Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
But Nick hadn’t married Gwen. Dario had. Nick hadn’t even known Gwen back then. Dario had wanted an empire, and Gwen had needed a savior.
It had worked out for both of them. It had been perfect, thirteen years of side fucks and friendship, of mutual respect and understanding. Only now, suddenly, it felt like shit. It felt like she was still trapped, and both of them were still dancing for Robert Hawk.
From contentment to misery. How could everything change in just weeks?
He knew, of course. It was Bell. Ten thousand cocktail waitresses in this town and he had to meet the one that might break him. The one that might ruin everything he and Gwen had built. The one that might be worth it all.
The one that might not be.
He thought of last night, how it had felt, having her in his arms, listening to the soft sighs as she slept. It’d been over a decade since he’d slept beside a woman other than Gwen. And his nights with Gwen had been perfunctory, each staying on their own sides of hotel beds, their pillow talk filled with financials and business plans.
He had liked sleeping next to Bell. In the half hour it had taken him to fall asleep, he’d felt a level of calm and contentment he hadn’t experienced in years. And that, in itself—fuck the addictive way she’d wormed into his mind—was a problem.
Gwen’s arm slid around his back and she looked up at him. “I was going to watch some TV in the theater room. You want to join me?”
He shook his head. “No. We’ve got someone in the cage.” It was a lie. The cage was now clean, disinfected with bleach, a fresh coat of paint covering the bloodstains. Bell’s rapists had been set free, dropped back in their shithole lives with a very clear understanding of their mistakes.
Gwen’s face curled in distaste, as he’d known it would. “Well. Go easy on him, will you?” It was funny. As bloodthirsty as her father was, Gwen was the exact opposite. Her gentle nature, despite her upbringing, was something he’d always loved about her.
He glanced back at the view, the city stretched before them, the city they owned. He followed the Strip down, let his gaze linger on the patch of buildings where The House was, and thought of Bell.
The way she’d panted beneath him, her hands gripping his hips, trying to pull him tighter to her. The way she’d looked curled inside a robe, a puzzle piece in hand, smiling at him.
He should probably watch some TV with Gwen. Talk about business, laugh at some stupid show, and enjoy some time with his best friend. Like they’d always done. Pushing her off and avoiding moments like those felt wrong. Wanting those moments with Bell ... that didn’t feel fair to Gwen. Shit.
Instead, he kissed the top of her head and stepped away, heading inside. He could go to his office for an hour. Push around some papers and pretend he’s beating the shit out of someone.
He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed a groan. Talk about properly fucking things up.
Eighteen
BELL
Some nights, when The House was closed, we played poker at Lance’s. Strip poker, if we got drunk enough.
Tonight, we were definitely drunk enough. I tipped back a cold bottle of Miller Light and eyed my cards, my jeans and tennis shoes already kicked into the pile of clothes beside the table. The rules were simple. If you won the hand, you got the pot, and your clothes stayed on. If you lost, a piece of clothing hit the floor. I had panties, a bra, T-shirt and sweatshirt standing between me and stark nudity.
“Come on, B,” Lance urged. “You ain’t got shit.”
I glared at him and ran a thumb along the side of my first Ace. The second Ace, cozying right next to it, I ignored. “Raise, twenty.”
I pushed the chip into the pile and studiously avoided Rick’s eyes, who sat to my left. It was a ploy, one that he bought with a laugh and a push forward of chips.
“Re-raise. I’m putting Bell all in.”
I made a face, then pretended to catch the action, pursing my lips together and raising my eyebrows at Lance. “Please call this asshole.”
Lance shrugged. “You know I can’t say no to a lady.” He eyed Rick’s chip stack. “I can cover your stack. I’m in.”
Rick stood, flipping over two pair, kings and queens. “Go ahead. Give me your money and take off those clothes.” He pointed at Lance. “Keep yours on. It’ll be more of a win if I don’t see your dick tonight.”
Lance read the cards and winced, tossing his into the center of the table. “Come on, B. Tell me you’ve got three of a kind under there.”
I flipped over my Aces, which paired nicely with the fourth-street Ace, and lifted both hands in the air with a whoop loud enough to raise the dog’s head. “And that’s how you do it.”