CHAPTER NINETEEN


Barrows was an awful card player. He bluffed when he shouldn't have. He was
cocky when he should've been humbled and he sighed dramatically when a smirk
would've fooled the competition.


It took only an hour before I had all he wagered and Rafe just stood behind
with a resigned watchfulness.


Even I was a bit shocked at how my plans had unraveled due to the complete
horror of Barrows' cardplaying ability.


I had hoped to entertain my time through cards, be at the center of
everyone's attention when the infamous Glean woke and draw him in with an allure
that would distract him from the time.


And when my turn at the cardtable was up, I'd hope to look up and see Jace in
the doorway.


That plan failed horribly. Even a laugh couldn't salvage the hope that I'd
anchored my plan with, but the best con always has a second plan up her
sleeve.


"So…" Barrows attempted, pathetically, and his fingers proclaimed his
humility as they tapped on the table, absent-mindedly.


I said nothing. There were no words—right now.


Rafe rolled her eyes and exclaimed, "Glean's going to skin you alive. You
gave up the two hundred that he wanted you to hold for the group."


Barrows knew his plight. He just sat, doomed.


I still had no words.


"Idiot." Rafe snapped and smacked his head as she moved towards the living
room.


Her boots were heard on the stairs a little later and a creaking bedroom door
told us where she returned.


"I'm uh…" Barrows started, but faded.


"You're awful." I stated the obvious.


His cheeks reddened slightly and he scratched the back of his head, "Well—I
had hoped that you would've been just as bad, but…we both know now that
you're not…"


"Hey." The second unconscious cowboy burped from the doorway.


Barrows had the golden blonde curls while this one had the jet-black shine to
his hair.


"Hey." Barrows greeted.


"What's up Rafer's ass?" He plopped to an empty seat and frowned, staring at
me.


Barrows glanced between the two, pondered me for a moment, and asked, "What's
your name again?"


"Maya."


"Oh, that's right! Cardplayer Maya." He swung a lazy hand towards his friend
and introduced, "This is Scott. Scott—Cardplayer—"


"—Maya." Scott finished with a blinding smile. "Hi, I'm Scott."


Barrows burped and stood as he said, "Don't play poker with her. She'll clean
you out in two hours."


"Really?" Scott's interest was piqued.


I saw my original plan give new birth and I smiled warmly, "It took him an
hour, think you could do better?"


"No, no!" Barrows said quickly from the refrigerator. "He's got three hundred
and we can't lose that money."


Really?


"You think I'm that bad?" Scott asked, innocently.


"No. She's that good."


Scott appraised me with renewed interest and the same lust that donned in
Barrow's first introduction.


"I bet we could work something out." He offered with a flirtatious smile.


I leaned forward and let the promise sparkle from my depths, "I bet we
could."


"It's your funeral, man." Barrows shook his head and left the room.


The next hour didn't prove to be a repeat. It raised more eyebrows than
confirmed speculations and I found myself watching the cowboy instead of the
game.


His eyes, words, and hand gestures didn't add up to the equivalent conclusion
that he was simply a vigilante gang member.


After he'd won his fourth hand, I commented, "You've played a bit."


He shrugged, nonchalant, and I repeated, "You've played a lot. Let me
guess…"


Caution now rang throughout his tightly muscled body. The intelligence that
gleamed from his green eyes was dampened and he realized that he'd been
caught.


I continued, uncaring, "You throw the cards like someone I used to know. You
double-back on quarters like someone else I know. Where'd you pick up the
trade?"
"We're just playing cards."


"No." I called his bluff. "I was skimming the surface with you, but you won't
let me do that. You knew I was doing it and you're good enough to try and play
the same game. You've won four hands. You've added a slight bit to your winnings
and yet…it was slowly drawn out. Where'd you learn to play like that?"


"It's just cards, girl. It's not science."


"But it is." I slapped my hand over his as he reached for the cards. "If
you're good enough, it is a science. But it's pretty rare for anyone to reach
that level and you have…Greenback Buck plays like you do. You learn from
him?"


