Tame: A High School Bully Romance (Savannah Heirs Book 2) Page 8

  “Control is an illusion,” he said, his eyes watching where his finger touched me.

  Once I blinked away the haze of his touch, I bristled at his words and jerked my head away, making his hand drop back down. “And you can see through the illusion, huh?” I challenged, hating his arrogance.

  “I see through everyone eventually,” he replied coolly. “It’s better that way.”

  “What way?”

  “To not be fooled by the masks. You’ll be a lot less disappointed if you expect everyone to be the selfish liars that they are.”

  The cynical way he thought was fascinating to me. I agreed with him, not that I’d say so. I regarded him for a moment longer, before a cocktail waitress came by, slipping a tray of drinks down in front of us and breaking the moment.

  I grabbed a champagne flute while maintaining eye contact with him. Our stare down felt like another game, and this was one I wanted to win. Godfrey grabbed his own drink, and the waitress walked away, leaving us alone again. “You know, princess, the next time you want to flirt with someone, I’d be more than willing to let you test out your little experiment of control on me,” Godfrey said quietly before taking a slow sip, his eyes locked on mine.

  I smiled. “I think there are other, more fun ways that you and I could experiment, Godfrey,” I replied, my voice sultry as I took a sip and broke eye contact. I might have ended the stare-off first, but I’d won this round. The evidence was in the not-so-subtle way he had to adjust his pants.

  We sipped our drinks in silence as we waited for the game to start, each of us watching the room. It had been a while since I’d played poker, and I found my adrenaline spiking at the anticipation. I used to give all of Dad’s men a run for their money. I could clean a table better than most because people underestimated me and because I was good at reading people. Maybe that was why I was drawn to Godfrey so much. We had that in common. While everyone else enjoyed the ambiance of the underground club, Godfrey and I were cataloging people’s weaknesses.

  “See that guy over there?” I asked while nodding towards the chief of police who’d followed us in. “He’s cheating on his wife.”

  Godfrey rolled his eyes before taking another sip of his drink. “So? Most men here are.”

  “Yeah, but his boyfriend is the mayor’s assistant, who is currently cozying up with one of his deputies,” I replied with a smirk while nodding to the opposite side of the room. A man with a dark purple suit jacket was standing there, chatting up another guy, but he kept giving taunting glances to the chief, whose wife was hanging all over him. The chief looked stuck and jealous as hell, and he kept touching his belt buckle. He was far too outwardly agitated. “He touches his belt. That’s his tell.”

  I could tell that Godfrey didn’t want to be impressed, but he was, mentally adding that little observation to his never-ending list of secrets about the people of Savannah, Georgia. I had no doubt in my mind that Godfrey excelled at poker. He was a betting man, and he thrived on playing games, but he was also the most observant person I had ever met. Maybe I could pick up on the dirt of a few here and there, but him? Godfrey was probably a mastermind for this.

  It wouldn’t surprise me. Dad had told me about Godfrey’s side jobs—how he helped his father destroy evidence, blackmail witnesses, and let criminals go free. He might hate his dad, but I wasn’t convinced that he was any better. They both wanted to know everyone’s dirty laundry and use it against them somehow. Godfrey was just hiding that desire behind a blasé attitude and a superiority complex.

  When the start of the game was finally called, drinks were put away, waitresses made themselves scarce, and even the pianist started playing on the quietest keys. Everyone took a seat at their designated table, and I noticed that more than one person gave Godfrey a sneer, obviously angry at his presence. Godfrey ignored them all as he rested an arm against the armrest of his chair, his shirtsleeve still rolled up to show off his muscular forearms.

  As for me, I was the only woman at the table, not to mention the youngest. I got a mixture of looks, some of them lusty, some of them confused. But all of them had one thing in common. They took in my long blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a white sundress with scars on my arms, and they dismissed me completely as a non-threat.

  I had to bite on the inside of my cheeks to fight a smirk. Let the games begin.

