“Why not?”
“Because I’m not part of your winnings,” I said. “I’m here because I want to be, and I’ll wear what I choose.”
He shrugged. “Your decision.”
After being caught under his too-long stare, I wanted to squirm. It was if he could x-ray right through my shirt and see all I was trying to hide—scars on the outside as well as the inside.
“Can I help you?” I said after a time.
He gestured with a glance over my shoulder. “You’re blocking the aisle.”
“Oh. Right.”
God. I’d essentially become a black widow of poker these past two years but put me on a charter plane with the infamous Theo Saxon and I became an awkward pile of hormones who couldn’t get out of her own way.
I shifted, and he passed, our arms barely grazing, but enough that the static charge flowed into my fingertips. I pretended it didn’t happen and busied myself repacking my bag and tossing it onto an empty seat.
“Is there a bathroom I could use?” I asked.
Theo replied, without looking up from the newspaper he’d somehow acquired, “Through my quarters, toward the back.”
I muttered under my breath but headed to where he directed. I supposed in addition to the kiss that didn’t happen, last night’s argument didn’t happen, either. Theo was treating our interactions like a business meeting at a denim conference.
Once in the bathroom (surprisingly tiny for a private plane), I gave my face a good, cold scrub. I avoided looking too long in the mirror, knowing what I’d see. A tired, jaded, twenty-four-year-old. No need to reminisce.
I’d scouted my makeup bag and clunked it onto the marble countertop. The clicks and clacks as I sifted through were familiar and unconsciously comforting, like I was in my natural habitat, putting on makeup, like I always did at the start, or end, to the day—at the apartment with Verily, or at home with my parents, with Cassie coming up beside me, shouldering me out of the way so she could get in front of the mirror.
I allowed myself enough time to stare at my reflection, mouth I love you to my sister’s living ghost, then moved on.
I quickly applied concealer, a little navy eyeliner, and some tinted gloss. My hair was a lost cause, as having it blown around by a helicopter’s blades, tasting the salty air while on a yacht, and then playing poker on a dock didn’t exactly create tamed tresses. I finger-combed it up into a messy bun and called it a job well done. There was a shower available, and, from peering around the glass partition, some excellent travel-sized Chanel bath products, but there was no time.
So I did what any person in my particular position would do. Swiped the bottles into my cosmetics bag and zipped it up tight.
When I came back to my seat, Theo was still there, ankle crossed over knee, sipping a coffee and flipping through the news.
“Anything interesting?” I asked once I took a seat across from him, still hoping for caffeine instead of diluted seltzer.
“You mean, is Trace on the front-page, the FBI having collared him after years on the run?” He flipped a page. “No.”
“I see you have the funnies this morning.” As Andrea passed by, I asked, “Could I also get a coffee? Cream and sugar?”
“Sorry,” she said. “We’re starting our descent. I have to sit down.”
Figured. Theo probably could have asked for his drink now and Andrea would’ve bounced to give it to him. Unfortunately, I didn’t have his sizable, perfect dick.
Stop thinking about sex with Theo.
Having him for real brought back the chemistry between us, the explosive sex and the orchestral orgasms. The fact that he could bring me to the brink with his teeth dragging across my breasts. An image of him on top of me, of me on top of him, my nipples tightening the instant his lips locked onto them, the idea of him kneeling in front of me, using his tongue on my—
“Are you a nervous flyer?”
I tore my attention from the window. Theo had been studying me, that half-lidded gaze of his noting every tic, every flush.
“Hmm? No.” I wiggled a bit in my seat. No need to let him in on my desires. Not anymore. “Not exactly.”
“It’ll be dreary when we land,” he said, his face remaining neutral. “You may want to put on the pants I got you.”
“No.” My mother’s hissing warning resounded in my ears. “I mean, no, thank you.”
“I appreciate the pleasantry,” Theo said with a wry smile, and contrasted with his scar, it was the grin of Lucifer. “You’ll regret it.”
