Page 9 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Bryce

I leave the office early to get my place ready for poker night with my brothers. It’s a tradition we’ve kept since the kidnapping—one of our therapists said we needed a way to bond and get over what happened.

And for me in particular, I think he wanted me to overcome the guilt.

After all, it’s my fault Mom was able to grab Ares.

Being alone with her totally fucked him up, made him not only emotionally closed off with the opposite sex, but obsessed with some girl he calls “Queen.” He’s had, like…

what? Five or six girlfriends in his life, and he’s thirty-two.

Actually, it’s amazing that he had even one girlfriend, because he doesn’t like being touched.

Hard to be in a relationship without physical contact.

He’s only married because he wants a promotion to junior partner. Otherwise, he’d be dating Rosy Palm.

Josh, of course, went in the complete opposite direction. A total playboy. If there’s a willing woman, he’ll poke his joystick into her.

But he doesn’t commit.

Thick wrought-iron gates open when my Ferrari arrives, and I drive through the succulent garden.

The stone walls surrounding the property are thick enough to stop anything short of a tank.

The mansion’s windows are bulletproof, and the turrets have cameras—and guns, although I haven’t had the occasion to fire any since Mom has stayed away.

Which is a little sad—it would’ve been nice if she’d violated the terms Vincent and The Fogeys negotiated. Whatever might’ve happened to her as a result of her coming for me would’ve been self-defense. But Vincent is apparently too scary to fuck with, even for somebody as psychotic as her.

Now that we’re officially thirty, though, she might come slinking around again. Hopefully she’ll show up at my place first, so I can finally off her and spare my brothers the trouble.

Who’s the good boy now, Mother?

I step inside the house. The place has been immaculately cleaned by the daily staff.

The caterer lays out platters of cheese, roast beef and pork and crackers on a lazy Susan on the round dining table.

I place down Padrón Cigars 1926 Serie Maduro, two bottles of Pétrus 2020 and a Hanyu 2000.

Good cigars and drinks are a must-have for poker night.

Josh arrives first. He glows—probably got laid or destroyed some opposing counsel. To him, court victories are like orgasms. In my opinion, victories are better than sex or women. Victories, at least, will never betray you.

“No Hanyu Ichiro Malt card series?” Josh says as his eyes sweep over the table.

I cock an eyebrow. “Are you worth it?” Before the distillery in Japan shut down, it produced a few sets of premium whiskey with labels featuring cards. I won a complete set for over a million bucks at an auction.

Josh puts a hand over his heart dramatically. “Who was he, Bryce? This…this man who hurt you so?”

I snort. He’s probably just still sore about losing the bid for the set.

Ares walks in, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

If he were still single, I’d guess that a case wasn’t going well, but now that he’s married…

my money’s on some matrimonial issue. Although he acted solicitously toward his new wife at the last family dinner, he probably still has hangups about touching and intimacy.

“I’m gonna win some big money!” Josh rubs his palms together. “Feeling lucky today. ”

“Yeah? Well, don’t cry after I take all your money.”

“Ha! Bet that card series and we’ll talk.”

“You wish.”

“Start,” Ares says. He’s trying to sound calm, but there’s an uncharacteristic gloom underneath. He’s usually better at pretending everything’s fine in his world.

I shoot him a look, but he remains quiet. I pick up a cigar, cut and light it, then start shuffling the cards. Ares and Josh grab their cigars and pour themselves whiskeys.

“Can I spend the night here?” Josh says.

“Why? I’m not a hotel.”

“There’s this chick who won’t leave me alone.”

This chick . Bet Josh doesn’t even know her name.

“How many times did you sleep with her?” Ares asks.

“Once, of course.” Josh’s tone says, I’m not crazy .

I shake my head. Josh never sleeps with the same woman twice, and many of them get upset when they realize they aren’t special enough for a second round.

If that was all there was to it, it wouldn’t be so annoying.

Just his problem. But they confuse me with Josh and stalk me from time to time.

“You need to stop saying shit like ‘I’m looking for my soul mate. I just know she’s out there. ’”

“But I do,” Josh protests, his eyes wide with faux innocence.

“Right. And you have to stick your dick into them to see if they’re the one.” I slide cards to all of us.

Josh spreads his hands. “How else can I tell?”

“From the way your heart feels?” Ares suggests. “When you don’t care about somebody, nothing stirs inside. But if you do, even a little, you get that reaction, even if you can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.”

What he’s saying reminds me of my reaction to Fiona earlier. But then, anybody would react if they’d run into an ex who betrayed them.

“Did you feel it with your wife?” Josh asks.

Ares merely looks at his cards.

I look at my hand, then take a puff of my cigar. Josh glares at his, but I don’t buy the act. He does it all the time to confuse us and extract any advantage he can.

I’ve got two aces. Nice .

“By the way, what were you so smug about this afternoon?” Josh asks me suddenly.

“Me? Smug?”

“You looked like a cat after a successful hunt,” he says.

Huh?

