Tame: A High School Bully Romance (Savannah Heirs Book 2) Read online

  When I didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands, yanking the rubber band out of my blonde locks. My soft hair fell in waves down to my waist, the strands tickling my neck and arms. I instantly stiffened and reached for the rubber band, but Godfrey pocketed it.

  “Better,” he said, giving me an appreciative once over before pressing a hand to my arm and guiding me inside the bar. Once we were inside, he took off his sunglasses and looked around. “Can you pull your dress down some? You’ve got an impressive rack, and it’ll be good for distracting other players.”

  “How about I give you a black eye? Think that’ll distract them?”

  He grinned, but before he could answer, a hot Latino guy about our age approached us. He had a bright smile and striking features. His dark eyes took me in, and recognition flickered over his expression. “Rachel?”

  My eyebrows drew together. I didn’t recognize him. “Who are you?” I asked, though I sensed that he was familiar.

  I watched his smile slip a bit at my inability to remember him. “I’m Luis. Godfrey’s friend. I was there...at uh...the crash?”

  Oh yes. Luis Salvador. I vaguely remembered him, mostly because I knew his name. I only vaguely remembered much of anything that happened that day of the crash. What I did remember was that Luis was confident—not as cocky as Godfrey—but self-assured enough to keep me on my toes.

  “I remember you now. Thanks. For that day.” My statement sounded choppy and awkward even to my own ears, but I didn’t really know what else to say. My dad had explained everything to me after, so I knew Godfrey and his ragtag group of Heir assholes weren’t there to save me. They were there to save their friend, Scarlett. I was just in the right place at the right time. I was the leftover side dish no one ordered. Lucky me.

  Luis quickly picked up on my discomfort and eased us towards the bar, turning on the charm as he played with a pocket knife in his palm. “You here for a drink?” Luis asked.

  Godfrey was quietly standing at my side, dodging drunks while observing the room. “We’re here to play.”

  Luis looked around like this poker match was some sort of unspoken secret. His easygoing smile slipped before he was able to fasten it back into place. “You sure that’s a good idea? Last time you were here, you really pissed off a few regulars. Ma doesn’t want any more trouble, and I’m not in the mood to have her go on another bender again. She finally got sorted from the accident.”

  Godfrey considered his statement for a moment before answering. “I won’t go all in. Just meeting minimums and taking it easy. Your Ma won’t take heat from the organizer again. Promise.”

  Luis seemed pacified by Godfrey’s answer and nodded once. “Alright. Guess you’ll need a key.”

  I guess Godfrey Taylor wasn’t following Dad’s orders after all. He hadn’t taken me to a fucking casino; he’d taken me to an illegal underground poker ring. Perfect.

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel

  It was a bit cliche. Basement entry, a bouncer, standing at the elevator, and then a dark hallway that led to the smoke-filled room. An underground—literally—illegal poker ring.

  There was a bar at the back and a stripper in another room, visible behind the massive glass wall, offering some titillating distraction for the players as she straddled a horizontal pole that was almost as thin as her g-string. There were only four tables set up inside the space, and every single player was one of Savannah’s elite. The city manager, the dean of the local university, the bulbous owner of the newspaper, hell, even the chief of police was here, among others. All of them smoking cigars and drinking scotch because it made them feel important. I wondered how many dirty deals were done down here.

  Luis nodded at a pair of two other bouncers as he led us into the room. But instead of him taking us to one of those tables, Luis brought us to the bar and ordered two glasses of Legacy by Angostura—a bottle of rum that cost a cool twenty-five grand. I only knew that because it was my dad’s favorite.

  Godfrey dug into his wallet and passed over a wad of hundreds. They’d been crisp and new probably only an hour ago, after being spat out of the printer in my dad’s warehouse. But already, they looked used, some of them purposely creased and stained, each bill handled by my dad’s workers to make them look used.

  Godfrey tipped the glass to his lips and drank his portion down in one gulp, sucking his breath in slightly after. “Pretty good shit,” he said, somehow managing to sound bored.

