Page 48 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

ALEKSANDR

I slammed on the brakes at the sight of a familiar head of red hair. Why the fuck was Eva Jackson catching a bus home at nine o’clock at night? In a fucking skirt? And a top that did nothing to hide the luscious curves that tormented me?

Where the fuck were Tristan and Cole? They were attached to her at the fucking hip when they wanted her, but when she needed them, they were nowhere to be found?

I leaned over to pop open my door, only to find her looking wide-eyed at my vehicle, like I’d scared her half to death.

Good.

I wanted her miserable and scared instead of sweet and soft and needy like she’d been in my office, naked and on her knees, a week before.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” I growled.

Eva peered into the vehicle, and her eyes widened when she realized it was me. “Coach?” She quickly corrected herself. “Sir?”

“I asked you a fucking question. ”

“Catching a bus home,” she said, shaking her head in confusion. “I lost track of time studying.”

On the other side of town. In a neighborhood known for violence perpetuated by organized crime. With her piece of shit father.

“Where are Cole and Tristan?”

Her eyes widened, and I cursed at myself for revealing how closely I watched her. “They?—”

It didn’t fucking matter. “Get the fuck in the car,” I growled at her.

“Sir?” she practically squeaked. “I’m taking the bus.”

The fuck she was. Sweet, innocent Eva, on a public bus at this time at night? She was mine to torture, mine to ruin, and I’d be damned if I was going to let her take the bus home. “Get in the car.”

“Coach, I don’t live close,” she said. “I’m happy to take the bus. It’s an hour of quiet at the end of a long day.”

A fucking hour. The rage tightening my muscles must have shown in my expression, because Eva took a step back. My imagination ran wild at the thought of catching her, forcing her to her knees, making her do my bidding.

“Get in the fucking car,” I growled.

“Sir—”

“If you make me repeat myself again, I will get out there and drag you in,” I snapped, and Jesus fucking Christ, she licked her lips as if she liked the idea.

“I live?—”

“Eva.”

Her breath caught and her eyes went wide, and fuck me, she looked delicious silhouetted by the light of the bus stop.

She waited for a long moment, so long I thought she would refuse the ride, and then reached up to pull herself in, struggling to manage that damnable tote bag and the height of the car while not flashing anyone.

Annoyed at myself for the pang of longing that shot through me, I snatched her bag out of her hand and threw it in the backseat, heedless of the contents that spilled out.

Eva sank into the passenger seat, and the scent of her—sweet vanilla and something fruity—filled my car, making my mouth water.

My fingers tightened on the wheel as I fought the urge to reach over and touch her soft skin.

Disgusting. I was exactly the kind of predator I should be protecting girls like her from, yet here I was, drinking in the sight of her bare thighs against my leather seats, imagining them wrapped around my waist as I— No.

Focus on why she’s here. On who her father is.

On revenge. Anything but how much I wanted her and how much I wanted to protect her.

“Sir, I don’t want to be an imposition.”

“Seatbelt,” I snapped, and she hurriedly drew it across her chest. Christ on a crutch, I found myself envious of the strap nestled between her full breasts.

I handed her my phone. “Enter the address into the maps app.”

She did, shaking all the while. In a car, it would only take thirty minutes.

I revved the engine, and we took off.

“Thank you for picking me up,” she said tentatively.

Of course I’d stopped to pick her up. What kind of man left a vulnerable woman, practically a child, standing alone at night, dressed like that, a temptation for any man who saw her?

Even if her father was the devil. Even if I intended to use her to take my revenge. Even if I couldn’t stop remembering the gorgeous noises she made when she sucked my cock .

“I know it’s out of your way,” she continued.

I looked at her sharply. “How do you know that?”

Eva’s eyes widened, and she shrank back into her seat. My protective instincts reared up, and I wanted to reassure her she had nothing to fear, that all I wanted was to see her safely home. But it was a lie, wasn’t it?

“I assumed,” she said softly. “I don’t live in a nice part of town.”

“I don’t live in a nice part of town, Sir ,” I snarled.

