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“Figured what out?”
“Why you went so long without getting laid. It’s because your game with women fucking sucks.”
Even now, the idea of touching anyone besides Ava has my hands curling into fists.
“I haven’t gotten laid in fifteen years because the only woman I’ve ever wanted is Ava,” I remind him.
Royces laughs, rising up from his seat, leaning across the booth to clap me on the shoulder. “You’re just proving my point. After all that time, you finally have her back, and what are you doing? Dicking around with me at the Playground while she’s back at your penthouse? You should get home, boss. Trust me. I got things handled here.”
“Royce—”
His lips twitch, forcing another smile. “Hey. I’ve got a reason to be in this hellhole all the damn time. You don’t.”
I shut my fucking mouth. Because you know what?
We both know he’s right about that—and, all right. The other stuff, too.
“Thanks, buddy. You’re right. I’m going home.”
And when I get there, I’m starting over with Ava.
I vow it.
FOURTEEN
WHORE
AVA
The night that I visited the Devil’s Playground for the first time, I thought my marriage was over. Seeing how determined Link was to claim me as his—beating that guy up, throwing him out of the club, then coming back to the penthouse with Cross so that he could tattoo a wedding band on my finger—made me understand the lengths he’ll go to maintain the facade that we’re really in it ‘til death do us part.
I’ll admit, though, that as another few weeks pass, it’s getting harder and harder to tell myself that it’s a facade.
He’s trying. Because he is, I am, too.
There’s only one big point of contention that we have: my babysitters.
I would’ve thought that, after I got Bobby in trouble for how I snuck past him, Link might’ve realized how ridiculous it was to insist that I have one or two strangers watching over me whenever he was busy. Nope. It was the opposite, actually. He tried to arrange a rotation like I was one of my students, for God’s sake. Only when I threatened to return to my house—leaving the penthouse entirely—did he back off down.
I still have babysitters. They’re just not on a schedule, so it’s easy to pretend that the random armed men moving around the penthouse are like maintenance men or something.
I’ve learned to ignore them. I had to. They’re not my friends. At most, they’re Link’s employees, and I never forget for a minute that their loyalty is to him.
Mona, too. She’s sweet to me, and if it wasn’t for her, I’d go stir crazy when Link was busy out of the penthouse, but it’s obvious that she’s keeping tabs on me, reporting back to Mr. Lincoln whenever she gets the chance.
At least, when it comes to my actions, she does, and I know it’s because Link makes her. Same with the guards.
But while they’re happy to report on me to my husband, they definitely keep their feelings about me to themselves—because, one thing for sure, if Link heard what I did one afternoon, I’m pretty sure he would’ve lost his shit.
I mean, he beat a guy to a bloody pup for touching me. I highly doubt he’d stand by and let his own men question our marriage.
Only they are, and I find out completely by accident.
I’m in the kitchen with Mona, “helping” her make lunch. Cooking has never been my strong suit, so I’m probably being a nuisance more than anything, but Link left early this morning and I like to feel like I’m doing something.
And, honestly, there’s only so much TV a woman can watch before she wants to chuck the remote at the screen—and, considering Link’s television is like seventy freaking inches across, I wouldn’t miss.
Leaning against the counter, watching as Mona stirs the stew for today’s lunch, I hear a pair of footsteps coming down the hall. Heavy boots hit the floor, just out of step with each other, and I realize that since there’s two of them out there, it’s probably the changing of the guards.
