Own (Command Force Alpha #1) (13 page)

Kat shivered. She’d been watching Evan’s eyes so closely. If he’d looked toward the trio, he’d done so very quickly. Yet he’d taken in a wealth of detail.

“Then double or nothing on one game,” Evan continued. “Their choice of players. After three straight defeats, it’ll take all your charm to get them to pony up. The real opponent, however, will be you.”

“Me?”

“Pot all your balls in less than three shots, or I won’t count it as a win. A loss will bring repercussions.”

A burning shot of adrenaline made her toes curl inside her chocolate-brown boots, but she didn’t let it stiffen her spine. The odds that the marks were watching her were about five thousand to three, but she didn’t want to give anything away. “You’re sure?”

His eyebrows lifted, scoring lines across his broad forehead. “Do I ever seem unsure?”

There were times. There were moments. Kat didn’t want to go there now. Doubts would carry her back to beeping machines and hospital beds, and even further back to when she’d been too young to be anything but reckless. Head-over-heels reckless over Evan Sommers. Once they’d landed in bed, they’d hardly made it out for six weeks. After the fact, that had been…telling. Every night together, and every strange and quirky date they wound up on, had felt like a present. Yeah, he was a present to her—someone she’d never thought of having and would never forget. But she’d believed herself a gift to him too. Someone special.

Impressions could be fleeting. And deceptive.

She curled her mouth into a smile. “Not at all.”

“Then you’ll do exactly as I say.” He didn’t need to make threats. She knew with every ounce of her soul what the punishment would be.

Her, sleeping all alone.

Screw the money. She could earn her place in his bed by doing what he wanted. She scooped up the bills from the center of the table and folded them into her bra. Intentionally, she left them peeking out, green against the blue lace. She flipped her stick-straight bob back behind her ears. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

“Me?”

“I can’t play this with you sitting over here, glowering. Help me sell myself.” The words turned breathy, even as they caught in her throat. She affected a pout. “You’re the big, mean boyfriend, but you love me so much you’re indulging me. Think you can do that?”

He stared at her for too many heartbeats before he stood. He held out a hand. “You’re a woman worth indulging. It’s not hard.”

Katsu looked up to meet his eyes and was surprised by what she found—complete earnestness. He hadn’t been handing her a line. What was she supposed to do with that?

Sally forth.

She led the way, but only technically. Her fingers were folded in his. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve just as easily steered them out of the bar and back to the safe house, where he’d do what he liked. But he was giving her this.

She wasn’t stupid enough to think it was anything other than a present. He’d been trained in how to read the minutest changes in expressions and posture. There was no better way to read friend from foe. Surely he read how tense she was, in the line of her shoulders and the way she held her expression. Hell, he could probably see how tightly she clenched her stomach. So he was giving her this moment. A chance to relax.

Before he fucked the hell out of her?

When had that become a burning, throbbing,
legitimate
hope?

The three guys had been at the table long enough to gather a couple rounds of empties. “Hi, boys,” she cooed.

“Uh…hi.” The one in gray was the first to respond, but not before darting his gaze over Kat’s head to Evan. She wondered what expression Evan had decided to put on.

Whatever the hell he wanted. He’d needed to perfect that skill, because the wrong vibe could get him killed while on a mission. Here it would only cost them cash.

“I saw you looking at the tables,” she said, up-talking to keep the Southie out of her voice. Attending boarding school and graduating from Harvard had provided more advantages than just her education. “Does that mean you play?”

The leader was sitting on the right side of the table. He leaned back with his chin up. He smirked. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Really?” She injected a careful measure of enthusiasm into her voice. “Would you play with me?”

“I don’t know…” His attention strayed toward Evan again.

“I’m Christie.” She stuck out a hand. Bending over the table to let him shake gave him a prime peek down the jersey shirt. “This is Timmy.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at Evan.

“Yeah,” the other guy grunted, too distracted by the view he was getting. “I’m Matt. The other two are George and Paul.”

