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Without allowing for another thought, I tap on a card three in from the right end of the deck. Raphael stiffens, then, as if in slow motion, he slides it out. With a snap of his wrist, he straightens the remainder of the pack and slips it into his pocket.
I look up to his face and our gazes clash for five long, unbearable seconds. Eventually, he tears his eyes from mine and regards the card. He remains expressionless, disinterested.
A tick of his jaw. A flare of his nostrils.
Then he does something that takes me by surprise even more than his laugh did. He bends over, grips my throat, and snatches all the air from my lungs like it’s his to take.
I part my lips to gasp, and when I do, something stiff slides between them.
The tangy taste of ink on my tongue. Sharp, cardboard edges on my lips.
But I’m too distracted by the heat on my earlobe and the rough jaw against my cheek. “Monday, six pm on the fisherman’s docks,” he whispers in my ear. His thumb grazes over the thumping pulse in my neck, sending an unwelcome shiver between my thighs. “Bring your resume and don’t be late.”
A cold breeze skitters over my chest as he returns to his full height. He side-steps my chair and strides down the hallway without so much as a backward glance. I watch in disbelief, my heart slamming against my rib cage, as his convoy of black suits follow after him.
When heavy footsteps cease and a door slams, I let out a choked groan. With trembling hands, I tug the playing card from my mouth and stare at it.
A few seconds pass before I allow myself a small, shaky laugh. Triumph. It hums in my blood, swirling with a cocktail of adrenaline and relief.
The Ace of Spades.
The luckiest damn card in the deck.
I’m back, baby.
