Page 2 of The Gangster's Girl

But I’m not mortified by them. I love them just the way they are. Leaning forward, I say in Robbie’s ear. “Are you game, set ready for tonight? Do you think you’ll win?”

“Hell yeah, I’ll win,” Robbie says with a healthy amount of confidence. “What do you say, Ronnie?”

“You bet, stud,” she laughs, the sound so loud it drowns the noises from the street. Leaning back in my seat, I smile because tonight really is special. It’s game night.

Robbie and Clay are playing. Chess.

In their youth they were both chess prodigies which is how they met. Their interests waned professionally but that didn’t stop Clay from teaching me how to play chess at the age of four, leading to me becoming one of the top 30 in this country.

It is also how I support myself and my whole family. It’s been that way since I was in my early teens, but I’ve never participated in game night, mostly because Robbie claims it’s a guy thing. They rarely play, only every six years or so because the stakes are extra high. The winner can wish for whatever they want and the loser has to grant him.

One year Robbie won and Clay had to grant him his beloved yacht. That same summer we had a ton of fun with that cruiser, but then Robbie sold it and spent the money on random presents for Ronnie and a trip to the Niagara Falls so bummer...

“You okay, by the way?” Robbie asks, throwing me a look in the rearview mirror and I raise my brows.

“Mmm, why don’t I look like it?”

Robbie shrugs, “You look like you’re about to come down with a fever to me. Ronnie check her temperature.”

I flush like crazy when she puts her palm on my forehead, squirming in my seat and Ronnie frowns.

“No, she’s fine.”

That’s because I don’t have the type of fever they’re referring to. I have another one and it has all to do with Uncle Clay. My parents turn their attention away from me and I slowly exhale, thinking I have to be more careful. I don’t need them to get their suspicions up.

If they knew how hard my hormones rage around Uncle Clay, they would never let me leave my room.

Turning my focus to the outside, I feel a thrill up my spine when the scenery changes. This is about as far from the trailer park as you can get. The weeping willows here are lush and dreamy, the wind a little more forceful and the entire atmosphere’s different.

Rich, regal and gothic. At the sight of Uncle Clay’s extravagant, Victorian mansion, I sit up straight. There are about a hundred windows here and even a tower, which I used to spend my time in when I was a kid and pretend I was Rapunzel.

“His house is so damn gorgeous,” Ronnie murmurs under her breath, her voice careful because sometimes Robbie gets upset he can’t give her that but this time he just smiles, his eyes shimmering.

And I have to agree, the house really is gorgeous but a little secretive, towering over us three as a tyrannical overlord when we step out of the car. We pass the incredibly well take care of garden that somehow still manages to look welcoming instead of sterile, like most rich people’s gardens do.

Putting my hand out, I stroke the roses with my fingertips but flinch when a thorn pierces my skin.

“Ouch,” I murmur, carefully licking the blood off and I glance at my parents but they’re already at the entrance by now. Following them, I feel a prickle in my neck as if somebody’s watching and I look up. Uncle Clay’s cutting eyes zone in on me and I hitch a breath.

He’s so different from us. Powerful and a little mysterious. There are rumors about him being in a Nordic mob but I think those rumors are humbug. Uncle Clay’s far too sophisticated to be a gangster and I can’t imagine him with blood splatters on his expensive clothes. He’s gazing down at me from the third floor and I want to pinch myself when my whole body heats up. Wearing a dark suit and a light blue shirt, his sepia colored hair is carefully tousled, his body language strict.

Uncle Clay is controlled. But his jarring, grey eyes are not. They burn with fervor and they set fire to a part of me that’s meant to be only his.

CHAPTER TWO

Clay

Tonight will be different, it won’t be like the past times we’ve played. Tonight everything’s hanging on by a thin thread and it’s making me agitated. I’ve already had two glasses of scotch and I pace back and forth in the library, rubbing a hand down my neck.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I mutter under my breath, taking another sip and I grimace at the strong flavor. Putting the glass down, I grip the edges of the table, trying to control the tremors running through my body.

There’s a risk that tonight, I won’t only lose my friendship with Robbie but I could lose India as well if she finds my intense emotions off-putting. She’s so very different from me. There’s something abandoned about her and it overpowers me, sometimes making it difficult to breathe whenever I’m in her presence.

On top of it, she’s seventeen years younger than me, carefree and jovial and she always calls me Uncle Clay. But I want to be more than that. I don’t want her to just see me as her uncle, as her dad’s oldest friend and the guy who taught her that the queen always protects the king.

Straightening, I fix my tie, catching my own gaze in the window and I wonder whether she will ever be able to think of me, the way I think of her. There are some lines on my face and I have the kind of stubble that boys her age are unable to grow.

I wonder if it will make India recoil. Will she deny me herself when I expose my never ending appetite and the feelings I harbor for her? They aren’t sweet and boyish; they’re raw and masculine, coming from a deep part in me and they need to be reciprocated.

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