“You good here, boss?”
Ace still looks at me, his expression unreadable. “All good, Borg. See you back here in a couple of days.”
The guy he calls Borg lifts his chin in acknowledgment and heads out the front door, too.
His words roll over me in a crushing wave of shock. Boss?
Ace runs this gambling ring?
Wow.
I know this place is illegal. I know I shouldn’t be impressed.
But the gap between what I know and how I feel stretches and grows, swelling with every passing minute tonight.
Because I am. I’m just as impressed as I am shocked. I haven’t seen him gambling all night; that should have been my first clue.
And something tells me that the more I learn about Ace Wells, the more intrigued I’ll be.
My attention shifts back to the mysterious man beside me when the front door clicks. He’s still focused on me. Stretching out a hand, his fingers curl around mine, and the effect of it impacts me everywhere.
Pressing his hands on my shoulders, he nudges me until I’m sitting on the couch, and then he leans over me, caging me in with his hands.
I should feel intimidated. It should be off-putting.
But I don’t, and it isn’t.
I have good instincts about people. I always have. Reading between the lines when it comes to the things people aren’t saying is a gift I’ve had since I was a child.
Ace isn’t like the people I grew up with, or the young women in my sorority. He’s nothing like the guys in the fraternities we mix with on a regular basis, with the money and the breeding and the opportunities.
But because of that? He just might be better.
From the swirling storm of indecision in his eyes, I can tell he doesn’t know that. When he speaks, he confirms it.
“You’re too good for this place.” It’s not a question. Ace’s tone is flat and matter-of-fact, his expressive jewel eyes boring into me while his strong arms hold firm on either side of me.
“You don’t know me,” I whisper, not trusting my full voice enough to use it.
I can’t take my gaze off of him; he’s too captivating. His throat bobs as he swallows, and my eyes are drawn right there, to that spot.
How can every inch of him be so perfect?
“I don’t need to. One look at you? I knew it from the second I saw you that you didn’t belong here. But something else was clear, too. You’re also too good for the man who brought you here.”
I lift my hands, tentative and slow, and bring them to rest on his shoulders. His muscles jump under my touch, and a surge of raw power coasts through me.
He reacts when I touch him…just the same as what he does to me.
My palms follow an invisible trail down his arms, my small hands circling halfway around his hard biceps. I squeeze, a gentle crush against him. He closes his eyes and blows a harsh breath out through his teeth.
“Do you want to?” My voice lifts, courage playing peek-a-boo.
He opens those brazen eyes and they lock on me. There’s a fire burning there now that wasn’t clear a moment ago. Heat curls inside my stomach.
A loud banging on the door makes me jump and jerks his gaze from me toward the interrupting sound.
“Damn.” The curse falls from his lips in irritation as he takes a step back. His eyes jump back to me before he strides toward the door.
More banging. Each staccato knock jars my senses, bringing me further away from that super-intimate moment between Ace and I back into the present room.
“Easy!” yells Ace. He unlatches the door and swings it open. “What?”
His body blocks the opening, but the sound of a man’s voice travels inside.
“—Forgot something. Need to come back in.”
My muscles stiffen. Something about the man’s tone just isn’t…right. It’s too amped up, too uncertain, all at the same time.
“No.” There’s finality in the single word from Ace. “You can get it next time you—”
His words drop off like they’ve been shoved over a cliff.
The man’s voice changes into a high-pitched steam of sound. “Get inside! Or I blow a hole through your chest!”
Slowly, Ace glances over his shoulder at me, a war raging in his eyes. Fear drops my stomach somewhere near my knees, and I can’t suck in a breath. He jerks his head back to the man standing in front of him. And then he steps back.
The man, someone I recognize from being in the ring tonight, walks in after Ace. He kicks the door shut behind him, and the glint of a gun shimmers softly under the lights. It’s pressed against Ace’s chest, and the sight of it sends a jolt of revulsion through my body.
Fear chases fury along my spine.
No. God, no. This can’t be happening.
That gamut of emotions I’ve run through tonight collide inside me, as terror takes flight in my chest. I can’t believe my bad luck, but more than that—I can’t stand the idea that Ace having me here with him tonight might have put his life in danger. Maybe he wouldn’t have let all his bounces go home if I weren’t here. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone to deal with this now.
The man is wearing a suit. It makes him so recognizable, because he stood out in the crowd tonight among the college and graduate school young men in their polos and khakis. He’s also clearly a few years older than the rest of us, in his late twenties.
His dark hair is unruly, wild, like he’s drawn a hand through it over and over again. His eyes, when they suddenly turn and lock on mine, are flat and dark.
Hopeless.
It’s a look I’ve seen a lot when I’m staring in the mirror. Like no matter what you do, nothing will change. No matter how hard you try,
