Page 26 of Carnal Wagers

He was larger than life, sucking away all the air around him until we all suffocated under his presence. If I glanced away, I was sure he would rip his claws into my soul and drink down my life’s essence like a good whiskey. He certainly looked like a good challenge, a deadly one if he bested me, but that made him appealing in a way he’d never been before.

“That drink, then?”

He lifted the umbrella above our heads. Rain battered a rhythm against its cloth to match my pumping heart.

“Tell me where you’re from.”

“Europe. Couldn’t you tell?”

I could fake a West Coast American accent if I tried, but it took effort that the shock of our encounter had made impossible. My natural accent was mixed from the number of languages I knew, but my r’s and slight nasality still gave my heritage away.

“Evasion’s not a good tactic with me.”

“But you don’t really care where I’m from. So ask me your real questions after…” I sauntered past him and his guards and opened the door. A soft bell trilled. “I’ll get myself a drink. And one for you, if you want it.”

His jaw clenched, but there was a spark of curiosity in his watchful gaze. We each loved our control—only ten minutes in his presence, and I already knew that much about him—but there was something in him that enjoyed having it taken away too, in small doses at least. I wondered how much I could play with that, how much he would let me.

From his suit jacket, he removed a pocketknife with a ring on one end to fit his finger through and a short but thick curved blade on the other. Huh, it made sense why they called him the Claw now. He spun it around his thumb, eyes trying to pin me in place. I smirked and turned away from him. Bad luck, husband dearest, I’d been immune to men’s glares and poorly veiled threats since my father forced me to watch my first torture session when I was ten.

“Give me your name.”

I chuckled over my shoulder. “That’d be too easy.”

I walked through that door and let the warmth, the loud chatter, and the smell of liquor, wood, and beer bundle me up with anticipation. Snaring targets, investors, and donors was, after all, my specialty.

With the sound of his boots thumping behind me, my lips curved up. I pulled out my phone and texted Erel.

Alizé

Get Franc to delete any video footage of me here today.

My distant cousin was a tech wizard who normally worked for my brother. That didn’t mean I hadn’t given him an odd job or two before.

Erel

It’ll raise red flags. And take time.

Adrien won’t approve.

Don’t care. Just do it.

Safety first, remember?

And do us all a favor.

Call Maeve, have a quickie, and come back zen.

For my sanity and yours.

I imagined him cursing me profusely for treating him, my brother’s second-in-command, like an errand boy, while Tessa giggled from the back seat. That stretched my mouth wider.

My inner villain rubbed her hands together. I was starting to get an idea of the type of man my husband dearest was, beyond the file I’d reviewed and analyzed over the last couple of months. One thing I now knew for sure, a direct confrontation with papers out would have backfired. I needed to go at it from a different angle, and one idea sparked to mind.

Goodbye Alizé, the spurned wife. Hello Alizé, the femme fatale businesswoman.

Chapter 8

I never believed in good fortune, bad luck, or coincidences. Life was a shit fest of epic proportions, some days better, some days worse, but mostly just a steady stream that kept on coming until the day death called. Not much got my blood pumping these days. Not signing off on a million-dollar arms deal. Not picking apart a traitor yesterday until he spilled his secrets. And not pummeling the faces of two runners from the local street crew this morning until even dental work couldn’t identify them.