Page 74 of Carnal Wagers

The kid took kills to the next level: precise, elegant, and versatile with his tools. He was the best reaper the clan had and loyal to a fault since we’d taken him off the streets over a decade ago.

“Not afraid how the cartel will reply?” Liam asked me.

“If we give them an inch further, they’ll take the whole board. I intend to kick them off it. Boston is ours.” We weren’t going to lose to the Love Knot Killer and Joaquin Sosa. “But we can’t show our hand too quickly. A war will only hurt business.”

“Well then,” Liam said. “We need to review who is selling on the streets. Both Shiner and Skipper reported our boys have noticed outsiders distributing on our territory.”

Feckin’ bastards, they moved quick. “Get them all checked. Those not with the cartel go count worms.”

“And Sosa’s men?”

“Pick them up. Take a finger from each. We’ll avoid war for now, but it’s time to make the message clear. As long as our agreement stands, any business they have in Boston goes through us. We have never and will never give them free range.”

Chapter 21

Sweat dewed around my headband. I teeped the punching bag for one last set. Roundhouse kick, jab, cross, elbow, jab, uppercut, sidekick, jab, hook, spinning crescent kick. Done. I tapped the bag on its rebound and caught it. Shoulders heaving and sucking in deep breaths, my forehead relaxed against the cool leather, but my internal inferno kept cooking.

The short workout hadn’t helped. I didn’t feel any better.

I ripped my gloves open and off with a drawn-out groan and tossed them aside. I couldn’t stay in this small room anymore. The mats, weights, and cardio machines just amped up my nerves. I needed to cool down.

Mirrors lined the back wall. I let my long hair down my back and teased it loose. It tickled the bottom of my sports bra. Usually, I took pride in admiring the toned lines of my body after a workout. Not today. There was no firmness to my shoulders. No self-respect in the twist of my jaw. With no makeup on and circles under my eyes, I looked like a hot mess. All because of him, the heartless, stubborn mule.

Last night, back at his place, I thought I had him. His fingers had gently sifted through my hair. His soft touch, down my temple to my cheek and back again, had left tingles behind that I still felt even now. In those moments, I’d been his focus, and it had warmed me from head to toe. I’d felt special and cared for by someone, and I thought we’d made a connection.

Except I woke up alone. No note. No warning. Just a text message from him, wondering if I had already kicked myself out of his apartment. That was definitely one way to put a damper on my femme fatale act and add another broken fantasy to a long list of them.

It was the kick in the gut I needed to remind myself there was no happily ever after at the end of this road. His usefulness lay only in the orgasms he delivered and his signature on the divorce papers before I put him in my rearview forever.

“That you, babe?” Maeve called from the kitchen as I crossed the living room, headed for the patio. “I put some coffee to brew. Want some?”

“Yes, please, absolutely. You’re my savior. Any of those lemon tarts I made left?”

“Just ate the last one.”

I groaned. “You are killing me. I’ll be outside.”

Beneath a black cherry tree shading the garden table and chairs, Maeve’s yard disconnected us from city life. Sounds of traffic lingered in the background, but her red brick walls bracketed a garden with dozens of different flowers on one side and vegetables on the other. Birds frequently sang their bliss, and with the variety of smells and colors, this place carved a little slice of heaven in a bustling city. The first signs of fall-colored leaves rustled overhead with the wind. It swept some away and twirled them in the air so their bitter almond scent danced among the flower perfumes.

I collapsed in a chair gracelessly.

Everything was going to be fine. Nothing worked overnight, same for starting a business or learning a language. I just overestimated myself a little. It happened to the best of us, but giving up wasn’t something I did. Ever.

If I wanted my freedom, I had to work for it. If I wanted him to understand my loneliness and abandonment, I had to make him want what he couldn’t have. It was all up to the effort I was willing to put in.

Phone in hand, I reread for the tenth time my earlier reply to his not-so-subtle hint I needed to leave his apartment.

Alizé

Is this you telling me you miss me already?

I groaned. It sounded desperate. His lack of reply only made it worse because an hour ago, in true Alizé-style, I tried forcing the issue.

See you tonight then?

Don’t answer, and I’ll take it as a yes.

I stared at the screen. Still no reply.