  Chapter Eight

  Godfrey

  The suede chair I was sitting on kept squeaking as I moved. This wasn’t my first time at the club, so I instantly knew that this seat was given to me on purpose. I had half a mind to request a new one, but that was what they all expected. So instead, I kept still, something I’d been struggling to do since the day I was born. I was a fidgeter. I’d spent my entire life tapping my foot and gritting my teeth. Sometimes I chewed gum to keep the momentum going, but I didn’t have any on me. The slightest movement made that annoying squeaking sound echo throughout the room, louder than the light pianist playing, so I had to be careful.

  Every time I made any little movement, Rachel smirked at me. She thought she had me all figured out, and I made plans to use that against her. Maybe the chair would be useful after all. I could make the noise purposely just to throw her off my trail if the moment called for it. I was pretty good at using a person’s perceptions of me against them.

  Rachel had the seat right across from me, and I took full advantage of the view. I wasn’t blind; I knew that she was a pretty girl. She must have taken my advice to heart about her dress, too, because those perky tits of hers were on full display. I stared at the delicious curve of her cleavage for a good minute, before realizing that there was a game to be played. If she noticed or resented my shameless staring, she didn’t show it. I didn’t understand yet why some things bothered her and some things didn’t. I wanted to know why she barreled headfirst into a panic attack sometimes, and why other times, she could send out a flirty smile or be bold enough to grab my dick and squeeze my balls. It kept me wondering how she’d react next, and I didn’t like how invested I’d become in her reactions.

  I sat next to the chief of police, and just like Rachel noticed, he kept eyeing his little lover boy in the corner, touching his belt buckle every time his boyfriend chuckled and touched the chest of the other deputy. The chief had it bad, and he looked like a jealous dog that had his favorite chew toy taken away. I shook my head in disgust. That’s why I didn’t do relationships; the world was a poker table, and everyone was always looking for weaknesses.

  The dealer dealt out our hands, and I looked at my cards with ease. Fifty percent of the game was what the deck dealt you, and the other fifty percent was what people thought the deck dealt you. I had three kings; all I needed was a pair for a full house.

  Next, to me, the chief studied his cards and tapped the corner of them on the table. On my other side was some rich asshole named Carter Rothson who liked playing stocks and hiring alleyway hookers—the dirtier, the better. He didn’t know shit about poker, and he didn’t care. He was always glancing at his watch, like the only reason he was here was to show his face and do closed-door dealings with the other rich assholes. I hadn’t seen him win once, and I’d been coming here for years, ever since Mrs. Salvador struck a deal with the organizers. She houses the activities in exchange for a cut. She was good at precisely two things: real estate deals and getting high. Her business dealings let her do both.

  “I thought these games required a certain caliber,” Carter said while eyeing Rachel. “Didn’t realize they let just anyone in to play these days.”

  If Rachel was bothered by his words, she didn’t show it. Something told me that she was used to men underestimating her. “This could be good for you, Rothson,” I began. “You might actually win a game for once.”

  Around me, everyone snickered, and because my eyes were traitorous bastards, my gaze unwillingly flickered back to Rachel, finding her eyes on mine, but she wore an inscrutable expression that even I couldn’t read.

  I
hadn’t quite figured out her tell yet, either. In the hospital, she would scratch at her arms where the phantom track marks aligned on her porcelain skin. But I wasn’t so sure that that was her giveaway. This girl had been keeping me on my toes since the moment I met her.

  I glanced at the man sitting next to her, and he had his eyeballs so deep in her cleavage that I had half a mind to reach over and slam his skull into the table. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so...protective about this chick, but I didn’t usually make a habit of questioning myself. I followed my gut about people. I got that talent from my fucker of a father. He might be an abusive, lying, crooked bastard, but he was also a damn good lawyer. He knew how to figure people out and then squeeze until they went dry. He knew who he could use and who could be useful. He trusted his gut, and so did I.

