Page 24 of Striker

Owen stands there in the center of the bedroom, still surrounded by the scattered piles of my clothes, with his sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos on his muscled forearms. There's sweat on his brow and an unreadable smile on his face, a face with a masculine jaw and a dimple that's melted my heart for so long.

"I'm back," I say, heading to the bar and grabbing another bottle of wine. As I know I have to do, I take the bottle with me into the bathroom, and slam the door behind me. I have to shut out his face, his eyes, that dimple, those lips that I long to kiss and feel run hungrily across my naked skin. Already, I’m cracking. I need this space to make a new plan to drive Owen away. "I'm taking a bath. This will be a while."

For me.

For Morgan.

For Riley.

I have to stay strong.

But for how much longer can I manage when everything Owen does makes me want him even more?

Chapter Eight

Striker

A walk is my only option, because I refuse to sit in a room, drinking, while Dani takes a sulking soak in the bathroom. Not only will it get me away from her and her maddening attitude, not to mention the distraction of being only a door away from her while she’s naked and covered in foam, but it'll also give me a chance to survey the grounds and look for any weak points in their security..

I grab a beer from the fridge — something Italian, with a name I can't pronounce and a flavor that would be perfect for sipping while munching on a slice of pizza — and go outside. More people are arriving, some limos, other fancy black cars, and one stretch hummer that makes me want to vomit my beer right in front of everyone.

Everybody is busy, occupied with finding their place on the large Vertucci compound, and now is the perfect time to scout. If someone questions me, I can just say I got lost.

Sipping my beer and doing my best to blend in with the raucous riot of people arriving, I case the main mansion of the compound. It's where Michael Vertucci is likely to keep his best and most dangerous men, and any chance to size up my enemy is a chance I need to take. Hopefully, I can get an eye for what weapons they're packing and how many more of those HK-33 assault rifles they have.

Just as important, I need something to occupy my mind away from Danielle.

I can't believe her attitude lately. The tantrum she threw earlier is something I'd expect from a teenager in the full throes of hormones, not a grown-ass woman.

What's going on with her?

And what can I do to tone her attitude down? Because if she can't keep a lid on her anger, this is going to be one long weekend.

"Sir... excuse me, sir?"

I stop, ripped out of my thoughts about Danielle by the curt, clipboard-carrying man who checked Danielle and me in earlier.

"Yeah, what?" I say, not exactly happy to leave my confused, frustrated thoughts to talk to a man who looks like he has a hot pepper shoved up his ass.

"Will you or your... female companion... be registering for any of the activities planned for the weekend?" He says, and before I can even answer, he shoves a different clipboard at me.

Out of curiosity, I read it, because I'm wondering if I'm actually getting a peek behind the curtain and am about to find out that the Mafia is actually huge fans ofSettlers of Catan,when I see the first activity on the list, scheduled to start in less than an hour: a bocce ball tournament.

I get an idea.

A wicked idea that should knock Danielle down a notch.

I read the list of people already signed up for the tournament and see a bunch of very Italian names, all male, all likely belonging to old Italian men who have been playing the game since the dawn of recorded history.

"Anyone can compete in these activities?"

"Yes, anyone at all. They're meant to keep the guests involved and serve as icebreakers, since we are expecting a large crowd, many of whom will be flying in from the old country. We want them to feel at home, so there are several more traditional methods of mingling on the agenda."

"Perfect. My girlfriend..." my tongue trips slightly over that word, which surprises me. "She sent me here to sign her up for bocce. She's a fanatic. Absolutely loves the game and is really looking forward to competing."

"Your girlfriend, sir?"

"Yes, is that a problem?"

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