  “This is supposed to be a sipping rum,” I chastised him, making Luis grin and clap his friend on the back. I didn’t know Luis very well, but his good-natured playfulness immediately endeared him to me. It seemed like he, too, was the type to call Godfrey on his shit.

  The bartender, a handsome man in his late twenties, nodded at me. “The lady knows her stuff.”

  He slid me the second glass, along with a velvet jewelry case. I grabbed the glass, eyeing the red case as I gladly took a sip of the smooth drink. It was like swallowing syrup.

  “What’s that?” I asked, nodding at the case.

  Godfrey set his empty glass down and swiped the case to hold in front of me. “Can’t get in to play with the big boys if you don’t have a key.”

  When he opened it, I peered inside and saw an honest to God key. Not even a key card. Nope, this was an elaborate metal key with ornate scrawls and medieval looking teeth. I arched a brow. “A little dramatic, but it sets the mood,” I admitted. Everything in Savannah, Georgia, was done with finesse. Couldn’t go around using passcodes and or keycards. They had to go for the showmanship and historical bullshit.

  “What mood is that?” Luis asked me as he leaned against the bar, his dark eyes roving over the dozen or so players inside.

  “The one that makes this seem so elite that it strokes every ego of every asshole here,” I replied.

  “The stroking room requires a different key,” Luis quipped with a wink.

  Godfrey rolled his eyes. “You gonna finish that, princess?” he asked, looking at my drink.

  I tilted the glass to my lips, taking another slow and steady sip, instead of downing it like he was challenging me to. I wasn’t going to let him dictate how I did anything.

  “Sure, take your time,” he drawled. “It’s not like there’s a cut-off to the buy-in or anything.”

  Ignoring him, I faced the bartender and leaned against the bar with irritation. I took another sip, and when I pulled the glass away, the rum coated my bottom lip, leaving a sheen of amber liquid behind. When I pushed my tongue out and licked my lips, the man’s dark eyes flicked down to my mouth. And color me fucked up, but his attention immediately made me freeze.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even inhale. I was stuck suddenly in a stagnant stasis of fear that had nothing to do with the harmless bartender and had everything to do with the fact that any little physical attention or touch could set me off. Just like that, I was transported back to when I was helpless, at the mercy of JJ’s gang, being held down by Pick.

  I watched the bartender’s face slip into confusion at the distinct look of terror on my face, and I opened my mouth to stutter out some sort of off-handed excuse, but I couldn’t because my throat suddenly felt too tight and too dry. It wasn’t the bartender’s fault that my heart was racing. It wasn’t his fault that my fingers were trembling with fear at the anticipation of my next high and what would come with it. My trauma didn’t have a specific trigger or a warning sign. It lay dormant as I grabbed Godfrey’s dick. I didn’t even bat an eye as I sat across the table from a literal hit man. But other times, like when one of Dad’s men would hold the door open for me, and I’d have to brush my body beside theirs, the beast inside of me would rage.

  I hated the unpredictability of my issues. I hated that the combination of this crowded room and the casual flirtatiousness of one harmless man could bring my reality crashing down. I hated that I had zero control. I was stuck in my own flashbacks and terror, and the noise that I’d been muting threatened
to come blaring out.

  It wasn’t until Godfrey stepped in front of me, blocking my view, that I was able to blink again. He leaned down close until our eyes were level with one another. “Are you fucking losing it?” he asked me steadily. “Because if you are, you can drive your ass back to your tower, princess. I don’t have time to be your therapist.”

  It was the most awful thing anyone could say. But it worked. It immediately snapped me out of it, and I was able to take a breath again. I stared at him, stuck somewhere between pissed off at his brash approach to my issues and thankful that, for once, someone didn’t treat me like a fragile china doll.

  I gave him a hard punch, pushing him away from me. My fist stung when I let it drop and hang at my side. “Don’t be a dick.”

  Godfrey just straightened up and shrugged, while Luis whooped behind me. “Damn, chica. That was hot. You can hit me next,” he said with a grin.