Regret what, I wondered? The taste of him on my lips, experienced a mere few hours ago? His hot breath on my neck as I rode him, which, if we spent any longer together, I’d want to do again, and again, heartbreak be damned?
“I’ll add it to the list,” I said. “What’s next in your plan of plans, anyway? Are we showing up on Trace’s doorstep?”
“Don’t you wish.”
“Can I have my phone back? Or can you at least tell me the information you found from Neri’s?”
“Yes, and you’ll find out soon enough.”
Theo made no moves to get my phone.
The wheels touched down on the tarmac and the plane rocked side-to-side against the roaring wind. Once the engines slowed down, the pilot came over the speakers. “We’ve arrived at your destination Mr. Saxon, Miss Rhodes. Welcome to London, where the temperature is fifty-seven degrees with overcast skies with a sixty percent chance of precipitation over the next few hours.”
“Is it not June?” I asked no one in particular. I glanced down at my exposed thighs, expecting them to preemptively be covered with goosebumps.
Theo shot out of his seat and tossed a canary yellow raincoat that fell across my legs. Stupidity wasn’t in my vocabulary, so I accepted the jacket with a glower.
“Time to go,” Theo said, tossing on his own leather coat over a hoodie. He flipped the hood up, half his face disappearing beneath the folds.
“Where?” I asked, shoving my arms through the raincoat.
“Haven’t you figured it out, Scarlet?” He flashed me a wicked grin within his cover. “We’re continuing our game.”
Aren’t we just, I mused, and swiped and swallowed the rest of his coffee before following him off the plane.
12 Discarded Hearts
A black car rumbled idly as we disembarked. I half expected a red carpet to be laid out to the vehicle, lest our shoes touch upon pauper’s dirt.
“Is this the same private airport the Royals use?” I asked Theo’s back as he loped in front of me.
“No,” he said, without even a half-turn in my direction.
“Huh.” I fixed my purse on my shoulder as I walked. “Guess the Saxon reach isn’t as far as I thought.”
I felt his eye-roll through his hood.
“No dinner with the Queen?” I asked, rounding the car to reach the passenger side. “I don’t suppose it’s proper monarch etiquette to host illegal poker games?”
“Do I have to listen to this the entire time we’re here?”
“Give me my phone and I’ll shut up.”
Theo strode around the hood—or, now that we were in England, the bonnet—of the car until he was almost flush against my chest. I half choked on a surprised swallow, both at the sudden heat of him and the closeness of his mouth, about all I could see due do the clouds smoking up the grey skies.
“Can I at least meet one of the royal Corgis?” I asked.
There. Properly recovered.
Theo leaned against the closed door, his arm draping across the roof. His perfectly drawn lips parted. “Passenger side’s that way.”
I bit my slightly asymmetrical lower lip. Instead of giving him any satisfaction by stuttering or apologizing, I hiked the purse strap up my shoulder again and passed him to get to the other side, making sure at least my elbow brushed against his arm.
It was almost desperate, the way I wanted to prove our chemistry, even after all this time, even if only physical. Even if I
knew it couldn’t come to anything.
Aside from a light jostle, Theo didn’t react and opened the driver’s side door. By the time I reached the other end, he’d slid over and propped open my door, which I caught on the first swing.
“Ever the gentleman,” I muttered.
Once I was in, he kicked up the engine. “I thought you didn’t want any special treatment.”
“I don’t.”
“Mm.” He turned the car in a smooth arc and out of the private airport. At some point, our bags must have been put in the trunk—boot—but as usual, Lurch’s maneuvers were a silent mystery. As far as I was concerned, I had my wallet and passport tucked into a small cross-body clutch that I would keep near at all times. No Lurch or Saxon would get their hands on it, just in case I was forced to escape and make a spontaneous quick exit.
I relaxed against the ebony leather, cool on the backs of my thighs and probably soon to be sticky. “Are you going to let me in on more of the plan here?”
