Page 93 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“Who was that?” I ask.

Cupping my cheek, he presses a soft, sweet kiss to my lips before trailing his mouth along my jaw and close to my ear.

“Don’t freak out,” he warns me. “Act natural.”

“Tell me.”

“Reed’s been taken care of.”

“What?” I breathe, convinced I’ve heard him wrong.

“Let’s finish eating, then I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

I pull away from him a few inches and make sure I have his full attention. “I want you to tell me now.”

“I can’t.” He scans the restaurant discreetly, then leans a little closer and murmurs, “Not here.”

“Then where?” I demand, keeping my voice quiet.

“We’ll go for a drive after this.” His lips brush against mine again, and I squeeze my eyes shut as my nerves threaten to get the best of me.

What. Did. He. Do?

His thumb runs along my cheek as he pulls away, and reads me like a book. “Are you alright?”

“Just promise me that everything’s okay.”

“It’s okay, Bianca. I promise.”

“And us?” My voice quivers. “Are we okay?”

“Of course, we’re okay.”

I nod my acknowledgment, but it doesn’t make the room stop spinning. I should be used to these kinds of scenarios. Hell, I’ve been through dozens. But I never cared before. If my brother or another made man wound up in prison, it wasn’t any skin off my back. But the idea of something happening to Jack kills me. Is this my fault? Did he do this because of me? Was he even involved or was it some kind of messed up coincidence?

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Breathe, Bianca,” Jack whispers, rubbing his hand up and down my thigh beneath the table.

“I can’t––”

His mouth slams against mine, tangling our tongues together in another punishing kiss that pulls a sigh out of me before he rests his forehead against mine. “Be patient, Bianca. Once we finish lunch––”

“You’ll explain everything,” I finish for him as I try to even my breathing. “Okay. I trust you.”

He gives me a pained smile, then squeezes my thigh softly. “Thank you.”

* * *

The rest of lunch goes by at a snail’s pace. I run my finger along the lip of my wine glass but barely finish a few sips before my stomach tightens with protest. Once the bill is paid, Jack’s hand presses against my back, warming me through the thin silk of my top as we walk out to his car. My breathing is stilted, but I keep my composure calm and collected until he’s behind the wheel, and we’re finally alone.

“Spill,” I demand.

“Reed’s dead.”

“Yeah. You already told me that part. How?”

“I called in a favor.”