Page 4 of Wicked Dove
This is about to go south quickly if we don’t ease the growing tension. “Baby, tell him your name while I take my seat,” I breathe, running my fingertip over his bottom lip seductively before stepping back. “Play nice.” The sultry undertone in my voice feels unfamiliar as I turn away from my safety net and lockeyes with the president of The Vultures; the patch on his cut branding his title.
A grin spreads across his face as I walk around the table. He knows where I’m headed, moving silently as he pulls his chair out enough for me to sit on his lap.
His hand immediately finds my ass, the other landing on my thigh. I’m not delusional about the fact that I’m in dangerous territory, but there’s something about it that’s… alluring.
The prickling of uncertainty in my veins makes my muscles hum with a level of excitement that they shouldn’t. Instead of judging myself for it, I use it to help me in the moment. Planting a hand on his shoulder, I lean against him as I turn to face the rest of the table. “Are we playing, boys? Or are we all just going to sit here while you fuck me with your eyes?”
A splutter comes from behind me, one of The Vultures’ men clearly surprised by my brazenness. He’s not alone. The Vulture, however, seems to like it.
“Deal us in,” he grunts, his grip on me tightening.
Walker takes a seat and a dealer appears—from where, I couldn’t even guess—and just like that, the game is underway.
I have no idea what’s happening. I’ve never played a game of poker before. All I know is that the white tee guy’s pile of money is shrinking, while Walker’s is growing. The Vulture stays steady in cash, but with every glance at his cards, his hand slides higher up my leg until his fingers press against the apex of my thigh.
My skin crawls at the contact, making my pulse quicken and my cheeks flush as I fight against the need to lash out and make a run for it. Anything to get his paws off me.
“It looks like I’ve got myself a good luck charm here,” he rasps against my ear, and I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, hoping to hide the flutter of nerves rattling my pulse.
Walker doesn’t bother to look my way, but the other guy glares at me like it’s all my fault. I ignore his bottled-upirritation. I’m already teetering on the edge of danger, riding the line of seduction that I’m not entirely comfortable with, but I suppress the squirming unease in my stomach and focus on the twenty-five thousand dollars, allowing it to recapture my focus.
It seems like a worthwhile sacrifice for a new life.
I wouldn’t even need to go home from here. There’s nothing waiting for me, I could just run free.
“Maybe you should bring that sweet ass over here and sprinkle me with the pixie dust,” White Tee Guy grunts, but before I can even consider his offer, the man beneath me tightens his grip, digging his fingers into my flesh. Pain radiates beneath the pressure. There’s no pleasure to his touch. It’s territorial.
I instantly dislike it.
My muscles are tense, but if the asshole beneath me senses it, he doesn’t make it obvious. There’s no time, not when Walker snickers in his seat, finally turning his attention to me. There’s no warmth in his stare, no sign of the security that I’m used to, but I can see the cogs turning in his eyes.
He’s scheming something.
I just can’t decide if I like it or not.
“How about we wrap this up? All in. Winner takes the paper and the good luck charm.”
No. He. Didn’t.
He didn’t just offer me up like that.
“I have nothing to lose,” the white tee guy I don’t even know the name of states, pushing the remaining money to the center pile without concern, and I gulp.
Walker follows suit, avoiding my glare as the president of The Vultures pauses. His grip on me is unwavering; I’m sure there will be bruises in the morning.
“Johnny?” Walker mutters, the question clear, and the guy shifts beneath me.
“I already have the charm. I already have the money. I’m out.” He stands up as if I’m not there, making me stumble toward the table, but before I hit it, he pulls me back into his chest. His breath is raspy in my ear and his hand, finally gone from the top of my thigh, lands on my chest.
My nostrils flare, irritation taking over as Walker blinks at us, unfazed.
Without a word, the three men wearing the same cut asJohnnyhead for the door.
“Let’s go, Princess.” He tugs me into his side, his hand engulfing my small B-cup chest, his grip only tightening as he nudges me toward the door.
My eyes widen as I gape at Walker, but he doesn’t move. If this is part of his plan, to play it cool, then he’s doing a damn good job because I’m pretty sure he’s just going to let this guy take me with him.
I stumble over my heels like a deer caught in the headlights, arms limp at my sides as I struggle to speak. I’m torn between the money and my pride.