Shock froze his movements, but not before his eyes whirled to mine and I saw
the truth.


I nodded and murmured, "You did."


Greenback Buck was a card general who worked underneath Alan Rye. Alan Rye
was a gang corporate who ran organized crime for Gravon and Gravon headed the
entire south summit for Marcus.


Scott knew Greenback Buck and that meant he was high on their ladder. Scott
was ambitious and I was willing to bet that Glean had no clue who Greenback Buck
was, who Alan Rye was, or who Gravon was.


He'd know who Marcus was, but only by reputation.


"Who's Glean?" I asked now.


I had a hunch and I murmured, "My hunch is telling me that Glean thinks of
himself as his own boss. He runs his own trade and he takes orders from no one.
Is that fair to say?"


Scott swallowed tightly and nodded. He refused to meet my too-knowing gaze,
but I saw his clenched hands in his lap. They jerked at my suspicions.


And this is where the story might go south…


Scott still worked for Greenback. He still worked for Rye, Gravon, and
therefore Marcus.


I named Scotty's true employers, but he could name myself easily. All it
would take is a few phone calls, a few whispered gossip stories, and he'd
produce a name to match my supposition.


So while I realized the exact setting of our context, Scott was still
sweating his possibly endangered life.


I'd never met Glean, but I was fairly sure he wouldn't take kindly to a spy
set in his camp.


Such a world we live and conquer, but what's more interesting was the fact
that I had more insight into Rafe's little nested world than she did.


And I was also wondering where Jace fit into it all.


I didn't quite buy a clueless story that he'd inevitably portray.


Rafe was useless when he said he needed a 'better base and better weapons.'
And Jace hadn't looked too surprised when Rafe mentioned Glean's impending
arrival. In fact, he hadn't reacted much at all—and I now knew why.


"Look—" Scott started and shifted closer for an elaborate and mind-blowing
explanation, but he was waylaid when I lifted a hand, lazily.


I shrugged and sat back, "It don't matter. Not my problem."


I saw the million-mile thoughts flash around in his head. How could he handle
the damage control? What could be said? And why did she suddenly back off?


I drawled, "I've got my own issues to deal with, I don't need yours on top of
them."


Scott opened his mouth, footsteps thundered on the stairs, and he closed it
back up.


Just as he leaned against his chair, a hulk strode into the kitchen with
purpose. He looked to flay someone alive and I guessed his look was meant for me
as his raging eyes found me and stayed with me.


I had an envisioned a larger than life hulk and I'd been right.


He stood just over six feet, broad muscular shoulders, an even thicker neck,
and a bald head that seemed to be chosen rather than forced to endure.


And his eyes, though red in anger, looked to be almost brown at his jovial
times.


He wore an unbuttoned vest, no shirt underneath, and jeans that were left
unbuttoned over his hairy feet.


His ugly feet—after a second glance.


"You're Lanser's girl?" He bit out.


Scott looked over in mild confusion and curiosity, but I caught the façade
that he plastered on his actor's mug.


It was nicely timed and an Oscar act, but it went unnoticed by the one who it
was for and noticed by the one who shouldn't have known.


I met his eyes in dry amusement, but I said to Glean, (I was assuming it was
Glean) "Mighty personal for a stranger."


He didn't flush, but he stepped closer and lifted a threatening hand, "Are
you Lanser's girl or not?"


What do you do when a furious and larger than life male has a fist in your
face? What would a normal person do?


Probably answer quickly, meekly, and scurry for cover.


That's the wrong answer to give.


That's the answer you give to let someone know they won, they can scare you,
and that you'll quake in your pants until the next time they try again.


What's the second option? To respond softly, seriously, and succinctly for
them to take their fist out of your face?


Again: wrong.


That'll push them to the defense and that means lines have automatically been
drawn.


So what did I do?


I didn't stop and think for starters. I swiftly grabbed his hand, located a
finger, spun underneath his arm (breaking the finger in the process), and ended
in the doorway with my gun in his face.


