Page 4 of Agency

“What?” He looked down at the money as if I was insulting him.

“I lost.”

“Fuck you, I know you lost. I watched you throw it.”

“Good. We’re in agreement.” I pointedly ignored the second part of his statement. “Now, take it.”

“What about doubling down?” he asked. “You said—”

“Said I’d take double your money when I beat you. But, I didn’t.” I gestured with the cash again, then glanced down to the table before setting the bills there. “So, unless you don’t want it, I’ll set your winnings right here, on this rail. You can either take it, or argue with whatever jackass comes along trying to play finders keepers with your money. Get me?”

“Man, fuck you,” my former opponent, and victor, said as, face snarled and twisted, he slapped the money off the rail and sent the bills scattering. “I don’t want fucking money I didn’t win. No way you lost that fair.”

Shrugging, I looked to the fluttering money, thought back for a split-second to a trip one fall, when my parents had taken me up to Vermont. That had been years before, back before my my mom had passed and my pops had gone on tour more and more. Back then, I’d hardly been old enough to even see over the rail of a pool table. But, still, I could remember the way the orange and red maple leaves rode and tumbled on the cool currents of air.

“Hey,” the big guy barked. “I ain’t taking your shit.”

“You seriously care how I lost, man?” I asked, narrowed eyes snapping back to his. “Because I don’t. Let it go. Buy some drinks and enjoy the night on me.”

His mouth slackened and dropped open in obvious surprise, reminding me for a split second of all the dead I’d seen while serving as Special Forces. I tried not to make a face as I turned away from him and began to head for the gorgeous redhead at the bar.

Searching eyes already finding hers, my boots scuffed to a halt on the barroom floor as a burly hand clamped down from behind on my left shoulder and tried to hold me in place.

“Said I ain’t taking your damn handout, asshole.”

Immediately, I stiffened. My hands clenched into fists at my side, even as the redhead seemed to lean forward in sudden interest. Not only had this guy laid a hand on me, he’d also called me an asshole. Back in my neighborhood growing up, that was more than enough reason to catch an ass beating.

Eyes still on hers, I let my gaze follow her fingers as she pointed to her martini glass. She tilted her head to the side, and I immediately knew she was asking if I wanted one.

Nodding to her, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, she had the faintest, sweetest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

I could have sworn she was actually enjoying this.

“Take your hand off me, chief.” Pausing, I licked my lips as I broke my gaze from the beautiful woman in front of me and glanced back over my shoulder for emphasis. “Won’t tell you twice.”

“No,” came his slurring voice without even a tremble or bit of hesitation. Either the booze had given him plenty of Dutch courage, or he was just too big and stupid to realize he shouldn’t pick fights with random people at the bar, because he wasn’t scared. And he sure as hell didn’t take his hand from my shoulder. “No. You and me, we’re fucking playing again.” Tugging backwards, he tried to drag me around to face him.

My feet were planted, though, and I’d never been accused of missing leg day. Even with being as big as he was, he’d have to use all his weight before he could move me more than a fraction of an inch.

“Last time I tell you,” I said, my voice low and even. “Then this gets uncomfortable for you.”

“Uhhhh…” Uncertainty, this time, and only a rapidly evaporating hint of that bravado from before.

But, still, he didn’t remove his hand.

Sighing, I resigned myself to this getting messy. Because, the thing about giving warnings is that you oftentimes need to follow through, especially when you’re dealing with someone so out of their depth that they’re incapable of seeing the danger in front of them.

And this guy? He was out of his depth. We’re talking twenty-thousand leagues under the sea out of his depth.

Still, though, there was the matter of how messy. Wasn’t like I wanted to end up in jail for the night, even if his hand was on me, and this was legally self-defense.

I was in St. Louis for work, and on Trinity Security’s dime for a detail protecting a litigant trying to obtain a DNA sample from some billionaire. This wasn’t vacation, and I might have had the night off, but that didn’t mean my time was wholly my own. I didn’t even want to consider what kind of shit storm I’d summon from my boss Jericho’s depths if I wound up in county for breaking this guy’s arm.

Then, there was the redhead right in front of me. Eyes wide, she was staring with rapt fascination as the bartender made my martini, and I could practically see the wheels turning behind those gorgeous baby blues as she wondered what I would do next.

Yeah, ending up in county would mean that not only was I out a hundred bucks from throwing the game, but I’d also miss the chance to buy her a drink and see where the night went.

I let out a long sigh. Long for me, at least. Before I’d even finished exhaling, I spun clockwise, away from the hand gripping my left shoulder. Hands a flurry of sudden, smooth movement, I tangled my limbs around his like a vine or constricting snake. Using myself as brace, fulcrum, and lever, I hyperextended the elbow of the arm he’d used to grab my shoulder.