Daring Devlin (Lost Boys #1) - Jessica Lemmon Page 0,4

squared were scraggly, their leafless arms clawing at the filthy windows. The formerly manicured home that had been my refuge for almost two years now looked more like a place I’d take the long way home to avoid.

Paul Wilson, chronic gambler, might not seem the best father figure, but since he was my dad’s gambling buddy (as close to a best friend as my dad ever had), he’d been the only one left to offer me a place to stay. Unlike my father, who gambled and scammed his way through most of his life, Paul had a career as an accountant. He was an honest one, as far as I knew. He and his then-wife gave me a place to stay when Dad died, and they let me stay even after I’d been busted gambling shortly after.

I was a good gambler, thanks to a fail-safe memory for facts and figures, but I hadn’t been so good at not flaunting my wins at the restaurant. Sonny quickly put a stop to my bad habit. If saving me had been a two-part plan, he was the other half of what Paul had started.

An interior light was on inside the house, and a shadow passed in front of it. It had to be Paul. Joyce had divorced him last year, and his son, Cade, was away at college. The only current resident of the Wilson place was the man who used to make sure he always had Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the kitchen cabinets for me. Sucked that I was here to squeeze money from him.

I knocked. “Paul!”

He knew better than to run from me when I needed a payment. And he was late. He hadn’t shown at Oak & Sage for a week. A week. He’d never been a week late before. I didn’t typically collect money in person. Sonny had guys who did that part of the job. Big guys with baseball bats. My job was maintaining the restaurant—my future—and acting as drop-off point for Sonny. There were a few reasons for this.

One, I owed Sonny a lot of money since my dad died indebted to him; and two, Sonny had stepped in and helped me run the restaurant when I’d been left in charge. He likely stepped in at first to ensure he’d get the money Dad owed him, but I liked to think I grew on him.

Either way, our paths merged, and bettors began frequenting Oak & Sage to place bets and meet with him. They still frequented, but the betting was now done via Sonny, and I played the role of collector in addition to owner. Since I was familiar with the business and had no need to write down who owed what, it worked out well for both of us. Plus, Sonny knocked a percentage off my dad’s debt for the exchange, which allowed me to make a profit while still paying what Dad owed.

That part was important. I didn’t want to owe anyone anything. If I ever had a kid, I wouldn’t want him to be responsible for my debt when I died.

Wet, chilled, and aggravated, I knocked again. Over the last several months, Paul’s demeanor had changed. It’d been a while since I’d seen him at “his” table, ordering the cordon bleu and peach iced tea, either dropping off a payment or picking up his winnings. Since Joyce left, he’d become more reclusive and had visited the restaurant less and less. Where he used to be a straitlaced numbers guy who enjoyed betting on sports more for fun than profit, now he reminded me of a twitchy chipmunk on the lookout for the neighborhood cat.

At first I thought he was depressed because of the divorce. His wife had left and, as far as I knew, hadn’t contacted him at all. Paul had mentioned she’d taken her dream job as a flight attendant, but I suspected she stayed in touch with Cade. Joyce was a great mom. She mommed Cade, she mommed me—and hell, I hadn’t even deserved it.

Now, though, I’d begun suspecting Paul was on the lam, or had developed a substance-abuse problem. I hoped it wasn’t the latter. The thought of the man I’d once admired throwing his life away for a hit made me sick.

I’d seen the decline of many a man in this business, my father included. Gambling had a way of dismantling lives piece by piece. Not surprising, considering that most bettors were degenerates to start with. Wasn’t like they had