“There was some kind of commotion,” Ares clarifies.

“Oh, that? An uninvited guest interrupted my day, and my assistant did her best to keep her out, but…” I shrug, then deal the three community cards.

The four of clubs. The seven of hearts. The two of clubs. Ugh . Ares tosses a hundred-dollar chip into the pile. I call. So does Josh.

“Who on earth managed to get past Amélie?” Ares says, his eyes on his hand.

The taut frown betrays him—he never frowns during a game. He’s thinking about something else, which is interesting. He’s just as competitive as any of us. Money isn’t the object—a hundred bucks a chip is nothing when we’re all worth over two billion each. But winning? Now, that’s everything.

I stare at my hand. Not the best, but too early to fold. “Fiona Oberman,” I say, trying for casual.

Ares cocks an eyebrow. “Fiona? Doesn’t she know you hate her?”

“Yeah, but when I was young and dumb, I made a promise to do her one favor. She finally came to collect.”

“Wow. But still… She couldn’t find anybody else to turn to for help?” Josh says.

“What did she want? Not representation, right?” Ares asks. “She would never trust you that much.”

I snort. Whose fault is that? Trust and Fiona do not go together.

But I meant it when I told her she’d turned her back on the only person who would’ve always stood by her.

When she rescued Gardy, she earned my loyalty.

Then later she earned my affection by acting sweet and lovely, hiding her rotten core with what must have been practiced ease.

If she had kept on acting—or even broken up with me before hopping into bed with Jude Morven—I would’ve stood by her.

But sticking a knife in my back? That was the end of us.

I tap my chin, trying to calculate the probability of winning. Josh’s curious gaze bores into my face. He doesn’t have to speak for me to know what he’s wondering.

“She wanted to borrow money,” I say.

“Did you tell her that if she can’t pay you back, you’ll want a pound of her flesh?” Josh asks. He knows me too well to believe the meeting was amicable. Not only that, he witnessed my anger and disbelief firsthand back when she cheated on me.

“Of course,” I say, not wanting to get into specifics, “especially when she begged so prettily.” When she fell on her knees.

When she tried to unbutton her shirt. I mocked her, but the more I think about it, the more irritated I become.

Just what the hell happened to the girl who charmed me with her gentle soul and steely determination?

How could I have misjudged somebody so badly?

I learned my lesson after Mom’s kidnapping.

I quit trusting empty words and gestures.

I only believe what I can see with my own eyes.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been years. I’m wiser and more experienced, and no amount of pity-acting by Fiona Oberman is going to fool me again.

Another card dealt. The king of hearts.

Shit.

Ares raises. What does he have? Josh and I call, not giving up yet.

“Did she take your offer?” Josh asks.

She offered to suck me off . I keep that to myself.

It’d be too humiliating for her for me to air, even to my brothers.

Consider it an old-fashioned courtesy from me to an ex, I think, imagining I’m saying it to Fiona.

“Too much fucking pride. Funny, considering her family’s on the verge of bankruptcy. ”

Ares shoots me a look full of skepticism.

“She’ll come around, though.” I feign nonchalance, even though the prospect of seeing her again sends a zing through me.

She has no other option. Banks aren’t stupid—they know the family’s gone belly-up.

But after the way I had her dragged out, she might just stay away to preserve what’s left of her pride, assuming there’s still any left.

She looked really desperate, a small, gloating voice in my head says.

“What other choice does she have?” I ask rhetorically .

“A sugar daddy?” Josh says. “SoCal is full of ’em. She doesn’t even have to limit herself to single men. Mistressing is a lucrative business.”

I scoff, even as the possibility of her all over a man old enough to be her grandpa fills my mouth with bitterness. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s too old for that.”

“She’s barely thirty.” Ares looks at me like I’m stupid.

Josh says, “ And she keeps in shape. She looks like she’s twenty-two. A lot of guys would tap it.”

Has he seen her lately? She looks younger than her age, but not twenty-two.

Besides, she doesn’t keep in shape. She’s too thin.

Not sure why. Maybe she got a boyfriend who wanted her to lose weight after college.

How stupid. When a man tells you to lose weight, you ought to crush his balls and find a man who’ll love you the way you—

Stop. Why am I thinking about this? Who cares about Fiona’s post-college love life? Still, the idea of her with another man feels…

I shake my head. The odd burning sensation in my gut isn’t from thinking about her with some other men. It’s from too much whiskey. “That’s disgusting,” I sneer to hide the weird heat in my belly. Another card—the queen of diamonds. Damn it.

Josh shrugs. “Not my fault she’s a babe.”

Ares throws in more chips.

“You seem confident,” Josh says to him.

“I’m always confident.”

“You taking your wife to the art auction exhibition?” I ask Ares, not wanting to discuss Fiona’s prospects as a trophy wife or mistress anymore.

Who would marry her anyway? Even the position of mistress seems too good for her. Maybe just a plaything at the most. Something you use once and discard.

That evening, I don’t win a single hand.