“Half the Beatles,” she beamed with a heavy dose of airhead.

“The what?”

Jesus Christ, some people should be put out of their misery. “Never mind,” she chirruped. She reached over the table to shake their hands too. She gave her hips a little wiggle for Evan’s benefit.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same,” they muttered in stunned chorus.

She turned back to Matt. He had perfectly gelled hair, which stood up and slightly back from his forehead. “So, what’ll it be, boys?” She leaned back against Evan, who automatically hooked an arm around her waist. “I wanted to play with Timmy, but he’s mean.”

He angled his free hand over her shoulder. His fingertips flirted with the neckline of her shirt, subtly ruffling the bills there. “I’m not mean. I just don’t want you pouting when we get home. You never put out when you get in a pissy mood.”

“I won’t pout!” God, this was fun. So much fun that her insides were warm and soft and tingling. “I promise I won’t.”

“How well did that go last time?” Evan asked in a teasing grumble.

“It’s not my fault you cheated. I should’ve won.”

“It’s not cheating to point out that you sank the eight ball
first
.”

“It was the closest ball to a hole!”

“Yeah.” Matt pushed up from his seat. He didn’t sway, which was a good sign. If they were drunk, they’d be wary about betting. “I’ll play with you.”

“Oh, yay!” She clapped her hands. She’d have bounced, throwing in an extra tit shake in appreciation of her willing marks, but Evan held her still.

She made an overblown production of picking a pool cue, as if it mattered in a place like this. They were equally shit. But as Kat sighted each one at eye level, her shirt rode up and gave the boys a chance to see the clinging front of her leggings over her pussy.

They drooled. Of course they did. Really, she hoped Evan was secretly drooling too.

She leaned against the free table while Matt put the rack on the felt. She fingered the bills tucked into her bra. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I’m good too.” She injected way too much earnestness into her speech. “Did you know that, Matt? I really am. Timmy shouldn’t lie like that. He’ll have even more sins to confess Sunday morning.”

“Good, huh?” Matt narrowed his eyes in a look he probably thought was badass. Maybe he was on the outer reaches of Great Boston, but he’d be nothing two blocks away from the projects on Broadway. “We could put some cash down on it.”

Fucking brilliant. If the mark was the first to suggest laying cash on the table, the game was a lock. “You really would? Oh, that would be so great. No one ever bets with me anymore.”

“Christie,” Evan said in a warning tone. God, if he kept making her smile, he was going to blow their flimsy cover. Where was Mr. Super Spy? “You don’t bet because you’ve lost—”

“Stop it,” she whined. She wanted to grin at him like crazy. He was going to make her pay and pay, except she was following his rules to a tee. “I wanna bet.” She took the money out of her bra and thrust it at Matt. “This much.”

“That’s a hundred bucks.”

“So?” She flashed a petulant look at Evan. “Someone needs to be taught a lesson.”

Evan grunted like an exasperated boyfriend who’d reached the end of his rope. “Fine. See if I care. Just don’t expect me to buy you those new boots you want when you’re broke.”

“C’mon, Matt.” One more time for good measure, she leaned forward to allow her mark a perfect view. “Let’s do this.”

“It’s a bet.” He pulled matching cash from the front pocket of his slacks and laid it on the bumper.

Kat grinned. “Rack ’em.”

Chapter Twelve

When Katsu took her third shot, the eight ball slid across the felt and sank simply, easily, into the far left-corner pocket. Evan grinned. It was a tight, controlled grin, because they were still on candid camera, so to speak. That meant he was Timmy, and she was Christie, and now it was time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Kat, however, apparently needed a moment or two to gloat.

Hell, she’d earned it.

She strolled ever so calmly toward Matt. She idly twirled the pool cue, swaying her hips and batting dark, lush lashes. Without breaking eye contact with the stunned man, she wrapped slender fingers around the wad of cash sitting on a beer-soaked stool beside the table. The flick of her wrist was expert as she folded the bills and stuffed them back into her bra. She was far more padded now. Maybe a grand?

