Page 37 of Graveyards & Greed

“For throwing that first chess game.”

I huffed and flicked water at him. Relief slid through me that he’d lightened the mood. When this week ended, it would be painful enough to return home and back to my life, but I needed to guard my heart.

Chapter 15

Drakos

As Sylvie's breathing evened out, I lay next to her, my mind churning with a thousand thoughts. She’d blown into my life the night I spotted her at Titties in that god-awful dress and ugly wig. Now, I dreaded the end of this week. I knew deep in my gut she’d try to walk out of my life. For all her wit, temper, and confidence, she had deep emotional scars that made her cautious around anyone outside her family circle.

A week was suddenly too short. When I’d carefully maneuvered her into playing strip chess and taking that bet, I figured I’d fuck her until one of us got bored—or we tried to kill each other—then hopefully part on friendly terms as I’d gently nudged her out the door, and that would be that.

Like every other woman before her. Sometimes it took one mediocre fuck, other times, it took a few days or maybe a week. But it always ended, and I was always glad. Until now.

Staring up at the dark ceiling, I admitted that the women I tended to get involved with were beautiful and well-groomed, yet shallow and self-absorbed. Perhaps it was because my hunting ground was Vegas, but I had an unwelcome suspicion that I was part of the problem.

Before Sylvie, I’d never been tempted to keep a woman. No attachment, no deep feelings, no hurt, loss, or mess. But it wasn't just my growing feelings for Sylvie that worried me. The memory of Sylvie blithely leaving out of Titties’ back door and into the alley with two motorcycle gang members made my jaw clench.

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there? I eased out of bed, careful not to wake her, and grabbed my phone. It was time to bring Ivan in.

He answered on the second ring. “What? You’re lucky I’m still up.” He lived on the other side of the building, his entrance fronting the road in the back.

Occasionally, the partners came over and we’d grill, shoot the shit, or maybe watch a game together on the weekend at either his loft or mine. When we’d renovated the building a few years ago, Ivan also put in a garage below his loft, but he filled his space with servers, computers, various weapons, and his collection of motorcycles.

“Meet me in your garage. I've got a situation I need to run by you.”

He grunted and hung up.

A thick metal door with a code connected our spaces on the lower level, and I found him sitting in front of one of his monitors in his garage. “You’ve been holed up with that insane bitch for days. Is she that good?”

My eyes narrowed. “You call her a bitch again, and I’ll rip your fucking head off.”

He grinned and leaned back. “I knew it, you’re whipped—which is fine because I like her. She’s not one of those fake, spray-tanned dimwits you usually string along.”

“At least I don’t have to resort to escorts.”

Ivan shrugged, unoffended. “I’d rather fuck an escort than a blowup doll. At least escorts are honest about what they want.”

Shaking my head, I ran my fingers through my hair. “We’re a fucked up mess, aren’t we?”

His lips twitched. “Probably, but Gideon considers it a win that none of us turned into serial killers. There are worse things than gray morals and a little sexual deviation.”

“As long as everyone is of age and it’s all consensual,” I muttered, reciting one of Gideon’s rules for us.

Gideon was the FBI area director who’d liberated us from Bitter Creek Ranch after we’d suffered months of abuse and degradation at the hands of the “staff” there. After the raid, there were coverups and bribes that kept most of the guilty parties out of prison. Gideon had been so disgusted by it all, he’d quit the FBI and became our mentor and then our operations director over the years.

He dressed like a rich English butler and had the vocabulary and demeanor of a pompous, well-bred aristocrat. But I’d seen the man in action a few times before. He was a lethal machine, and he’d mentored and guided us until we accumulated enormous power, money, and security to never be at anyone’s mercy again. That didn’t mean we came out unscathed.

“Do you remember when one of the OutKast MC members stole that vintage motorcycle from Motorheads a few months ago?”

Ivan straightened. “Yeah. He beat the shit out of one of our men and killed his dog. Fuckin’ bastard. It was one of the prettiest bikes to come out of the shop. Didn’t you recover it?”

“I did, and that was also the night I met Sylvie.” Then I told Ivan about that night. “She put a big fucking target on her back to save her family.”

Ivan listened intently, his sharp gray eyes calculating. “It all makes sense now. You think they'll come after her.”

I didn’t bother to deny it. “They cornered and questioned her at the Palm Desert Oasis Mortuary a few weeks back. They also tried to shoot one of her cousins at the Spade compound. Terrance is smarter than his son ever was, even if he is a bizarre, religious fuckhead. I think he’ll put it together if he hasn’t already.”

Ivan studied me. “What do you want to do?”

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