He didn't see the gun right away, but he felt the pain. And when a inflamed
cry of pain ruptured from his throat, he started and stopped in my
direction.


He saw the gun now and the pain died from his throat.


Scott had scooted back from the sudden movement, but his scraping chair
alerted the rest of the house.


I heard the footsteps pound on the stairs behind me, but I cocked the gun and
said coolly, "This could go badly if your friends jerk my arm."


That was all Glean needed and he instantly cried out, "Stop! Back off!"


Everyone stopped, behold the majesty of his command, and I felt a good
breathable space from behind me.


That's what I needed.


Before he could start and set the tone, I cried out, hotly, "I come here. I'm
welcomed here. I play a game of cards with your friends and this is how you play
hospitality."


Confusion crossed his eyes first and I sealed it with… "And then you ask me
business that's no business of your own and you get in my face when I question
it. I'm a girl, I'm armed, so you brought this on yourself. Why don't you answer
my question now, like who the hell are you? And what business is it of yours who
my 'man' is or not?"


Watching him now, seeing the complete shock that froze his features, I
imagined it was rare sight for a girl to kick our his knees.


He had nothing to say, not for a moment, and then he remembered the gun and
said calmly, "You broke my finger."


"It was in my face." I told him. "I attack what's in my face."


He could respect that. He understood that and I sensed an inch of
intimidation clear away as he backed up without moving an inch.


"Okay…"


"Can I put this away?" I asked, still calm, and still cold.


"You broke my finger." Glean reminded me, but lifted his hands in surrender,
"But I'm not here to hurt you."


I sheathed the gun and commented, "You came at me. Not the other way
around."


"Fair enough." And he stepped back with an acknowledging nod. "But I had
reason to come at you."


"Such as?"


"Are you Lanser's girl or not?"


"Give me your explanation for asking and maybe then I'll give you my
explanation."


Rafe pushed past me and exclaimed, "Good grief. He's bleeding."


"There's no blood." Scott pointed out.


Rafe glared and remarked, "She broke his finger—shut up."


Glean brushed her off and said to me, "I got reason to know. Are you or
aren't you?"


Rafe turned, met my eyes, and placed a hand on Glean's arm.


I saw her lie and answered with my own, "Yes, so what of it?"


All the tension left him in one breath. And then the pain came—full force—and
he gasped slightly.


Rafe touched his finger and soothed, "We should get that x-rayed."


"Go get some clothes for me. Barrows—car."


"On it." Barrows whistled and left through the backdoor.


To the rest that still hung in the door, Glean ordered, "Go back to
sleep."


They immediately dispersed and with only Scott in the kitchen, Glean said
shortly, "When I get back here, I don't want to find you. I don't like Lanser
and if he shows his face, we're going to have words."


He really didn't know Jace.


"I'm sure Jace will run for cover." I remarked, sarcastically.


"He should, if he knows what's good for him."
Rafe hurried into the
kitchen again, a pile of clothes grasped in her arms, and after they both left
through the backdoor, I commented when my eyes met and held Scott's, "Guess he
doesn't know what's good for him."


"You should listen to him and head out." Scott advised.


"Right." I murmured, tongue in cheek. Back in the hidey-hole, I locked the
door and curled up in a ball. I had no phone to call Jace. I had no number to
dial and I didn't figure I knew a Jace that would tuck tail and scamper off.


I must've fallen asleep after that because I woke when I was being moved to
the side.


It was complete darkness in the hidey-hole, but I heard a breath and knew it
was Jace.


I relaxed and Jace laid beside me.


I asked, drowsily, "How'd it go?"


He yawned and remarked, "Unexpected."


"Glean wants us gone when he gets back here."


"Where'd he go?"


"To the E.R."


"Why?"


"I broke his finger."


If I had been more awake, I would've registered the quick surprise that held
his tongue, but I didn't and I only heard, "We'll deal with him in the
morning."
And then Jace flipped on his side and curled behind me. His rested
an arm around my waist.


