Emma hit the blinker to turn in the short driveway of her little white A-frame house, daydreaming of her cozy bedroom, only to sigh when she spotted Ben’s car already parked at the curb. She should’ve guessed that he would be looking for her after last night, but she’d hoped that confrontation might come later. Her slumber on Damien’s couch had been so restless that a two- or three-hour nap sounded divine right now.

As she got out and locked her car with a chirp, she clearly saw through Ben’s car window that he was asleep himself, his seat reclined. He’d probably driven over here drunk, something else to ream him about. For a moment, she was tempted to leave him there and go inside, but she couldn’t hold this in any longer. Marching over, she pounded on his window to wake the dead.

Ben jerked to consciousness, sending her a baleful glare through the glass before popping open his door and unfolding his tall frame with a stretch. “Late night, sister?”

“At work. I slept at the office,” she said shortly. “What’s your excuse?”

He ignored the question. “Didn’t realize you have a bed at your office.”

“A couch. And how would you know? Have you ever been in my office?” She put a finger to the corner of her lips in a mock gesture of pensiveness. “Oh, wait. There was that time you did visit upstairs. You could’ve dropped in on me then, I suppose, but you didn’t.”

Her brother straightened his denim shirt and then rubbed at the back of his neck, wincing. “Fuck, my neck hurts. Do you have any coffee?”

Emma wanted to refuse, to send his ass packing because, despite everything she had to say, she was finding it difficult to look at him right now. He was so careless. Hell, why shouldn’t he be? He’d been handed everything his entire life. Everything he owned had been given to him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Are you totally oblivious?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You. Players. Last night.”

He waved a hand dismissively and began walking toward her front door, leaving her no choice but to follow. “That was nothing, Em. Don’t blow it out of proportion.”

“So help me God, Benjamin, if you go to Mom and Dad for money again—”

“Nobody’s going to Mom and Dad for money. Calm down.”

She elbowed her way in front of him and snatched her keys from her purse before jamming one into the lock and giving it a ferocious twist. “Yeah, yet. You know you’ve tapped them out.”

“Seriously, where were you last night?” he asked as they entered her living room to Bentley’s happy yapping. Despite everything going on, she had to stop and scoop up her little black Chorkie, loving on him in apology for leaving him alone all night. Even Ben walked over to give the dog a scratch under the chin, but Bentley’s lip drew back to bare his needlelike teeth as he growled at him. “Little asshole.”

“Don’t call him that.”

Ben turned and strolled toward her kitchen, rubbing his shaggy dirty-blond hair. “Dog’s a little asshole, Em.”

Yeah, well, so are you. Emma set Bentley’s feet on the hardwood floor and followed her brother, shoving in front of him at her counter so he wouldn’t make a colossal mess at her Keurig. “Get back. I’ll do it.”

“Sor-ry. Jesus.” He backed away and sat at her bistro table. “I would think you’d be in a better mood. You obviously made the walk of shame this morning, no matter what you say.”

“For the record, no, I did not, but it wouldn’t be your business if I did. And you and I need to have a serious talk.”

“Not now, Em. You don’t know how my head is pounding.” He put his elbows on the table and rubbed at his temples.

“Oh, I have an idea.” She spooned coffee into the little filter, then waved the utensil threateningly at him. “I don’t want you coming around there anymore. Not tonight, not ever. Understood?”

“How’d you know I was going tonight?”

“I work there. I can find out what I want.”

“Did Larson tell you? Holy shit, Emma. Are you fucking him?”

“No!” she cried, fumbling the filter and nearly dropping it before she could get the lid snapped on. The very thought was so preposterous and . . . and . . . “This isn’t about me! This is about you. I don’t want you mixing with Damien, Ben. For all our sakes.”

“I can beat that asshole.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you’re down thirty grand? Is that why he has three bracelets already, because you can beat him? You’re good, Ben, but he’s a shark. You are out of your goddamn mind if you think you can beat him. Let it go.”

Ben’s bleary eyes narrowed on her. “You sure know a lot about him and think a lot of him to not be screwing him.”

