Page 70 of The Players

“I don’t like him,” Kristoff admitted. “But that’s not the only reason why I don’t want him around you.”

Sy cleared his throat. “He’s a Sagittarius. They are known to be volatile and stubborn.”

“That just won’t do,” Kristoff said.

Katya blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a Pisces,” Sy explained. “You two don’t mix.”

Her jaw dropped. She then sent him a hurt look. “You are just as bad as them.” With those parting words, she gave them her back and rushed away.

Sy hated to see her upset. He’d never forget the day he’d found her lying passed out on the kitchen floor. It had been less than a year ago that she’d had her last chemo. Thankfully, since then, she was doing well. God have mercy on anyone’s soul should they touch a hair on her head.

According to Jake’s phone records, he considered Katya a challenge. The soon-to-be crippled asshole had even made a bet with his fraternity brothers on how fast he could get into her pants. Those frat boys would pay for that bet, of course. Nobody could play with Katya and get away with it.

“The frat boy. Knife, hammer, or chainsaw?” Sy asked.

“Hammer.” A dark look had entered Kristoff’s eyes, promising hell and retribution. “But first, we need to find Keegan. One cockroach at a time.”

Sy’s phone rang. Seeing it was Angel, he picked up. There was a lot of background noise, people whistling and cheering.

“What’s up?”

“Guess who I have eyes on right now? Wait, you don’t have to guess. I’m telling it for free, ’cause I’m generous like that. Carmen Caruso.”

“Rossi,” Sy automatically corrected. “What the hell are you doing around my woman?”

“I could tell you, but it’s gonna cost you, brother.”

Dammit, he didn’t have time for this. “What do you want?”

“Cinnamon buns. I want a basket every week for a month.”

“Done. So, tell me, where the hell are you?”

“What do I love most?”

“Annoying the fuck out of me?”

Angel tsked. “Close, but no. Women stripping and wrestling.”

An image of Carmen gliding down a stripper’s pole popped into his head. It was quite the fantasy. Then, he realized who was the cause of that image.

“Don’t you fucking tell me you’re in a strip club, looking at my woman.”

“That depends,” Angel said, dragging the sentence out, which made Sy want to pull him through the phone. “Would you consider rolling in the mud in a tiny bikini, stripping? See, I don’t think it is.”

“Come again?”

“I think stripping is an underrated art form, even a sports—”

“Angel,” Sy growled.

“She’s at Brian’s, about to wrestle in the mud.”

“She’swhat?” Jesus, how the hell had Carmen ended up there? “Get her the hell out.” She was too fragile for that sort of thing. Those women would eat her alive.

“I would if I could,” Angel said, sounding a little too nonchalant to his taste. “Sadly, I was too late, so I’m just gonna sit here and watch.”

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