streets be able to convince a mob boss to meet with the Feds?

Cracking my knuckles, I mutter, “It’s been two minutes. Time’s up.”

Casually, I walk over to the booth then slide in next to Ace without waiting for an invitation. I don’t need one, anyway. Not after everything she’s put me through. D grabs a chair from a nearby table. The legs scrape against the tile floor as he drags it toward us then plops into it lazily and rests his elbows on the table. Once we’re situated, I assess the man I’ve been told I should rely on. The only problem? With the way he looks at Ace, I know my judgment will be clouded, and I won’t be able to trust my gut.

Which means I’ll have to put my trust in the girl beside me, instead. Looking over at her, she gives me an innocent smile then rests her hand against my thigh beneath the table. Her touch immediately calms me, and it only confirms D’s comment from earlier. She fucking owns me.

Our food is being placed in front of us seconds later by an older woman with short dyed-red hair and a no-shit attitude that I admire.

“I see the way y’all are lookin’ at each other,” she starts. “I spent way too much of my time and money to see my diner ruined by a brawl or a pissin’ contest. If things get crazy, take it outside. That ain’t negotiable, ya hear?”

My mouth quirks up on one side. “Loud and clear. Thanks for letting us borrow your establishment. We’ll take good care of it.”

“Good answer. I’ll be over there if y’all need anything.” Her forefinger points to the other side of the diner before she turns on her heel and goes on to help the next customer, leaving us to ourselves.

“Ace said you wanted to see me?” Jack breaks the tense silence with a sarcastic tone that immediately grates on my nerves. His frustration is clear but unnecessary.

D pops a breakfast potato into his mouth then jokes, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jack Connelly, FBI agent. We’re only here to talk.”

“Sure you are,” Jack mumbles under his breath, his eyes narrowing on Ace.

“Look,” Ace says. “We need your help.”

With a scoff, Jack shakes his head. “And what kind of help would a mafia king need from an FBI agent? I’m not going to cover up the shit you’ve done. I’m not going to go crawling back to the academy empty-handed, and I’m not a dirty cop. So what the hell do you think you can get from me?”

“Let me ask you something, Jack.” My voice is like ice; my demeanor is confident, bordering on arrogant. I know Ace can see the change in me compared to the man she’s always seen by the way her breath catches in her throat. Her hand shakes as it rests against my leg, but she doesn’t remove it. Instead, her head does a tiny bob of approval, encouraging me to be the man I need to be and to get shit done.

Which is exactly what I intend to do.

Clearing my throat, I press forward. “What would you do if you were given the opportunity to take down the entire human trafficking ring in the Midwest?”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head before he schools his features. “I’d say you were full of shit.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

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