  When Rachel straightened her deck before fanning them out again in her hand, her eyes flicked over the table, taking everyone in. When her blue eyes landed on me, catching me observing her, a flush of pink popped up on her cheeks. I knew I was staring too long at her blue eyes, her plump lips, and the freckle on her collarbone, but I didn’t care. She was blushing something fierce, but I had a feeling it wasn’t about her hand. At least, not the hand that was holding her cards. No, that reaction was all about me. Which brought me right back to the memory of how her hand had reached over and grabbed my junk in the car. I hadn’t even cared that my balls still ached. My dick appreciated the attention. Hell, it was still half hard.

  But the last thing I needed was to stick my cock in a broken girl with a fucked up head and a gang still after her.

  Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

  Fuck. I needed to get laid.

  Bets were raised. The song and dance were played. I got into a groove, matching the intensity of those around me while taking in the spectacle. I didn’t do metaphors and shit, but Savannah, Georgia, was its own goddamn poker table, and everyone was trying to win against everyone else.

  Carter Rothson folded, looking like a pouty bitch when he crossed his arms over his chest and glared. I guess even with Rachel playing, he wouldn’t be winning tonight. He looked like the kind of man that felt entitled to a win but didn’t want to work for it. I knew enough about him to know that his mama and daddy handed the guy everything on a silver platter, including that Lamborghini currently parked with the valet.

  Rachel smiled, obviously pleased that the whiney asshole was down for the count. And fuck if it didn’t look mischievous and sexy as hell. Her white teeth were digging into that plush mouth of hers like she wanted to bleed all over the damn table, puncture her pout with pleasure for the whole world to see. Naturally, aside from chief, who was tugging at his belt like it had personally offended him, I wasn’t the only one that noticed the little show my girl was putting on. The entire table was at her mercy, and I fleetingly wondered if that was her tell. Overcompensating for a lousy hand with her banging body that oozed sex appeal.

  No. That wasn’t her tell. She was just trying to feel in control again.

  Bets were raised. I slipped more chips forward, despite knowing my hand was probably mediocre at best. I wanted to see how far she’d take it, see how much she’d dance along the line. One by one, people folded, but not her. She kept her ground with me, squirming in her seat and brushing her clavicle. My eyes were glued to every moment, and when it came time to stay in or fold, I started fidgeting, making my chair squeak like a motherfucker.

  Rachel’s eyes zeroed in, brightening with triumph.

  Ah, there it was. Her tell.

  Those bright blue eyes couldn’t hide their joy even if she’d tried. It was blinding, beautiful. It drew me in against my will, and if I didn’t have a stiff drink soon, I was going to lose it. “Careful, princess,” I began before waving a finger for a cocktail waitress. “You’re looking too excited.”

  Her face dropped a hair but not enough. “Maybe I have a reason to be excited,” she replied smugly.

  A cute cocktail waitress stopped by to drop off a drink. I’d seen her around here before. Hell, I’d even fondled her twelve thousand dollar tits. I was about eighty percent sure that her name was Trix. She bent over to hand me a drink, brushing those two globes of silicone perfection against my chest as she pulled back.

  Rachel’s eyes flamed at the contact. Another tell, this time telling me nothing about the cards and everything about how she viewed the woman currently rubbing her body against mine. I wasn’t sure why I liked the storm brewing in those blue eyes, but I did. She was jealous, and it made me elated.

  Grabbing the waitress around the waist, I stopped her before she could leave with my empty glass. “Hey, Trix, kiss for good luck before you go?” I asked while quirking my lip up with a sly smile. It didn’t take much effort to get what I wanted.

  As expected, Trix giggled and bent over, giving me a smooch on the lips and smearing her pink lipstick along my mouth as she lingered there. She tasted like an ashtray, but I wasn’t really in the kiss for pleasure. This was for research.

  Once she had straightened up and walked away, I looked back across the table. The storm in Rachel’s eyes had become a hurricane of anger. I smiled, jolting her out of the angry stare down she was currently having with my mouth. “We going to play?” she asked. “Or did you want to go fuck the waitress in the bathroom before you fold?”

