Page 89 of Double Down

It’s where she laughed so hard champagne spilled down her dress when we were stupid drunk teenagers. It’s where I kissed her for the first time, where we lost our virginities together, and where she broke my heart, teaching me how to protect myself in the process.

More recently, it’s where she pressed herself into my side during poker nights, where she soothed Storm’s demons, calmed Maverick’s rage, and even talked Atticus off a ledge.

Every inch of this place has a memory stamped on it.

Burning it would be sacrilege. Selling it would be worse. This has to be the place I take her down and leave her hollow. I’m going to make sure she never leaves this town, and the memories this place holds haunt her every move until her last breath.

No. For better or worse, this place is mine. Mine and the other Titans’.

Because it’s her home. As long as she’s here, I’ll never let another man run it. Not when he could grant her freedom.

Phoenix glances up and catches me watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.” I lean back in my chair. “Just making sure you’re not secretly running this place better than I am.” The lie is smooth. I am winning this goddamn bet.

She grins, but there’s something sharper in her eyes. She knows how bad this is. “Well, if I can take over this place by looking at the hours your housekeeping is logging, then this place is in worse shape than I thought.”

I roll my eyes, and she blows me a kiss. Before I can say more, the door opens without a knock.

Storm walks in, a folded sheet of paper in his hand. “I’ve got you a list.”

He drops it on the desk, then takes the chair and looks over at Phoenix. “Good morning, Angel.”

“Morning, Storm,” she says, moving to the chair next to him. He pulls her onto his lap instead, wraps his arms around her waist, rests his chin on her shoulder.

“What list?” I ask.

“People I think might be moving product for whoever’s behind this.”

Phoenix snatches it before I can reach. “Let me see.”

She scans the names, brow creasing. “No. No. Maybe. Absolutely not.”

I grind my teeth and swallow the urge to yell at her for being so brazen.

Storm arches a brow. “You’re sure?”

She taps a name halfway down. “Nicole? Absolutely would. She spends most of her time on social media pretending she’s got yachts in Monaco, but she’s living on maxed-out credit cards. Always chasing the next get-rich-quick scheme or sugar daddy. She’s absolutely the type. But no one else on the list is.”

Storm’s smirk warms a degree. “You’re sure, Angel? What about that guy in security—Bill something?”

“He looks like the type,” she says, nodding. “Ten years ago, he would’ve been. Then he met his wife and had a few kids. Now he’s a born-again Mormon. Strict as hell. Been clean seven years. He won’t even go into the casino. Only works resort-side security.”

“Okay. How about Maryanna?”

“Maryanna…Maryanna I’m not sure about. She’s kind of an odd duck. Quiet and nice, but there’s something a little off.”

I watch Storm process that, his smirk turning genuine. “You just saved me a hell of a lot of wasted interviews.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else I can help with?”

“I can think of a few things,” Storm growls.

Then he does something that twists low in my gut. He kisses her—not a peck, but a slow, filthy kiss that lingers. Her lips curve when they break apart, and my hand tightens on the chair.

I expect jealousy, but it’s not jealousy that comes—only annoyance that Storm left the door open. No one gets to see her like that but us. Only us.

Storm pulls back, eyes still on her. “You deserve a thank-you for that.”