Hayes smiles next to me, and Doyle’s grin turns hard.
Tapping my desk with thick leather gloves, he winks. “You know what, Ace? I like you.” He reclines in the seat, hands clasped under his chin as his stare burrows under my skin. “Tough. Beautiful.” My skin crawls. “You remind me a lot of your father—ruthless and calculating. Rules and traditions don’t matter to you. You do what you want.”
Those familiar eyes land on Hayes, and he smiles. My shoulders hunch—Doyle is as charming as the devil and just as inconspicuous. I know a strike is coming.
“Take what you did here. The first captain to host the Games in what, twenty, twenty-five years? And you choose the enemy’s son. A bold move.”
“Best man won,” Hayes growls. White knuckles flex. Frankly, I’m impressed with his restraint.
“Right. Remind me of who you were, again?” He picks a piece of lint off his jacket. “Bruno Senior’s whipping boy?”
Hayes surges forward, only held back by my quiet hand in the air. These idiots don’t know what they’re starting by ticking offmy second. What I’ll do if they so much asglanceat my friend wrong.
I’m tempted to let him go—see him pull the Board member apart. It’d certainly make me smile.
Doyle whistles. “Cute. What about your dog?” His gaze falls on Killian. The Reaper leans there, curling the knife over his knuckles—a party trick—and ignores him. “Is he leash-trained too?”
“Pet him and find out.”
Killian chuckles, his laugh like smoke in the air—heavy and smothering. Doyle frowns, directing his attention back to me.
I grin, and I don’t care how psychotic it looks. “Is there a point to all of this?”
“Just making observations,” he says, shrugging. “About how nontraditional you are. You keep the enemy’s bastard as a friend, and a sociopath as a contract killer on payroll.”
“I’m actually a psychotic killer.” Killian winks. “I plan out my kills. Not very impulsive. Unlike our captain.”
Hayes snorts.
Doyle continues, unamused. “No one has the balls to act the way you do, spitting in the face of things that have kept your organization going for decades.”
“Good thing I don’t have a pair of balls to get in the way.”
He laughs loudly, slapping his knee. My hand finds my knife on my hip, and I watch him closely. “See? You’re different. You’re not like other women.”
Ironic. If he knew anything about women, he’d understand we’re more alike than not. If allowed to express our rage, we’d set the entire world on fire with our fury and dance in the ashes that blow away. Hell, I know I would.
“Most women care about money, gems, or status. Not you. You’re into different things.”
“Like pretty knives and spilling the blood of idiotic men who waste my time.” My grin turns wicked. “Get to the fuckingpoint, Doyle.”
The asshole smirks, gesturing for Murray to give me something. Out of his messenger bag, he pulls a thick white contract and tosses it onto my desk. “I’m sure you remember this.”
Of course, I do. I remember those words—I remember everything my father tried to do to my siblings. All the contracts, the underhanded deals, and the venomous words are imprinted into my mind like a fucking sick lullaby that won’t rest.
Leaning back in my chair, I lift my chin. “Enlightenme.”
“It’s the decree your father gave to Sloane.” He points to her name as if to prove a point. “It says here, on the day of her twenty-first birthday, she was to become my wife.Mine. And yet, your father dies, and you conveniently ignore his last wish.” He shakes his head. “Unbecoming of a captain.”
His eyes glint with malice. “How did you become the captain, anyway, Ace? Last time I checked, women can’t hold this role.”
I sit there, silently fuming. It takes every ounce of willpower not to slash his throat and toss him out into the snow. He’d make a pretty frozen statue for the birds to shit on.
“And last time I checked,” I begin, words soft, though no less murderous, “my father was dead. I don’t honor dead men’s requests.”
“It wasn’t a request!” he shouts, slamming his fist onto the desk. My pens rattle, my computer shakes, and my heart lurches. There’s a brief moment where my body locks down at the sudden noise, and a switch flips. I can’t react fast enough—can’t draw my knife and fight back.
I’m there again—stuck with Michael and his disgusting punishments. Cigar smoke chokes me, and I can’t see past his horrible grin.
