When Daniel walks in, glancing around him like he’s completely confused about everything going on, my wandering changes direction as I make my way toward him.
Eyeing my approach, he stops between the table area and the sports lounge. He gives a slight jerk of his head toward the couches and flat screens, quirking a brow. “I don’t know what I expected, man, but it wasn’t this.”
He sounds impressed. The sliver of admiration in his voice is clear, even though it’s reluctant.
I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. It’s all about to go up in smoke, though. And I’m not going to ignore the fact that I have some blame in what happened to Marcus.”
Daniel’s somber expression deepens as he nods. “I appreciate that. But Marcus made his own decisions.” He gestures around the room, glancing at my clients. “This clientele doesn’t look like it fits Marcus.”
I nod. “Yeah. That’s the first thing I noticed the first night he came in here. Usually, I get a lot of rich college types, just playing around with money they inherited. It’s not super-high stakes. They only bet what their daddies won’t miss.”
“And Marcus?” There’s sadness in his voice that makes me hesitate before answering.
“Like you said, Marcus was different.”
We leave it at that. I point toward the lounge. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. If there’s anyone in here tonight that jumps out at you or pulls at a memory, let me know.”
He knows the rundown, having also spoken with Detective Monahan. We both have a stake in this situation. He wants Marcus’ killer brought to justice. I want the man plotting my death and stalking my girl to pay.
As Daniel settles in on one of the couches, his eyes land on the football game but his posture indicates he can’t care less; I head to the bar to grab a soda. A beer is what I really want, but dulling my senses right now is a bad idea. I can celebrate with a drink when this is all over. For now? All I have to do is wait for something to happen. Anxiety crawls through my stomach.
I don’t have to wait long. The next time the front door opens I’m in the corner behind the tables with Counts, discussing the events going down at one of the craps games. Counts would make a killing in any gambling establishment. The way he manipulates numbers is scary.
The hairs on the back of my neck lift with awareness; I’m slammed with an overwhelming urge to turn toward the door. I know what’s happening before I even turn around, and as I look up the world evolves into slow motion.
When my eyes lock onto Naima’s, strutting in right in front of that asshole, Noah, everything freezes. I tear my gaze from hers to land on Noah’s hand nestled nice and secure on the small of her back. Rage settles just behind my eyes. My pulse roars in my ears, and my hands fist by my sides.
Son of a bitch.
Twenty-Six
NAIMA
Ace’s presence latches onto me as soon as I walk into the Ring. It’s a buzz of energy that grabs hold when I walk in the door and tugs, tugs, tugs until my gaze is pinned under his. A soft whoosh of air leaves me when I take him in. Everything about him screams at me to rush to his side.
But the look on his face right now? That’s screaming at me to turn around and walk right back out the door.
Shit, shit, shit. This was a bad idea. This was SUCH a bad idea.
It’s so blatant, so clear from the look on his face. The tumult of emotions runs from shock, to a flicker of fear, to outright fury. And the exact moment his eyes collide with Noah’s hand on my back is also the moment I realize he’s touching me.
I step to the side so that Noah’s hand drops, and a chuckle leaves him.
“He doesn’t look too happy to see you,” he murmurs into my ear.
No. He doesn’t.
“I should go talk to him.” I take a step in Ace’s direction just as Noah grabs my elbow and steers me with a firm hand toward one of the game tables.
“Later,” he orders.
Wait, orders?
I open my mouth to argue when Noah’s expression softens. “Sorry, Ny. Didn’t mean to sound like a boss. I want you to give him a minute to calm down before you talk to him. His temper’s notorious.”
I stiffen. Noah sits down at a table and pulls me into a chair beside him. I’m pouting, and it’s making me feel like an immature child. I straighten in my seat, pulling my shoulders back. “Ace would never hurt me.”
I can’t take my eyes off of Ace. He’s standing near the bar not too far from us, but not close enough to hear what we’re saying. He glances down, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He reads a text message, and then his eyes shoot back to me. He scowls.
Damn. That would be Carson.
Carson was watching me like a hawk ever since he picked me up from the sorority house this afternoon and brought me to The Corner. I wanted to come to the G-Ring, but I knew he’d never let me go. So I had to slip out the bar’s back door when he thought I was in the restroom. I can only imagine what’s going through Ace’s head right now.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth.
Pain arcs through my chest when his frown deepens. But then his eyes go soft as he tilts his head to one side to evaluate me and my insides melt.
Noah’s eyes scan the room. He straightens the crisp
