Page 79 of Dirty Game

Cyrus leans back, laces his hands. “And Rosalynn?”

My throat closes for a split second. “What I feel for her is different. Sienna was chaos. Rosalynn is... something else.”

Korrin barks a laugh. “Something soft?”

“No,” I snap. “Something alive. She wants out, not in. She’s not playing the game, she’s trying to survive it.”

Korrin grins, full of teeth. “Maybe you like them breakable.”

I let it pass. No point sparring when the enemy’s outside.

Korrin sheathes the knife, getting the point. “Just say the word, brother. We’re with you. Even if you fuck it up.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or threatening. Probably both.

“Just one thing, Varrick. She comes back here, she will use your girl as leverage. Be warned.”

“I know, Cyrus. We will just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Jensen drives us back to the safehouse with the windows down, letting the city air strip me raw.

The sky is starless, too many lights, too much pollution burned into the clouds. It’s after midnight when we finally get back.

The moment the door’s open, she’s there.

Rosalynn, cross-legged on the leather couch, wearing a nightie… something I didn’t buy her, then again, she did ask for my credit card last week to order something.

Maybe this is that something.

Her hair’s down for once, falling haphazardly around her face.

She’s staring out at the city, but I know she heard me the moment I stepped in.

I toss my keys on the marble counter and wait.

She doesn’t turn, doesn’t ask where I’ve been.

The clock ticks loud enough to break a man.

Finally, she speaks, voice rasping. “Is it done?”

“Not yet,” I say. “Business complications.”

She turns, standing, tugging the shirt down over her thighs, and studies me like she’s weighing options.

For a second, I see the woman she could have been if she’d been born into a different world. Not softer, just less brittle.

Dinner is already on the table. She made pasta, the good kind, but it’s gone gummy from sitting too long.

Waited for me to come home, just like a good girl.

She twirls the noodles, never brings them to her mouth. I force down three bites, more out of spite than hunger.

“You should sleep,” I say, after a while.

She looks up, eyes sharp. “Will you?”

“Later.”