“I already told you,” Theo said as we drew up to a light in a small, two-way road. In fact, many of the roads here were smaller, all the cars whizzing by us more compact. Totally unlike the keg barrels of SUVs and six lane highways of the United States. “We’re getting ready for another game.”
I parsed through the hidden words in Theo’s vocabulary, something I would need to brush up on now that we were back to exchanging dialogue. “Is Trace playing or running games around here?”
“Neither.” Theo gunned it as soon as the light changed. My immediate reaction was to clutch what Cassie always called the holy shit bar located just above the window, but I resisted and clenched my hands on either side of the seat instead.
“Trace doesn’t show his face in known game rooms anymore. He keeps his connections small, and then it’s only when he has to. Like now, when he needs to make money somehow, and hires lackeys to do it for him.”
The car veered as he passed a slower vehicle in front of us, Theo’s speed never dipping during the lane change.
I unlocked my jaw to say, “Calling them lackeys is a disservice. I assume they’re pros, able to get him the money he needs, plus a commission, in only a few games before moving on.”
“You are entirely correct.” Theo’s lead foot continued, and to my dread, no other traffic—or lights—were ahead of us. He had free reign to speed.
God. My stomach heaved.
“He doesn’t even stay in the same country for long before moving on,” Theo continued. “He makes his plays quick, dirty and efficient.”
“And what better way,” I gritted out, “than to do so in Europe, when each country is a hop, skip, and lollipop away.”
Theo tossed a quick glance my way, and if my eyes weren’t glued straight ahead of us, I would’ve noted the flash of respect. “Your phone has told me, and history proves he won’t be here for long—forty-eight hours tops—so we have to get moving, find his lackey, and follow the trail that hopefully leads to Trace.”
“Would—” I had to stop to swallow the saliva quickly building up in my mouth. “Aren’t we able to track him through bank statements or some sort of deposit? Something tells me his connections aren’t only on foot.”
Another glance to the left. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I cleared my throat and commanded my spine to relax. “Are we in a rush?”
“Less than forty-eight hours to find at the very least, my brother’s last footprints before he disappears again into thin air. I’d say we’re in a hurry.”
I couldn’t handle it anymore. I closed my eyes. “What was on my phone?”
“A mistake. The Saxons are rare with them and for the most part, they’re buried almost as soon as they happen, but not this time. Trace messaged Neri from a burner phone, a few hours before you landed on the Hatari, and Neri must have forgotten to delete it.”
“How’d you know it was Trace? He wouldn’t have used his signature in the text.”
“The nickname Neri had for him,” Theo said. “Nylon. Something Trace is … known for … in our inner circles, regarding the women he consorts with.”
“I—” Dear Lord, Theo rammed the gas again, the trees and fields flashing by like a Wonderland nightmare as I fell down a deep, dark hole. “Can you slow down?”
“Why?”
The motor rose in sound, a beast purring out of slumber.
“Is it bothering you?” Theo asked.
The question wasn’t out of concern. It was our usual spar, coupled with the unquenchable urge to win, even during a pointless episode such as this. And how could I be mad at it? It was exactly how I would’ve approached any weakness on his part.
“Not at all,” I replied, but my voice vibrated right along with the engine.
“Good.” Theo smiled through the windshield. “Because I’m only driving at half-speed.”
The road gently curved, but as soon as we made the turn, there was nothing but straight, flat tar.
My heart plummeted at the exact moment the engine roared, the beast fully awake and flexing its muscles.
“Get ready, Miss Rhodes,” Theo said, his arms relaxed, his fingers calmly curved on the wheel. “Maybe bite the seatbelt if you feel the urge to scream.”
My shoulder blades smacked against the seat, my butt pressing into the leather exactly like it was on the plane, except we were on a road, with plenty of unknown obstacles, unlike in the air where the greatest risk was hitting a cloud.
“Theo, stop.”
It was a whisper. He couldn’t hear it over the car, the wind, his own cackle.
“Jesus, this is fucking freeing,” he said, his lips wide. “Have you ever done donuts in a vehicle like this?”
