Now they appeared as stones that would forever haunt me in the night.
Malachite.
I ached just looking at him, like if I stared long enough, maybe I could reach through time and space to the man I’d once believed him to be.
Clearly, that man was long since gone.
In pure arrogance, he stood from his chair as if he thought he’d won, while my spineless husband sat fuming in visions of retaliation, his tongue locked in his ignorant mouth as he fisted and unfisted his hands.
No question, Jarek would make good on the visions. He had a legion of monsters at his beck and call.
And it didn’t matter if Logan stood there like he wished death upon me, I wanted to fly around the table, grab him, and tell him not to be a fool.
All while I had the urge to spit in his smug, obscenely handsome face.
I could take his anger, but I wasn’t sure how to take the callousness of what he’d become.
“Get your things…a coat would be good.” Logan said it so nonchalantly, as if I were just another possession, while he was presented with two sets of keys—his own and another man’s who had lost a Mercedes. A man who had laughed and clapped Logan on the back as if it had all been in good fun.
The entire act made me want to throw up. The avarice and gluttony.
“We wouldn’t want you to get cold, now, would we?” Logan’s head tipped to the side. His chosen words might have indicated he cared, but the arch of his brow was pure condescension.
My heart raced, and I stumbled another step backward. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Logan’s expression darkened as he tucked a stack of cash into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Jarek shoved from his chair, his voice a haggard accusation as he sputtered, “That game was fixed. This was a fucking setup. There is no way he had a straight flush. It’s not possible, and everyone here knows it. I’m leaving…with my wife.”
Haille Manchief chuckled as he took in the exchange.
Clearly, it was the ulterior games the man was interested in. The carnage and the aftermath.
I’d made it my business to listen, and yesterday, I’d overheard Jarek talking with his bookie that Haille was the one to see if he needed to earn big and quick.
It hadn’t gone as he’d planned.
Jarek grabbed me by the elbow. Was it wrong I wanted to punch him in the face? This was his fault. He’d gotten himself into this mess, the details obscured, but I’d heard the rumblings.
Had felt his unease.
A desperation that had underscored his already slimy demeanor.
But these were the types of perilous situations by which he lived.
A rumble of discomfited laughter and quiet speculation floated through the room, and my nerves rushed beneath the surface of my skin as I witnessed the raw amusement in Haille’s eyes and the cold caution that ridged the guard who’d led us downstairs.
“We honor our bets when we sit at this table, Mr. Urso,” Haille warned in a low voice.
Jarek looked like he was going to snap when he glared at the man.
The rest of the players might have found this entertaining, but from a young age, I’d known that in the end it was always blood on the line.
I wrangled out of Jarek’s hold and backed away.
“I’m not going anywhere with either of you.” The revulsion and sickness I’d carried for years spewed from my mouth as my attention swung between him and Logan.
I was done. So done. Let the pieces fall where they may, but I was finished being a pawn.