Page 194 of The Enslaved Duet

Or was there something else he wanted from them, from me?

I knelt quietly as the men resumed their play, but I kept a close eye on Ren, watching his hands and learning the way he played poker.

I’d learned you could discern a lot from a man by the way he played a game of strategy.

Alexander was calculating and cold. His beautiful face didn’t twitch out of its repose for even a moment, as if a marble statue sat in his seat instead of a human being. When the game had finally dwindled away to just Ren and himself, I still had difficulty reading his intent. I thought he might have a high face card in his hand, probably a queen as two showed on the river, and his eyes grew even colder with wicked delight.

Dante played as he lived, with a bold passion that you saw a mile away but were still helpless to counter. He often had nothing of significance in his hand, but no one could bluff like a handsome Italian assured from birth of his own magnificence. When he went out, he did so with a gruff Neapolitan curse and an impolite hand gesture.

The man named Ralston played lazily, enjoying his booze and cigar much more than the craft of the game. He was out before the game had even really begun, but he sat there, vaguely amused and growing drunker, to watch the tense game play out.

And Ren?

He played with sly acuity, as if he was a puppetmaster dabbling with his toys.

After over an hour of play, I realized where his smugness stemmed from.

Thebastardowas cheating.

I was appalled at his balls in doing so. Cheating in the house of di Carlo was akin to signing his own death warrant in his life’s blood. He did it seamlessly, though. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t so close, if he didn’t insist on petting my hair condescendingly or leaning over to smell my skin and lick my ear. He did it to inflame Alexander, but in the end, his smugness was his downfall because I learned his trick.

I waited, my easy submission around my shoulders like a shroud, hiding my calculation and keen eye from the misogynistic Italian beside me.

Then the fifth card was flipped on the river, and I saw my opportunity.

Ren had slid a queen into the opening between his wrist and his shirt, and it winked at me as he leaned over to slide a hand through my hair and drag his nose over my face, loudly inhaling the scent of me. Instead of passively allowing him to assault me, I wrapped my hand around that wrist and tugged him farther into me so that his mouth landed on the corner of mine. Before he could right himself, I kissed him.

It was closed mouthed, my lips sealed against his invasion, but still plush enough to entice him to give in to the embrace. He softened from his shock, and his hand tightened in the back of my hair. I moaned softly as I swiped my fingers delicately over the gap in his shirt sleeve and carefully pulled the card out from his sleeve.

When Ren moved away, he studied my face closely. He was smart enough to wonder at my play but not so unmanly that his eyes were still clear of desire. I licked my red lips and watched the way his eyes tracked the movement.

Alexander was between us in the next moment, looming over Ren with such a cold fury, I could feel it emanating off his back like dry ice.

He wrapped a hand around Ren’s throat and leaned into his face to whisper, “Kiss her again, I’ll remove your bullocks. I’ve done it before, and trust me, I rather have a knack for it.”

Ren rolled his eyes as he shoved at Xan’s hand. “It was your woman who kissed me, Davenport, not the other way around. And I hate to shatter your delicate sensibilities, but when I win this game, I’ll do much more than kiss her mouth in my hour alone with her.”

Dante growled lowly from across the table but didn’t move from his spot. I knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to control his loose rein over the anger inside him.

I couldn’t see Alexander’s face as he stared down at Ren, but I was sure it was a frozen mask of contempt and not one blink gave away the fact that I’d slid a card into the back pocket of his suit pants. I was obscured from Ralston’s eyes by Xan’s big body and only Dante, seated to my left could have caught a glimmer of my movement.

Of course, he didn’t say anything, but when his eyes slid to mine, they were filled with our old rapport, a childlike excited that filled the black with merriment.

Finally, Alexander broke his standoff with Ren and moved back around the table to resume his seat. He did so stiffly, a muscle in the acute angle of his jaw jumping. It was easy to read that he was angry and frustrated, that maybe his hand couldn’t stand up to the assuredness Ren expressed over his ability to win.

I swallowed the smile that threatened to blossom across my mouth and tilted my head farther to the ground so my hair would obscure my face.

It was amazing how men could underestimate a pretty face, as if all a woman’s effort went into her good looks with nothing left for intelligence.

Ren would learn, just as the Order would, that I was no pawn.

I was a queen.

Two minutes later, when Ren went all in on the hand, I couldn’t resist looking up at Alexander from across the table. Our eyes locked, resolved as a contract signed in blood. We were a team, a closed loop of energy.

No one would ever again tear us apart, and together, working like this, we were invincible.

Giddiness arched through my gut like a shooting star.