“I work for the man. I know what he’s like. I’m not sleeping with him.”

They fell silent while first one and then another cup of coffee finished brewing. Bentley nosed through his food bowl before bounding out his doggy door into the fenced backyard, and Emma wished she could follow him into the sunny morning and away from this conversation. Instead, she brought two mugs to the table and sat with her brother. Reaching across, she grabbed both his wrists before he could pick up his mug, staring him in the eyes. “Listen to me. Stop this. Right now. You were doing so incredibly well. You had it under control.”

“I always have it under control,” he snapped, pulling away from her, leaving her hands limp on the tabletop. “And I don’t need your lectures, Auntie Em.”

It was what he always called her when she was riding his ass, but right now she was raw, and it chafed more than it usually did. “Then get the hell out of here, because a lecture is all you’re getting from me today. And, by the way. I’ll be there tonight. Upstairs. Sitting right there, watching as you ruin yourself. If you go after tonight, I’ll be there then, too. I’ll be there every damn night waiting to see if you show up, if I have to be. I’m not letting you do this again. Not to me, not to Mom and Dad.”

“Why does every fucking thing I do have to be about you or Mom and Dad? The world doesn’t revolve around y’all, and I don’t either.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear, but I know where you go when the enforcers are after you.”

“No one’s after me.”

“Yet.”

“If you want to spend your life worrying about shit that hasn’t even happened, go ahead. But I’ll be out living mine.”

“You do that,” Emma said coldly. “Push everyone away. See how far you get. Why are you even here, anyway? You had to know this was coming.” He probably needed money already, and now he couldn’t ask. Or he simply knew there would be free coffee at her house.

Ben sat silently for several minutes, slowly twirling his cup. “I didn’t think you worked that late,” he said at last, obviously not intending to answer her question.

“I usually don’t. I was onto something important. Turned out . . . well, it wasn’t as important as I thought it was.”

“Like what? I’d love to get something on Larson.”

“What is this vendetta you have against him?”

“No vendetta. But I’ve studied him. His tournaments are all on YouTube, you know. He has tells like everyone else. He isn’t indestructible. I can take him apart.”

“Like you did last night?”

“Last night I was a little off my game, but I’ll get it back. I swear, Em. I know how to beat him.”

“How did you even find out about his room?” She’d never told a soul.

“People talk at other rooms.”

An uneasy idea twisted through her mind. “Ben, no matter how bad this gets, don’t you dare roll on him.”

To her relief, he scoffed and shook his head. “I’d never be allowed in another room in this city if anyone found out I did that.”

True. If only there were some other way for Ben to get blacklisted, Emma would be all for it, but Players getting raided wouldn’t be good for anyone. Rumor had it Damien had connections that would ensure it never happened. Whatever that meant. The less she knew, the better off she was. She asked no questions. She did her job and went home.

Except for tonight. How had Damien put it? The belly of the beast. If Ben was going in, then she was going, too. She was the only one who might be capable of pulling him from its jaws again. Their entire family depended on it.

* * *

“You’re not wearing that, are you?”

Liz’s exclamation greeted Emma as she left her bedroom, and she stopped dead and looked down at herself. “What’s wrong with it?”

Sitting on the living room couch holding a glass of wine, her best friend waved a manicured hand down the length of Emma’s body. “You’re wearing pants. You’re showing no skin.”

“I’m not going for the nightclub. I’m avoiding it at all costs.”

“You’re not going for work, either. And what’s wrong with the nightclub?”

Nothing was wrong with the nightclub, except for all the beautiful girls in their shrink-wrap dresses grinding on frat boys; the alcohol, the throbbing music. That wasn’t exactly her style. Emma shook her head, heading for the kitchen and contemplating a glass of wine for herself. Her stomach was in knots. Whether it was the thought of Ben ruining himself further or being in the presence of her boss again, she wasn’t sure. Both.

Liz, privy to the entire sorry affair, said, “Maybe if you look hot enough, you’ll throw Damien off his game. You can be Ben’s secret weapon.”