Eva’s quick intake of breath, followed by the press of her thighs together, was my reward for reminding her of her place.

“You’re a scholarship student,” I said quietly. “Work study instead of a regular campus job.”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, flushing. “I could never afford the tuition at Yorkfield otherwise.”

“Your parents can’t help out?” I already knew the answer, that her mother disappeared then passed away, and that her father was a useless piece of shit, but I wanted to hear it from her.

“My dad tries,” she said softly. She took a shuddering breath and then looked out the window, as if I couldn’t see the reflection of her face in the glass. “But it’s not enough.”

A tendril of doubt wound its way up my spine—an uncomfortable desire to take her in my arms and promise everything would be okay.

“Your father used to be quite the hockey player,” I said, poking at my wound.

Eva looked at me with surprise. “You knew my dad?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Of course you did,” she continued softly. “And you probably know he stopped playing sixteen years ago, after an injury. That’s when Mom left. ”

No, he quit when my cousin made sure the opposing team destroyed him for what he did.

“Does that have anything to do with why you want to be a sports doctor?” I asked, curious about this young woman who alternated between breathy sexuality and sparkling innocence, who had the entire fucking team eating out of her hand.

“Mom was a nurse,” she said softly. “To hear Dad tell it, she patched him up a lot. He, uh, he was—” She broke off. “He did a lot of bad shit, I think? He doesn’t talk about it.”

“And you think you could have saved him, sixteen years ago?”

Eva scoffed. “The only person who could have saved him was Mom, and she took off the moment things got hard. But…” She trailed off. “I like to think I can make a difference.”

“Where is your mother now?” I asked, even though I knew.

“Dead. She was in a car accident a few years ago.”

Sympathy for Eva’s difficulties momentarily outweighed my hatred of her father.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shrugged again. “She’d been gone for a long time. Do you have family here in Yorkfield?”

“No,” I lied. Dmitri was family, even if I hadn’t seen him in ten years. Tension pressed on my chest as the invisible weight of our history warred with my mounting desire.

Revenge, I reminded myself. Seducing Eva, fucking ruining her, would satisfy my itch to fuck her at the same time it would satisfy my need to punish her father.

My fingers clenched tighter and tighter around the steering wheel as the neighborhoods we passed grew rougher and rougher. Young men hung out on street corners as we passed through the territories of the organized crime groups of Yorkfield.

Eva lived in a poor enclave that was supposedly part of the Irish mob’s territory, but Declan Flanagan sure as fuck wasn’t protecting anyone here.

“Here,” she breathed, and I stopped in front of a house that had needed a fresh coat of paint for several years, with a cracked stair and a porch that had seen better days.

“I’ll walk you in,” I growled, loath to let her out of my reach between the car and her front door.

“No, Sir, please don’t,” she pleaded softly. “I’ve already put you so far out of your way. I’ll call my dad.”

She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hi, Dad! Would you meet me on the porch? My ride’s being overprotective and wants to make sure I’m safe walking up to the door.”

When Conrad Jackson walked outside, his bloodshot eyes staring at the tinted windows of my car, barely healed cuts on his bruised face and stitches on his jaw, my stomach clenched and my lip curled up in a snarl.

“Coach?” Eva asked, uncertain.

“Get out,” I snapped.

Eva scrambled out of the car then swore softly as she remembered the mess of her books I’d left in the backseat.

She fumbled with the loose papers and worn textbooks scattered across my pristine leather.

I caught myself wanting to help her, to gather her things, to make sure she had everything she needed.

Instead, I gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white, reminding myself that her struggles were part of my revenge.

Each moment of kindness was a weakness I couldn’t afford, no matter how much I wanted to—no.

I didn’t want anything except to make her father suffer.

Finally, Eva stepped away with a whispered, “Thank you, Sir,” and jogged up the stairs, looking over her shoulder twice before she greeted her father with a hug.

Loathing oozed from my pores. What kind of man was I to use an innocent girl like Eva for revenge?

Fuck if I knew, but if I were cruel today, it was because Conrad Jackson made me so.

He had no one to blame but himself.