  I laughed, and Godfrey rolled his eyes before leveling me with a look. “Feel better now?” he mocked, even as a red mark started to bloom on his cheek.

  “Yeah, actually,” I said, blowing out a breath.

  “Good.”

  He swiped the rest of my drink off the bar and guzzled down every last drop before slamming it back down. “Tick tock, princess. We have some bets to make and money to win.”

  “We?” I asked innocently.

  He gave me a look. “Sorry, maybe I’m mistaken. Was that a wad of cash down your dress, or were you just excited to see me?”

  My cheeks burned at having been caught, and I looked down at the bodice of my dress, horrified to see the edges of the stack sticking between my breasts. Since the jig was up, I slipped my fingers inside and pulled the cash out. Luis rolled back on his heels as he continued to watch with amusement. “I like her,” he declared.

  “In the five minutes you’ve known her, you’ve seen her slap me and yank out stolen cash from her bra.”

  “Exactly,” Luis grinned.

  Godfrey rolled his eyes, and I tried to bite back my grin before turning to the bartender and slapping a few hundreds on the bar top. “I’ll take one of those stupid looking keys, also.”

  “This isn’t your grandmother’s bridge game, princess,” Godfrey said from a few feet away. I didn’t look at him because I knew he wanted me to.

  The bartender glanced at Luis for approval. Maybe it wasn’t just his mother that ran this place. Perhaps it was him. “You won’t actually need a second key. I got you,” Luis answered after looking me up and down. “I hope you know what you’re doing, though.”

  I smirked. Dad wanted me to learn chess, but I was a cards girl through and through. “I’m sure I can figure it out,” I replied with a cheeky grin as Godfrey shook his head and started walking away.

  “Good luck,” Luis called at his back.

  Avoiding both Luis’s and the bartender’s eyes, I followed behind Godfrey to an alcove I’d overlooked earlier simply because there was draping fabric that hung down from the ceiling. I thought it was just decoration, but when Godfrey shoved the drapery aside, I saw another small hallway, with yet another bouncer. Godfrey produced the key, and I steeled myself for what would happen inside.

  This was going to make all the difference. Paying the bartender some hundreds was different than playing poker in an elite gambling club and having them run your cash through a counter that checked for fakes. If our counterfeit cash was found out, this shit could go very, very badly. At a regular casino, we might end up spending the night in jail. But here? I looked around at the shady patrons drinking expensive cocktails and making back alley deals. Here, we’d end up dead with concrete blocks tied to our ankles.

  Still, I wasn’t surprised that my dad let Godfrey bring me along. My dad was arrogant, and he liked to get other people to solve his problems. And me? I’d become a problem. He didn’t know how to deal with a daughter who had been assaulted and had been forced into a heroin addiction. I wasn’t helping matters by refusing to give him details and demanding to be let free. I bet he was secretly relieved to send me off and have me taken off his hands. It was funny, actually. He kept trapping me inside, having his guys guard me every minute of every day, only to send me off with a wolf at the first opportunity. He was a confusing man. Dancing the line of careless and overprotective like it was a chess match.

  I was surprised, however, that Godfrey was doing this at his best friend’s club. It didn’t fit the Heirs’ narrative that I’d heard. People talked about how the four of them were closer than blood brothers. Why would he use fake cash in a place that would affect his best friend? Maybe it was because there wasn’t as much risk if we were caught? But no, that didn’t seem right either. Godfrey Taylor enjoyed the risk. Maybe the real organizers of this club worked behind the scenes, and Luis Salvador was just one of the many cogs in a well-oiled machine. I guess I’d never know for sure. It wasn’t like Godfrey and I would be exchanging secrets any time soon.

  We walked into the room, and I immediately knew that this was where the serious poker playing went down. No strippers, no flashy lights or decorations, no bar. Just two tables, dealers, and cards that smelled like power. As soon as we were inside, Godfrey walked over to the corner of the room where there was a booth set up and a bald cash counter waiting behind bulletproof glass, a pistol holstered to his chest.