  I looked down at my cards once more, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. “The bathroom is so unsanitary, Rachel,” I said with a tsk before picking up a chip and rolling it between my fingers. “There’s a liquor storage room that Trix prefers. More room to stretch out.”

  “Lovely,” she replied scathingly.

  Yep, lovely indeed. Get mad, princess. I was hard as a rock, and it was fucked up, but it felt so damn good I didn’t care.

  I watched her for a moment longer, thinking back to the wad of cash she’d stolen from the warehouse. I still didn’t know what her angle was. I wasn’t sure if she was just trying to get back at Rocco, or if it was something else. Not that the shithead didn’t deserve her anger, because he did. She had every right to hate him for her kidnapping. Who knows what fucked up shit JJ’s people did to her. But like I said, I wasn’t her therapist, and I sure as shit wasn’t her friend. I wasn’t interested in watching her break or hide. But I was interested in something else. I was interested in seeing her pick up her broken pieces and stand in all her shattered glory. Despite what she’d been through, I wanted to see her blow up, and fight, and win.

  Which is why, even though I was almost positive that she had a shit hand, I found myself saying, “Fold.”

  Surprise flashed over her features, but the dealer called it, making her the winner for the round. Everyone grumbled, obviously pissed that this girl walked in on their territory and took their money from them. They were used to me doing it to them, but I came from a prominent, respected family. Rachel Nomar? She was a gang princess, which meant they looked at her like she was the soles on their shoes. Necessary to boost them up but inevitably beneath them.

  It wasn’t until round three that I had her figured out. For me, that was a long time, and I’d had to run through a few tricks to get it. Sometimes, you have to fold a winning hand to play the long game. And for me, the long game was about so much more than just money.

  Chapter Nine

  Rachel

  I left the club with a fat stack of legit cash and a bit more of my pride intact. I didn’t give a fuck that the pretentious bastards at the club looked at me like some sort of hustling tramp. I’d won, and it felt damn good to feel like I’d bested men that made a living out of stepping on others to get ahead.

  If Godfrey didn’t like that I’d sweeped him at poker, he didn’t show it. The bastard was almost gentlemanly, keeping quiet as I internally gloated. We walked through the curtain, and he placed a hand on my lower back, guiding me back into the elevator, back to the main floor of the club, and then through the crowd of the bar with ease. But as soon as we made it to a q
uiet corner, he removed his hand. Like touching me somehow burned his skin.

  “Your daddy teach you how to play?” he finally asked while scanning the crowd, likely looking for Luis.

  “Yeah. Been clearing wallets since I was twelve,” I answered honestly, pride seeping through my words as I spoke with confidence. If he was impressed, he didn’t allow me to see it.

  He must have spotted Luis, because he nodded at someone, though I couldn’t see who across all the dancing bodies. He turned to me and said, “Stay here,” before stalking through the crowd towards the bar.

  I watched his back, partly jealous of the close knit relationship he had with the other Heirs. I’d never really gotten close to anyone aside from Beau. Even in school, I didn’t really have friends. I had people I hung out with, but it never went beyond walking the hallways together from math to history. Dad’s business required a certain air of secrecy, which meant I couldn’t let people get too close.

  I hadn’t ever invited other girls over for sleepovers, although that was more for their safety than it was for mine. I always knew there was a chance there could be a police raid, or worse, a rival gang could show up at our house, guns blazing, so I hadn’t risked it. It was a bit lonely, and it had irked me when other people got invited to parties on weekends while I was left out. But it was just as well. I was usually at another warehouse somewhere anyway, adding dyes to my dad’s machines while he brought pizza and taught me the importance of staying in our own circle.

  Besides, I didn’t want anyone knowing who my dad was or what he did for a living. And if anyone did know who he was, they stayed far, far away. No one at my school really noticed when I went missing. No one cared when I didn’t return. I craved friendship and a sense of camaraderie, but I was never going to find that inside those halls, and now, it was too late anyway. It was too dangerous for me to go back and finish up senior year.