“Thanks, by the way,” I said under my breath, squeezing his hand under the table.
He slipped his hand away from mine. My heart bled.
This is going nowhere, and you are letting him lead the way, blindfolded.
“What for?”
“Taking care of Byrne. Paying my debt. Getting me a divorce. Saving me from Hamilton’s wrath. I never said thank you, and I should have.”
“It’s a part of our agreement.”
“You taking care of me or avoiding me?”
“Both.”
I opened my mouth to tell him something. I wasn’t even sure what, when Hunter threw a poker chip in our direction, hitting my husband’s shoulder.
“Mo òrga, are you in or are you out?”
“In.” Kill drew a cigar from a box, clipping its cap before lighting it up.
Hunter began shuffling. “And the missus?”
“She’s out,” he answered on my behalf.
“Holy shit.” Belle checked her phone. “Look at the time. It’s the twenty-first century. That means women can do whatever the hell they like without asking their husbands.”
Devon grinned, watching my sister with open admiration.
“You needed the phone to check what century you’re in?” My husband puffed on his cigar calmly. “I think it’s time to lay off the mimosas, sweetheart.”
“My sister is going to play.” Belle stubbed the table with her finger, breathing fire.
“Wanna bet? We’re already in a gambling mood.”
Cillian was arranging his chips neatly, not even sparing her a look.
I didn’t even know how to play poker, so they were both being stubbornly dumb.
“I swear to God, Kill—”
“Drop it.” My husband raised his gaze from his chips. “Her ex lost her entire worldly possessions in poker. Think she wants to relive that, Einstein?”
Silence fell over us.
He gathered the cards Hunter dealt for him with a shake of his head.
“Yeah. Thought so.”
“If I were her, I’d play just to spite you,” my sister persisted, the fire absent from her voice now. Everyone at the table played other than Ash and me.
“That’s why you’re not her. Why she’s married to a billionaire and you’re running a strip club,” Cillian said dispassionately, his yellow-rimmed hawk eyes scanning his cards.
“Madame Mayhem is a respectable institution. Burlesque is not the same as stripping, assface.” Belle blew a raspberry.
“I do love burlesque,” Devon groaned, shifting in his seat.
“You’d love genocide if Emmabelle did it,” Kill deadpanned.
“Stakes?” Sam asked around a lit cigarette. “Not that I’m not entertained by watching you all bickering like a flock of old hens.”
“Same as always,” Kill said.
“Like hell they are. Not everyone at this table can afford throwing a bunch of money on a poker game.” Belle slapped her cards over the table. “I’m not playing for thousands of dollars.”
“We can play for less,” Sailor suggested mildly.
“Or strip poker.” Hunter grinned.
“Unfortunately for Emmabelle, strip poker would also put her at a point of disadvantage, considering she’s wearing nothing more than a napkin.” My husband threw another jab at my sister.
Belle wore a flimsy mini dress, but dousing the argument between them seemed counterproductive. Besides, did he really think I’d let him talk to Belle like that?
“Cillian,” I warned pointedly. “Please.”
“You’re an asshole.” My sister darted up on her feet, pointing at Kill.
“And you’re stating the obvious.” Kill yawned, ignoring me. “How about we make this interesting? The stakes stay the same as always, seeing as you’re the only broke person at this table. If you lose, I’ll foot the bill. And if I win,” Kill paused, puffing his cigar smoke in her face, his taunting eyes holding my sister’s, “I get what I want from you.”
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach with a thud that reverberated inside my body. The green claws of jealousy wrapped around my neck.
He wanted something from Emmabelle.
Why wouldn’t he? She was the interesting, worldly, firecracker one.
What was he after?
Her body?
Her heart?
I stiffened, focusing on my breaths, telling myself not to kill him. Not now. Not yet.
“And what is it that you want from me?” Emmabelle asked slowly, lowering herself back to her seat.
“The most precious gift of all,” Cillian said. “Silence. More specifically, if I win, you will stop treating my wife like a helpless lamb I’m about to annihilate. I hear and see everything. You’re not giving my marriage a fair chance. You badmouth me every step of the way. It is disrespectful to Persephone, and it stops today. That applies to you, too.” He pinned Sailor with a glare. “Same stakes. Same terms. Either of you win—you get the money. I win—I pay your debt, and in return, you hop off the Cillian is Satan train. If my wife wants to ride it, she’ll buy her own ticket and travel solo.”
Belle and Sailor exchanged glances.
Since when did Kill care what anyone thought of him?
“Are you saying what you have is real?” Sailor probed.
“I’m saying what we have is ours,” he countered. “It’s between Persephone and me. Didn’t hear any objections when Sailor was on babysitting duty to make sure Hunter’s dick wasn’t going on a world tour in their shared apartment.” Kill gestured to his younger brother. Hunter winced.