“Hmm, seems I win.” Perhaps intentionally, she dropped the Harvard elocution and let every ounce of Southie badass shine through her words. “How d’ya like them apples, boys?”

She’d turned from bouncy, bubbly fuck doll into the perfect low-down-and-dirty princess.

Jesus. She
was
good.

He’d never been more ready to take her down.

“You cheating cunt,” Matt snarled. “You’re a bitch of a shark. Give me back my money.”

Evan swallowed a growl. His instinct was to jump on the son of a brainless bastard and hit until his muscles got tired. That would take some time. Who got to talk like that to Katsu Stafford and get away with it? Not some sneering piece of shit.

But Kat, who’d crumpled into tears at her father’s bedside, didn’t so much as flinch. Real-life fears and threats were easier to deal with than the ones that lurked in shadowy, lonely imaginations. For days she’d been pushed around by circumstances, but she was determined to take back the night.

He didn’t remember determination from her years ago. She’d let him guide her in all things sexual—an eager, responsive student. The only time she’d taken the lead in their relationship was when they escaped the temptation of another few hours in bed. Then she was a butterfly flitting over the parts of South Boston he’d closed his eyes to as a kid. His father and his maternal grandma had fought a veritable war over his upbringing. It had been easier to side with Dad and pretend his life in the projects was just something to get through. The truth was, if his grandma hadn’t fought so hard for partial custody, difficult financial straits and all, Evan wouldn’t have known any love in his life.

Katsu didn’t see the old neighborhoods that way. She’d dragged him into out-of-the-’50s barber shops just to say hi to friends of her dad’s, or into strange little antique shops where he felt as graceless as a six-legged giraffe. Not like her. Katsu, the woman with the grace of a dancer and a body that begged for sin.

Evan wasn’t going to take this win from her. He made rocks of his fisted hands and forced the fight reflex to ease back. He never liked leaving point to someone else.

It didn’t help that a man in the southwest corner of the room hadn’t stopped watching them. It was possible the man in the plaid shirt was watching them because Katsu and her hustle were a potent kind of magic…but Evan’s instincts said otherwise. He angled his body between their observer and Katsu, who was still occupied with spitting a brilliant line of attitude.

“I’ve got two problems with giving you any fucking money back, prick,” Kat said. “One, I’d have to admit tricking you sorry fucktards. Which I did. Ya wanna make a mark outta some pretty little thing? Think twice next time. Two, you’d need to snake your grimy-ass hands down my top.” She angled her head back toward Evan. “I don’t think that’s got a rat’s carcass in hell’s chance of happening.”

“Because of that douche?” said one of the man’s flunkies. Hell if Evan gave a damn about his name.

He was beyond primed. He’d been primed for sex and domination and release for a hundred hours, back to the night when he’d made Kat refold her clothes. A fight was what he wanted, but not from these guys. In fact, no matter how much his body itched to turn lethal, getting into a brawl with a couple of locals would be bad news for staying unobtrusive.

Maybe he was making too much out of the bearded man still watching them, considering how badly Evan wanted to fight.

Kat didn’t seem to be thinking along those lines. She still held the pool cue and hadn’t backed away from Matt. Evan remembered moments like this. He’d spend a month with his dad and stepmom up on Prospect Hill before getting dropped off on the curb in front of his grandma’s house. He might as well have been garbage waiting for the trucks to come by. That his father had been able to turn off his pretend affection like a light switch during the drive into Southie was an eerie memory Evan would never escape. It was the sort of memory that taught a man to value loyalty.

To
crave
loyalty.

Southie was a whole other world. At first it had taken him a day or two to lose his ivory-tower elocution and blend in. Years of practice meant the transformation became faster and faster. Then there were the toughs and thugs. He got his ass chewed eight ways from Sunday when Dad returned and caught sight of Evan’s busted-up lips and black eyes, but fuck him. The senator never knew what it was like to be dropped into a piranha tank on a monthly basis.