Page 30 of Betting Blind

“Mr. Kennedy,” he purrs, his Irish accent thick. “I am waiting for a solution to the problem I presented you with. As I told you weeks ago, I am not a patient man.” He pauses for a long moment. “Why is my mark still breathing?”

“We are working on gaining more intel. I’m sure you understand that this can’t be a hasty move. We don’t want any implications coming back to the Irish or to our team. We have to make calculated moves. These things take time,” I explain slowly and clench my fist in my pocket.

I want nothing more than to put my fist through the drywall, or someone’s face, at this moment. My fingers itch for the feeling of cartilage crunching beneath them. “We have a new development, and I think this will be our way in,” I say vaguely, not wanting to give too many details in case they decide to take matters in a different direction. “As always, I will keep you abreast of the situation.”

“That’s good. Very good,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “See that you do. I’d hate to think that your incompetence could cause you to lose a valuable asset. It would be such a waste.”

I bristle at his blatant threat. “Understood.” I hang up and drop the phone into my jacket pocket. “God dammit!” I shout and slam my palms down onto the counter. The loud slap echoes through the house, and I’m surprised that the granite didn’t crack under the force.

I need an outlet for this pent-up rage, and I need it now. I grab my keys and set my sights on the only place that I can truly let all my rage and fury run rampant without repercussions. If I can’t stalk the streets and put a bullet through someone, then I’ll settle for sending my fists through their face. And the only place to do that is the underground fighting ring in the West District.

*****

Four days later

I shift in my seat, leaning forward to brace my forearms on my knees. The conference room above The Black Crown is empty except for me and Emelia, but she is oblivious to my presence. Her fingers fly across the keys on her laptop and her eyes never leave the screen. I take a moment to really look at her features while she is otherwise occupied.

From her profile it’s obvious that she has a dainty nose and high cheekbones. Her dark hair is swept up into a messy bun on the top of her head with two wooden pencils sticking out on either side. Her long, slender neck leads down to a pair of strong shoulders and small breasts, which are currently hidden beneath a maroon hoodie with the words “Bite Me” written across the front.

The boys were right, her features are stunning, but I can’t help the anger churning in my gut at this innocent womansitting across from me. She’s currently driving a wedge so far between my team that I’m worried we’ll splinter under the force.

“Where’s your phone?” she asks suddenly without looking up.

“My phone?” I repeat, confused.

“Yeah. You know, the little digital brick you carry around and are always talking on?” Her sarcasm makes my palm twitch. I’d lay her out across my knee for that smart mouth in a heartbeat.

“It’s in my pocket. Why?”

“If you just take a picture it will last longer,” she retorts with a smirk and finally meets my eyes. “I can feel you staring a hole through my temple.”

I stare at her with a smirk of my own. That mouth. Oh what I would do to that mouth. She doesn’t look away, holding my gaze with defiance. Her eyebrow arches, like she’s waiting for my response, but I don’t give her one. We continue to stare at each other, neither of us backing down from our battle for dominance.

Emerson clears his throat. “I truly don’t want to clean blood off the floor again this week. Put the death glares away. I only have a few minutes.” He looks pointedly at Emelia, and she scrunches her nose up slightly before returning to her typing.

I stand and button my suit jacket before reaching out to shake his hand. “Thank you for the last minute meeting. I just wanted to touch base and let you know that Silas has some ideas of where the attacks might have come from, but he’ll need more time to investigate.”

Emerson nods slowly and folds his arms across his chest. Hector steps into the room and moves to the back wall,keeping both Emelia and Emerson in his direct line of sight. From the corner of my eye, I see Emelia reach up to adjust the pencil in her hair before continuing her assault on the keyboard.

“That won’t be a problem,” Emerson says smoothly. His eyes flick to Hector briefly before settling back onto my face. “I trust that you’ll let us know as soon as you find something.” I nod once. “Good,” he states and turns to leave. “Emelia, I have to run to another meeting. Would you make sure Mr. Kennedy doesn’t need anything else from us at this time.”

“Aye Aye, Captain,” she says with a mock salute as he leaves the room with Hector close on his heels. Hector spares one final glance at Emelia before glaring at me and disappearing after Emerson.

“Well?” she says after a brief pause. “What do you need?”

“Answers, Ms. Pendleton,” I say darkly. “I need answers. How about a game?” I nod to a deck of cards spread across the opposite end of the table. “Do you play?”

She pushes to her feet and slides the cards into her palm, clumsily shuffling them once. “Only if you want to play spider solitaire or go fish,” she admits sheepishly and drops the cards into my outstretched palm.

“Surely you’ve gambled before?” I raise an eyebrow and bite my lip to hide a smile at her obvious discomfort. “You work for one of the most lucrative gambling dens in the city. You are literally the king’s right-hand man! How do you not know how to play cards?” I shuffle the deck with a flourish, the cards gliding from my left hand to my right. My eyes narrow in on her face, looking for a tell. Surely she doesn’t expect me to believe she doesn’t know how to gamble.

“It wasn’t a job requirement.” A small shrug of her shoulders only spurs me on. I bite the inside of my jaw to hide my smirk. This is going to be far too easy. “I’m always needed elsewhere when they have business in the den,” she explains and wraps her arms around herself. She is the picture of nervous energy, and her uncertainty gives me pause.

“I see…” I pause and walk a slow circle around her. She doesn’t move an inch, but her eyes follow my every move while I’m in her line of sight. “Let me show you. Then we can play for real.” I sit down at the table and gesture for her to sit across from me. She does without argument, but I swear I catch a glimpse of mischief in her eyes before she slides her chair up to the table.

“What would we even use as stakes? Clearly you don’t need my money.” She gestures to my custom black suit. “I’m not playing strip poker,” she says indignantly and folds her arms across her chest.

I laugh quietly and shake my head, trying to bury the image of her slipping out of her tight jeans and revealing what lies hidden underneath. “Don’t tempt me, Emelia. I have been known to be a sore loser,” I rumble and shuffle the deck again.

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