Luc lurches toward him, hands balled into fists at his side, and Thierry shakes his head, his eyes casting a warning. It reminds me of the day I had my sights set on that black wolf in the woods, the way it almost dared me to shoot it.
“You know the rules about bringing outsiders down here, Luc,” Thierry says, tossing a card off.
Good Lord, I wish the man’s voice didn’t send a twitch to my thighs, especially now, when I have to be sharp and serious.
“I want my knife,” I answer for him.
“I’m afraid we’re in the same circumstances as before, Miss James. Your blade is in my office, and unfortunately, you missed our meeting. I have neither the time, nor the inclination, to entertain your request now.”
“I had something come up. I didn’t intend to miss the meeting.”
With an air of boredom, he lifts his gaze to mine. “And I don’t intend to hear your excuses. Luc? Please show the lovely lady out.”
The all-too-feisty flare of stubborn will rises up into my throat, nearly choking me. “I’m not leaving without my goddamn blade.”
Clearly ignoring my protest, he lays down a card amongst the other seven, and while a few of the men shout in victory, he quietly sits back in his chair, lips kicked up to a snarl. One of the men hoards the chips in front of him, while Thierry pushes what’s left of his to the center of the table. Another man does the same, followed by a third, as if they now owe what was won in the last game.
Staring down at the chips, Thierry tips his head, and I’m really not liking the deviant glint in his eyes when his gaze meets mine. “I’ll tell you what, Miss James. I win this next round, I keep the knife for myself, and you don’t come back here. I lose? You get the knife and get to skip off on your merry little way.”
The man in front of us with the blue eyes snorts. “Take the bet, sweetheart. You’re sure to win that knife back with this one.” His gaze cruises over me, down to where my thighs peek out from the hem of my dress, and something darkens his eyes the longer he stares there. Scowling at his piggishness, I tug at my hem, drawing his attention away. His eyes find mine again, and the ominous expression that shadows them sends a chill up my spine.
Thankfully, Luc passes between us, breaking his stare, and the man turns back around.
Glancing around the table at all the other players, with their stacks of chips, I have to stifle a chuckle at Thierry’s offer. “It’s a deal.”
Thierry’s eye twitches, as if I’ve answered a little too eagerly and slapped him with insult. The next round of cards begins, and one of the men wins what Luc explains as a trick. The man beside Thierry wins another. Thierry wins one. Then another. The man beside Thierry wins a second. I don’t even realize I’m biting my nails while watching them play, until a zap of pain draws my attention to where I’ve bitten too much.
The cards are laid down on the table. From my vantage point, I can see the man in front of me has what I’ve picked up from observation as a trump card in this game. My stomach settles. He throws it down, and all the men look back at Thierry.
The black wolf, wearing his roguish grin, lays down an ace of the trump suit.
“Motherfucker!” one of the men shouts, pushing up from the table. “I’m out.”
And just like that, I’ve apparently lost my blade.
Gathering up all the chips, Thierry shoots me one of those smack-worthy, smug grins. Anger heats my cheeks, only adding to the burn of my humiliation.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Thierry says, pushing up from the table. “Luc? If you wouldn’t mind taking my place for a couple rounds.”
“You sure about dat, Cous’?” Removing his hat, he scratches his short-cropped patch of hair, eyes brimming with distress. “What if I lose all dis?”
“No matter now.” Eyes never once diverting from mine, Thierry rounds the table toward me in that liquid stride, and with a firm grip on my shoulder, he leads me out of the room.
Once in the hallway, he pushes me against the wall, crowding me.
Instincts flare, telling me to kick him in the balls, or duck beneath the arm he’s planted against the wall beside me, but instead,