Page 41 of Dark King (Advantage Play 2)

When I pull away, she sighs with her eyes still closed. Then, blinking slowly as if awaking from a dream, she smiles up at me. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

I almost snort but stop myself at the last second. “No offense, Ace, but you have a twisted way of looking at things. Since the moment we met, I’ve screwed up your life in more ways than I can count. You’ve been followed. Beaten up. Twice, I might add.” I raise my two fingers, and she grimaces. “And you’re now being used as a human buy-in for a poker tournament any sane person would want to stay a thousand miles away from. And what do you say to me? Thank you.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, feeling amazed that I get to call her mine when I have no right to. She and I have been through a lot, and if we can just make it through tonight, everything will be okay.

“Well, I am grateful. Without you, I’d still be the same lonely girl in search of a home. You…you are my home now.”

Tugging her into me, I place one more kiss against the crown of her head then guide her to the patio door.

“Come on, Ace. We have somewhere we need to be.”

“And then you owe me some scrambled eggs and sausage,” she quips by my side.

“I’ll give you some sausage,” I joke, pinching her ass.

With her head thrown back, she laughs full and loud before smacking me in the chest and winking. “Only if I can take a bite out of it. I’m starving.”

I shiver and toss my arm around her tiny frame. “No deal. I’ll get you your damn sausage.”

She takes advantage and puts her head on my shoulder as we open the door to the garage and go to the car. “Yeah, you will.”

Chapter Twenty

Ace

The closer we get to Burlone’s house, the more tension accompanies our car ride. King and I are practically robotic in our movements as we walk up the steps leading to an immaculate front door that’s got to be twelve feet high with a giant brass handle and a knocker that reminds me of medieval times. The exorbitantly priced cars that line the driveway hint that we’re one of the last to arrive. Just like Kingston wanted.

He raps his knuckles against the monstrous door, then we wait.

When it opens, I see a guy with a diamond tattoo below his eye, and I instinctively curl into King’s side. He tightens his hold around my shoulder, silently grounding me when all I want to do is disappear. Glancing up at the man in front of me, I try to place how I recognize him.

There’s just something about him.

After a second, it hits me. I remember him from when I first overheard Burlone mentioning his alibi, then again when I saw him eavesdropping on my conversation with Jack before the tournament. He must be the one who revealed to Burlone that King and I were together. And I instantly hate him for it.

“Come on in.” The sketchy guy waves his arm with a flourish before bowing dramatically as we step over the threshold. He seems like a thug. A jerk. An ass. I secretly wish someone would slam his hand in the door or make him slip on some ice and fall on his butt. A ghost of a smile graces my lips as I imagine witnessing it.

If only.

“Play nice, Wild Card,” Kingston whispers in my ear, trying to contain his smile. He moves to lead me farther into the house when the guy stops us. “Excuse me, but your…”—he looks me up and down hungrily— “guest will need to wear these. It’s standard procedure, of course.”

Grinning wickedly, he lifts up a silver platter for Kingston to view. On it are a pair of handcuffs and what appears to be a collar. My nose scrunches in disgust while my heart stalls in my chest.

No, no, no, no.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” King spits, tightening his protective hold around my waist. His grip is almost painful, yet not hard enough at the same time. The stark bite from his touch is enough to remind me he’s here. He’s got me.

“Sorry, sir, but like I said, it’s standard procedure. If you plan on participating in the tournament, then your buy-in needs to be properly handled. However, if that’s a problem, you’re welcome to leave.” The asshole has the audacity to open the front door with his right hand while still balancing the platter with his left.

Gritted teeth on display, King takes the collar and handcuffs but hesitates to put them on me. I can see his reservations in his eyes as they connect with mine. I never thought I’d see the man in front of me hesitate. But right now? He is. I can see him at war with himself. I can see the wheels turning in his head as he weighs his options. Unfortunately, I know he’ll come to the same conclusion I have. We don’t have a choice.

Keeping my feet firmly planted, I stare at the objects dangling from Kingston’s hand as if they’re a snake waiting to strike. My gaze turns to the guy who answered the door, then back to Kingston. He looks about two seconds away from storming out with me in tow, throwing our whole plan out the window. And I can’t let that happen.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him under my breath while praying the asshat from a few feet away can’t hear me. My eyes dart to said asshat before returning to Kingston. “Promise.”

“Where are the keys?” King barks to the spectator who’s getting way too much enjoyment out of King’s reluctance. Without a word, he picks them up from the platter and lifts them into the air.

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