Any other time, I would’ve been fascinated by the kid in him coming through, the wall he so carefully cemented together coming down brick by brick, all because of a fast car. Typical male bravado. I would’ve laughed. Shaken my head. Rolled my eyes.
I wasn’t laughing.
“Stop. Please stop.”
He flicked his focus up to the rearview mirror. “No one behind us, no one in front of us. I’m fucking doing it.”
My knuckles were white. Nails cut into my palms and were slippery with blood. The backs of my thighs were sticky, but not for the initial reasons I thought. Fear equaled sweat. Hurt turned into blood.
I lifted off my seat as much as I could. “No—”
“Trace taught me this,” Theo said through his teeth as he slammed the break, torqued the wheel, and put us into a spin.
“Theo!”
The sheer terror in my scream had him fumbling, slipping out of the carefully crafted spin, and we wobbled, jerked, the brakes squealing as he tried to regain control.
Cassie. Trees. Fear. Sweat. Blood.
“My sister died from this!”
The sounds the car gave off were shrill, worse than my screams, a thousand tons more powerful than my fear, and we skidded off the road and into the brush.
We came to a stop. Didn’t hit anything. Theo turned the key and the only sound louder than my gasps was the cooling tic-tic-tic of the engine.
“Scarlet.”
I kept staring ahead, eyes so wide and dry they hurt, but there was no care left, no idea that I’d survived. I was dead, like my sister. I was going to feel pain, like Cassie did. All I had to do was wait.
“Scarlet. Look at me. You’re okay. Hey.” Hands searched for mine. Theo swore when he noticed the blood, but he pulled them together, cupped them with his own. “You’re all right. You’re safe.”
“N-no. Not safe. Not with you.”
“Sweetheart, take a look at me. See my eyes. Come on. Turn. I’m not going to force you.”
My neck felt stiff, like scrap from the car had lodged itself into my cervical spine. If I did as he asked, the bones would fracture. I’d be paralyzed. I’d die here in an English village that had no name because I didn’t have the foresight to ask what the place where my life ended would be called.
“Nothing’s going to hurt you. The car’s off. No one’s here but you and me.”
Carefully, I moved so he was in my vision. It was painful to think that eyes so pure and blue could be owned by such a sinner.
“Good girl. Now breathe with me. Nice and slow.” He pulled in a long breath and let it out, timing his to mine, and eventually, timing mine to his. “In … out. There you go.”
He squeezed my hands before raising one of his to cup my cheek. My spine bowed, relaxed.
“Nice and easy.”
My lower lip trembled. “How could you?” I whispered. “How could you do that?”
Theo’s lashes rose above the blue. “I’m sorry.”
“How could you not remember?” My voice broke. His beautiful, marred face smeared under my tears. I pulled away from him.
He leaned back. “I remember.”
“I’d told you everything.” I wrapped my arms around my body. “Gave you all of me, including my most precious memories. And my worst nightmare. You used it against me.”
“I remember,” he repeated, harsher. “Your sister was in the passenger seat. Her boyfriend was driving. You were in the car with them.”
My lips shook, and I pressed them tight.
“I wouldn’t undermine you that way. It was only to scare you, to continue this stupid joust of ours where we keep wanting to one-up the other. I wasn’t thinking. It was never, at any point, something so fucked up as to make you relive what happened to your twin.”
I said nothing.
“Tell me you believe me,” he said. His hand lifted like he was going to touch me again, but he dropped it back to his thighs.
I shook my head. “I knew the Sax from two years ago. I don’t know you now. How you got that scar, none of it.” I looked up. “For what it’s worth, you haven’t become a better man. You’re worse.”
The muscles in his jaw jutted out, and he looked outside, where long white-gold grass blew with the wind. The small amount of trees interspersed throughout followed suit.
“I can’t counter that,” he finally said.
I took in a hard inhale. “I don’t expect you to. We’re here for one reason. If this has taught me anything, it’s to keep it that way. Don’t duel with me.” I paused. “Don’t kiss me.”
WIN THE GAME Page 9