  Godfrey slapped his cash down, and I openly observed the cash counter as he grabbed it and tossed the pile of money into the counting machine with scrutiny. The metal machine shifted through the cash once. Twice. And on the third time, a light at the top flashed green before announcing the amount: a hundred grand.

  Godfrey kept his disinterested frown in place, but I was starting to understand his expressions. I knew he was buzzing with energy, getting high off the adrenaline rush and the possibility of getting caught. I bet if I cupped him between the legs again, I’d feel him turned on by the risk. Finished, he collected his tray of chips and started walking off with swagger. I pulled out the cash I stole from Dad’s stash and slid it under the glass partition with a sweet smile.

  The bald man swallowed as I leaned forward, my “impressive rack” as Godfrey called it, now on display. This, for some reason, I could handle. I felt in control and probably safe because of the bulletproof glass that separated us. Maybe I could handle an appreciative stare if it was me calling the shots.

  The glance from the bartender had thrown me off my game, but I couldn’t spiral. I couldn’t keep letting my trauma control me. And something about the way Godfrey had challenged me earlier made me realize something. I’d been using my body as a shield all this time when it was far more effective as a weapon. Maybe that’s what Dr. Taffy had been trying to tell me, too. That if I wanted, I could pull the trigger on...my triggers. It was time to stop biting bullets and start shooting.

  Taffy’s assignment came to the forefront of my mind, and I realized that she’d been right. I did need to start moving forward. I needed to practice at being in control. If flirting harmlessly with strangers would get me closer to feeling normal again and get me to stop stumbling over the triggers of my trauma, then I wanted to try. I wanted to feel in control, and I wanted to enjoy my sexuality again. I hadn’t actually planned on doing the assignment like she asked, but I wanted to test it out now. I wasn’t going to let Pick continue to rule my life.

  “I didn’t take you for a player,” the cash counter said, while raking his eyes up and down my pale skin.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. If I was going to try out flirting with someone, who better than a guy stuck behind an inch-thick partition? “I dabble,” I said with a mischievous grin, leaning even closer and cocking a hip.

  He eyed me appreciatively and took his time while placing the cash in the counting machine. It wasn’t the quick count it had been with Godfrey. With me, he wanted to make the transaction last. I licked my lips, knowing full well the effect it had on men. Pick had told me numerous times that my lips were one of his favorite part
s of me.

  “Can you keep a secret?” I whispered while leaning even closer as he took the cash and started slowly counting out chips for me. “I’m really good. Can’t wait to hustle the fuck out of that asshole over there,” I teased while nodding in Godfrey’s direction. I knew he was watching me. I could feel it. His eyes were like burning embers on my spine, warming me with an awareness of him and drawing me near.

  The light turned green, showing the amount, and the man continued to prepare my tray while stacking the chips up with care. Someone else had lined up behind me, but the counter didn’t care. When he handed me the tray, he made sure to brush his fingers along mine. “Give ’em hell, beautiful,” he said in a husky voice.

  “That shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve spent so much time there, I know just how to deliver it.” Winking, I walked away with an extra sashay to my steps, feeling emboldened by a little harmless flirting that I initiated. I could do this. I could switch up the game, call the shots, and use my body to my advantage instead of resenting it.

  “What the fuck was that?” Godfrey asked when I got to him, his face pulled into a frown. A pianist was playing in the background, making the elite club have a swanky vibe.

  “Just testing something,” I replied with a shrug.

  “Testing what?”

  Letting out a sigh, I observed the room again before responding. “How I can take back a bit of control.”

  Godfrey seemed to understand, but he wasn’t impressed. If anything, his eyes took on a heated intensity that made me shiver. Godfrey would get people to lose control. To recklessly abandon their masks, while he watched with a smile and a hard-on.

  He lifted his hand up and brushed his thumb along my lips, making me freeze in place. It was such a small touch, but somehow, I felt it everywhere. I had no idea how the hell he affected me so much.