The Villain

“That’s why you’re not her. Why she’s married to a billionaire and you’re running a strip club,” Cillian said dispassionately, his yellow-rimmed hawk eyes scanning his cards.

“Madame Mayhem is a respectable institution. Burlesque is not the same as stripping, assface.” Belle blew a raspberry.

“I do love burlesque,” Devon groaned, shifting in his seat.

“You’d love genocide if Emmabelle did it,” Kill deadpanned.

“Stakes?” Sam asked around a lit cigarette. “Not that I’m not entertained by watching you all bickering like a flock of old hens.”

“Same as always,” Kill said.

“Like hell they are. Not everyone at this table can afford throwing a bunch of money on a poker game.” Belle slapped her cards over the table. “I’m not playing for thousands of dollars.”

“We can play for less,” Sailor suggested mildly.

“Or strip poker.” Hunter grinned.

“Unfortunately for Emmabelle, strip poker would also put her at a point of disadvantage, considering she’s wearing nothing more than a napkin.” My husband threw another jab at my sister.

Belle wore a flimsy mini dress, but dousing the argument between them seemed counterproductive. Besides, did he really think I’d let him talk to Belle like that?

“Cillian,” I warned pointedly. “Please.”

“You’re an asshole.” My sister darted up on her feet, pointing at Kill.

“And you’re stating the obvious.” Kill yawned, ignoring me. “How about we make this interesting? The stakes stay the same as always, seeing as you’re the only broke person at this table. If you lose, I’ll foot the bill. And if I win,” Kill paused, puffing his cigar smoke in her face, his taunting eyes holding my sister’s, “I get what I want from you.”

My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach with a thud that reverberated inside my body. The green claws of jealousy wrapped around my neck.

He wanted something from Emmabelle.

Why wouldn’t he? She was the interesting, worldly, firecracker one.

What was he after?

Her body?

Her heart?

I stiffened, focusing on my breaths, telling myself not to kill him. Not now. Not yet.

“And what is it that you want from me?” Emmabelle asked slowly, lowering herself back to her seat.

“The most precious gift of all,” Cillian said. “Silence. More specifically, if I win, you will stop treating my wife like a helpless lamb I’m about to annihilate. I hear and see everything. You’re not giving my marriage a fair chance. You badmouth me every step of the way. It is disrespectful to Persephone, and it stops today. That applies to you, too.” He pinned Sailor with a glare. “Same stakes. Same terms. Either of you win—you get the money. I win—I pay your debt, and in return, you hop off the Cillian is Satan train. If my wife wants to ride it, she’ll buy her own ticket and travel solo.”

Belle and Sailor exchanged glances.

Since when did Kill care what anyone thought of him?

“Are you saying what you have is real?” Sailor probed.

“I’m saying what we have is ours,” he countered. “It’s between Persephone and me. Didn’t hear any objections when Sailor was on babysitting duty to make sure Hunter’s dick wasn’t going on a world tour in their shared apartment.” Kill gestured to his younger brother. Hunter winced.

When Sailor and Hunter fell in love, we all knew he was a playboy yet still supported their relationship. Kill had a terrible reputation, but so far, he proved himself to me more than Hunter did to Sailor before they went steady.

“I’m a good poker player.” Belle bowed a silky eyebrow.

She wasn’t good. She was the best. And she knew it.

“Me too,” Sailor said.

Kill smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”

Fifteen minutes later, everybody was engrossed in the game. Sailor, the most competitive woman on the planet, kept wiping at her brow every time she pulled a card. Belle refused to lose focus, not taking part in the conversation in the room. My husband lounged in his chair, his body language bored and lax, occasionally throwing an idle remark about the stock market, which Hunter and Devon discussed at length.

“So. You want a divorce.” His smooth baritone trickled deep into my body. He picked up our conversation from the afternoon when I asked him to set me free if he was going to continue ignoring me.

“If I’m destined for a life chasing after my husband begging him to get into bed with me, then yes, I want a divorce. You never should’ve married me if you don’t find me attractive.”

“I do find you attractive.” He frowned at a card he drew from the pack, businesslike. “The problem is I find you too attractive.”

“I’m confused,” I said even though I was anything but. I just wanted him to tell me something reassuring. Boost my shattered ego.

“So am I. Every time I look at you. Which is why I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I have needs.” I shook my head.

“And I have skills,” he quipped back, putting his cards down, picking an orange chip and tapping it on the oak surface. He dropped one arm under the table casually. A moment later, his heavy, hot hand settled on my inner thigh.

My breath hitched. I wore an off-shoulder emerald-green dress that barely reached my knees. He hiked his fingers up until his hand nestled in the crook between my thigh and groin.

“Your move, Kill.” Sam threw one of his cards into the pile.

My husband pushed a stack of chips to the center of the table. The players looked around, gauging each other’s reaction. Kill took the opportunity to graze his fingers over the cotton of my panties, nudging the fabric sideways.

He trailed two fingers over my exposed slit, exploring lazily, teasing my flesh without entering me. I shuddered, feeling my nipples hardening.

Belle frowned at her cards. “He’s bluffing. I raise.”

She dragged more chips to the center of the table.

“So brazen with other people’s money.” Kill smiled idly.

“I’m always brazen,” Belle corrected. “But when it comes to putting assholes in their place, I’m also gleeful about it.”

“I fold.” Sailor tossed her cards, wincing at my sister. “Sorry. You know it physically hurts me to lose.”