I murmured, "What are you doing?" But my eyelids were already drooping.


"I'm cold." He murmured against my back and before I could muster any more
protests, a fog had unwound and pulled my consciousness back into the dark
oblivion—once again.


A thundering fist woke us both to a jump.


"Get out of there!" Glean hollered as his fists rang against our locked
door.


Jace raked a hand over his face and remarked, tiredly, "Guess we'll deal with
him now."


"Maybe it's the morning already."


"No. We've slept twenty minutes. No morning." And now Jace was awake and
alert.


He changed, like the flip of a switch, and I sensed a coiled animal ready to
pounce beside me.


"You have that gun I left you?" Jace asked.


"Yeah."


I heard him click a barrel onto another and knew he'd come prepared.


"Keep it with you. What about the blade of yours?" He asked.


"I don't go anywhere without it."


It was the truth.


"Good." If I could've seen him, I would've imagined a nod, but he only said,
"Let's go."


"Wait."


"What?"
"What's the plan? Or are you just going to charge out there?"


"Well…yeah."


"Are you serious?"


"What? Just stay behind me and use your weapons when you need to."


Jace sounded like he was reciting the alphabet. Nonchalant and almost bored.
It pissed me off—"Are you for real? We need a plan."
Jace sighed and griped,
"I don't want to fight—again. This is my job. This is my life—just trust me, for
god's sake."


He left the bed before I could muster a response and before I knew it, he had
thrown open the door.


And this is when I realized that Jace always has a plan. He just might not
always articulate it, but when he threw open the door, somehow—after two thumps,
I watched in amazement as Jace walked back out into the house with Glean against
his chest.


Jace had a knife to Glean's throat and the sudden 'bully' from before was now
chalk-face and pleading for his life.


The hulk would've crumbled if Jace hadn't been holding him up.


Jace didn't waste time threatening or ridiculing Glean. Instead, he focused
on the extra bodies in the room and said simply, to the point, "I was
sleeping."


Glean nodded, jerkily, and cried out, "Okay, man."


"Not okay because now I can't go back to sleep. Now I'm going to have to do
something to you to make sure you let me sleep in peace."


"Your girl already broke my hand, what more do you want?"


"Apparently it wasn't enough because here we are." Jace retorted,
briskly.


"I won't do anything, man. I promise."


I rolled my eyes at the stereotypical response given by a sub-intelligent ego
maniac.


It was predictable and I knew that was why we'd win—everytime. We weren't
predictable.


Glean had proven he was. He'd proven that he thought without a brain and only
with his emotions.


He was a sub-intelligent ego maniac.


"Rafe." Jace called out.


She didn't answer, not right away, and then she stepped away from the crowd
and asked, "What?" She looked petrified.


"Your boyfriend has a notion that we've fucked. Have we?" Jace asked, calmly,
and casually.


She gulped, but Glean was listening.


"No." She said quietly.


Jace repeated, "No. We've never fucked and yet your boyfriend thinks we
have…is this my problem?"


Rafe sighed and said stronger, "Glean—there's nothing between me and
Jace."


"No, there's not." Jace said again for further clarification. He let him go
and remarked as Glean swung an uncertain head his way, "I've never slept with
your girlfriend. You've met mine. Why would I need yours?"


And then Jace sent a glittering, hardened gaze full of promises to Rafe as he
commanded, "Clean this up. We're going back to bed."


Rafe only had time to nod, tightly, before Jace caught my hand and led me
back into our hidey-hole.


This time, I didn't protest as he wrapped an arm around my waist.


I'd never admit it, but it felt nice. I also wouldn't admit, at least not
then and there, that I'd watched Scott as everyone else had watched Jace.


Scott stood at the door, ready for a command, but it was more interesting
that he didn't look to Glean for his command.


His eyes were riveted on Jace.


That was interesting indeed.


Scott met my gaze as Jace had caught my hand to pull me behind him.