Emma hooted with laughter at that, taking a wineglass down from the cabinet. “Not likely.”

“You are way too hard on yourself. Come in here.” Liz stood and walked to Emma’s bedroom, carrying her own glass.

“Liz—”

“Hush. Come. Now.”

Sighing, Emma abandoned her task and followed her former college roomie, dreading the impending assessment. Her closet was in a sorry state. Aside from work clothes, she was a jeans and T-shirts kinda girl. Liz wouldn’t approve of a single thing she owned.

It only took Liz three minutes to figure that out. “We’re going to need to swing by my place,” she announced, thumbing through a sea of neutral colors.

“No. That isn’t necessary.”

Liz stepped back and shook her blonde head. “You drive me crazy. Here you’ve been blessed with this glorious red hair, and you insist on toning it down. Just once I’d love to see you in knock-out green. Or purple. Hell, at this point I’d settle for black.”

“I like what I like, Liz. Leave me alone.”

“What you like isn’t going to get you laid.”

“I’m not trying to get laid. I’m trying to stop my idiot brother from ruining my family.”

“It hasn’t occurred to you that getting laid might be the key to that?”

Emma stared wide-eyed at her friend. “Are you suggesting I sleep with Damien Larson to clear my brother’s debt? Who are you right now?” Except that she knew. Liz was Liz, and she loved her even if she did have some crazy ideas.

“You said he was hot. It sounds win-win to me.”

“He is hot. That’s beside the point. He’s . . .” Emma trailed off, wondering how to describe Damien. The devil was all that would come to mind. Beautiful. Tempting. Seeking whom he may devour. “He’s aptly named.”

Liz laughed at that. “At least let me doll you up. Please, Em? You can be a perfect angel tonight if you want, but I’d love to see you slay. I know you have it in you. Let’s go to my place.”

Some best friends might consider it a blessing to be the same size, but when two best friends’ tastes couldn’t be more opposite, and one best friend was pushy as hell, it could be a curse as well. Emma acquiesced at last, letting Liz drive her over to her apartment for a full makeover that she sat through grudgingly. Liz slipped her into a green sleeve of a dress that left Emma’s slender arms bare and her legs on full display. Strappy fuck-me heels followed, and she nearly drew the line, but Liz’s pout wasn’t to be denied. Then her friend came armed with a curling wand and enough Urban Decay palettes to paint the walls.

She sat through Liz’s dabbing, lining, and brushing, obeying all commands, struggling to keep her eyes from watering when Liz came in with the mascara and liner. Her friend had the patience of a saint, but this was her thing, and Emma so rarely let her do it.

The clock ticked later and later. It was getting close to nine. Ben might already be there. Just as Emma was getting ready to rush Liz along, she stepped back, flourished her brush, and proclaimed, “Ta-daaaaa!”

Only mildly curious, Emma stood and walked to the full-length mirror, almost dreading what she would see. But her mouth parted at the sight that greeted her. The girl staring back was a stranger, yes, an unrecognizable, smoky-eyed, redheaded siren. But she was . . . well, she didn’t look half bad. The green dress pulled out a similar hue in her hazel eyes and emphasized the fire of her hair, so her friend had been onto something there. She’d never thought she would describe herself as sultry, but that was the word that came to mind. Holy hell, she looked sultry.

Liz was more jubilant than Emma had ever seen her. She bounced to Emma’s side and fiddled with her hair. In her heels, Emma towered over her. “I love it,” Liz said. “Love it. Seriously, I wish I could go witness this.”

In the reflective glass, Emma watched her pink-glossed lips twist as she met her friend’s gaze. “I wish I didn’t have to.” She fiddled with one soft curl that lay in front of her bare shoulder. All the sultriness and contouring in the world couldn’t hide the worry shadowing her expression. “But you did a great job. Am I on fleek?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Sure. On fleek. Every eye in the room will be on you, that’s all I know.”

The only eye she was concerned about tonight was her brother’s, watching her disapproving scowl as he got his ass handed to him by her boss.