And he knew he'd been caught.


Jace was still beside me when I woke. Groaning, I checked my watch and
counted the hours. Between the first night and the second, I'd slept for a total
of eight hours. It seemed so much longer and yet so much shorter. I was not
satisfied, but when Jace turned his smiling, alert, eyes my way—I knew that it'd
be a long time before my body curled on a bed again.


"What?" I said shortly and burrowed my face in the blankets again.


"Time to go. We have a trap to set today."


"What?" But he was already up and gone in one leap and bound.


He pissed me off sometimes—and this morning was another of those times.


After a shower, I meandered into the kitchen to find Glean hunched over a cup
of coffee, tense, with Barrows, Scott, and two other semi-sumo-wrestlers at the
table.


Jace casually drank from a cup of coffee as he leaned against the counter.
Rafe stood at the kitchen sink, right beside his elbow, and I saw Jace's instant
amusement at Glean's clenching jaw.


I'd left the relaxation sauna of the shower for instant tension.


I sighed and poured my own cup of coffee.


Instead of finding Jace's other elbow, I sat on the only remaining chair at
the table.


Catching sight of the gauze packed around Glean's hand, I met his hardened
eyes and took a sip of my coffee.


"They hurt." He gritted out. "Thanks."


I shrugged, "Self-defense. You got in my face."


He'd never known that I almost pulled my blade, but went for the finger
instead. I don't know which would've been worse.


The gun had been my bluff, but they didn't need to know that.


"Cardplayer Maya." Barrows smiled widely and saluted me with his own cup.


Glean scowled more fiercely and muttered, "And you're why we're out two
hundred for groceries. Thanks—again."


I deigned to respond.


Barrows gestured in Scott's direction, who was hunched over a bowl of cereal,
"Scotty got some of it back."


Scott lifted sudden cautious eyes and remarked quietly, "I don't think she
was really paying attention to the game."


On the contrary…


"Really?" I remarked, dryly.


"Really." Scott said firmly and went back to his cereal.


I wanted to glance towards Jace, but that'd be a giveaway. It would've been
predictable and I was smarter than that so I went back to my coffee.


I had to give the guys some credit. For their stereotypical clichés of
chauvinistic bikers who viewed women as bedmates or cleaning maids, there were
no lewd jokes or comments about either aspect of the female anatomy.


In fact, there were no lewd comments at all, but I wondered if there would've
been if Jace or myself hadn't been in the room.


I doubt I'd ever know the answer to that riddle so I finished my coffee. When
I was done, Jace had already grabbed all of his stuff and waited at the door for
me.


He'd showered and dressed in a form-fitting black long-sleeve shirt over
trendy faded jeans.


I caught a spark of lust in Rafe's depths and knew that Glean's jealousy was
prominent for a reason.


If it had been up to Rafe, her and Jace would've 'fucked'. I guessed it
wasn't up to Rafe, after all.


Rafe walked us out to the car and hung back as Jace threw our bags into the
backseat.


"So…" She murmured.


I sat in the front seat, closed the door, but Jace stood and I heard a hushed
conversation between the two.


It wasn't long and Jace was inside, the engine on, and already reversing
before I could blink.


As we pulled onto the main highway, I asked, tightly, "You going to tell me
what that was all about?"


"No." Jace swiftly and casually.


I clenched my jaw and met his eyes, "So now we're back?"


Jace sighed and gestured towards the house, "That was a nice reprieve. We
both were a little honest, but you knew from the start that we're going to have
a heart-to-heart one of these days."


"And blood will get drawn." I murmured faintly.


"Probably."


Nice.


Jace drove the car and I watched the scenery, but I was content in the little
I'd unearthed and pieced together.


Both the waitress and Scott knew Jace. She was his contact and Scott was his
reinforcement. They'd both looked towards Jace for a command and Jace had deemed
to give it, but that only told me two things.


Jace was still a leader.


And Jace wasn't as alone as he portrayed.


It made me wonder who else was out there?