Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) (5 page)

I
t was
the longest hour of her life as Jessie intermittently checked out the action at the pool table.

What had started as stilted conversation gradually eased into the relaying of pool-hall successes. Before too long, full-on banter had erupted – shared experiences and exploits, discussions of sport, drink preferences, their feats in other games they had played both in and outside the penitentiaries. Eden may have had a smart mouth, but he worked Pummel with an infectious charm, his easy composure clearly relaxing to be around, his smile appeasing to the point she couldn’t tell who was playing whom in the end.

But what the hell he was doing playing with Pummel at all was more forefront in her mind as she remained consumed by the anxious irritation that stilted her breathing and maintained the tense knot in the pit of her stomach. He’d ignored her advice. He’d made a mockery of her threat. And if Pummel decided to take an about-turn, their dark secret would be out – because there would be no other reason for Eden’s ability to take so long to die, let alone heal so quickly, other than from what was still in his system.

Then it would be over for him.

And any semblance of freedom she had left would be gone.

Ever since he’d walked in there, he’d been counting on her keeping her mouth shut. With every minute that passed, he knew it was becoming harder and harder for her to do anything to the contrary. He was silently cornering her – right under Pummel’s nose.

Clearly he either he had his sights set on working for Pummel and had no intention of being thrown off track
or
he had worked out what she had done for him and he was back for more. Neither option endeared him to her any more than his arrogance to reappear had. An arrogance she was fuelling by cowering in her chair at a safe distance.

There was only one way she was going to get him to rethink and that was by securing some doubt in him about her intentions. She’d see how much of that calm and collected exterior he’d maintain amidst the threat of possible disclosure at any point – maybe even create enough tension in him to make him break for air, subsequently giving her the opportunity to get him alone again.

And this time she’d be sure he’d take her seriously.

As usual, no one took any notice as she crossed the room to join them, as she perched on one of the low-backed bar stools lining the wall on the far side of the pool table, her back to the shelf of drinks. The others’ indifference to her presence was routine, but even Eden didn’t acknowledge her at first – something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Pummel.

When he finally had the sense to at least look in her direction, instead of it ruffling Pummel, it only seemed to appease him as Eden did so swiftly and nonchalantly.

Whether a part of his game-playing or genuine disregard, she couldn’t be sure, but a fragment of disappointment scraped through her.

‘Just so you’re clear, she’s out of bounds,’ Pummel said, as Eden moved around to her side of the table.

Eden glanced across his shoulder at her as he leaned over to take his next shot, but still avoided eye contact. ‘Ringlets?’ he asked, glancing back at Pummel whilst lining up his cue. ‘She’s not my type.’

Uttered with a heavy dose of sincerity, it was a metaphoric stab to her chest. Worse, far from being perturbed by her joining them, he took his shot without hesitation, smoothly pocketing another ball and finally winning the game. His aloofness caused a stirring deep in her gut, not helped by his proficiency.

‘Do you want to break this time?’ Eden asked Pummel, releasing the balls from their entombment as he instantly diverted the topic of conversation.

Seemingly, for now, Pummel was appeased. She knew she should have at least been grateful for that, but her unease was about far more than the threat of Pummel discovering what she had done. The knot in her stomach, the quickened pace of her otherwise naturally slow heartbeat as she watched Eden play, weren’t solely triggered by anxiety.

He played the second game as easily as he played the first, the cue naturally smooth in his hands, his precision impressive amidst carefully measured control and pressure.

Jessie lingered over the strength in his shoulders, the way his T-shirt pulled tight over his chest as he took each shot. His taut, flat stomach remained that way even as he leaned over the table, exacerbating the strength in his parted thighs, the curve of his tight behind. He expertly slid the cue back and forth between his strong and masculine spread fingers, the silver rings that he wore on his left hand – one on the thumb, the other on the middle finger – glinting in the overhead light along with the dial of the watch he wore on his right wrist. She watched the flexion in his biceps and powerful forearms, not least when he braced those arms like he was mid press-up to check by eye that the set-up was as aligned as it could be – eyes that were focused, meticulous, compelling. Even when he bantered between shots, it was always with a strategic and calculated eye on the table. And her presence did nothing to hamper that.

Eden Reece wasn’t just a game player – he was a very worthy opponent. An opponent who was using that pool table as a clever platform to show Pummel,
and
her, exactly what he was capable of when under pressure, when he was surrounded, when his life was hanging in the balance.

Eden Reece
was
trouble.
Serious
trouble. And she had allowed him into her world – a world she realised was about to get a hell of a lot darker when victory began going Eden’s way again, when Pummel subsequently whispered something in Homer’s ear, Homer instantly sloping off.

The exchange hadn’t gone unnoticed by Eden either. So when Pummel eventually won the next game after a couple of misaligned shots from Eden, she knew, as she had the feeling Pummel did, that Eden had let him win. And that was something that only gave Pummel even
more
drive to redeem his crown.

Only Pummel’s determination and focus meant he’d failed to notice Eden’s bottle creeping closer and closer towards her each time he’d placed it on the shelf. And with Homer gone, Chemist and Dice locked in conversation with a couple of others, and Pummel focused on his next shot, no one noticed that, when Eden retrieved his drink again, he did so coming in from behind her.

His proximity alone was enough to make her stomach clench, but when he discreetly glided his thumb across her lower back, a spark of electricity shot up her spine.

She dared not flinch despite her heart jolting. Heat rushed between her legs not only at his furtive and sensual acknowledgement, but that as well as being brave enough to do it in Pummel’s presence, he was adept enough to keep it from him.

He cleverly and timely pulled away just as Pummel looked up again, the con’s grey eyes narrowing as if he was questioning what he had seen amidst Jessie’s gaze not flinching from the table. Whether it was Eden’s arrogant attempt to taunt her or to show her the fallacy in his earlier indifference, the thrill of it made her blood pump. She took a steady breath and reminded herself to keep any reaction shielded from Pummel as Eden sauntered back over to the table to smoothly and successfully pocket his next shot.

The prospect that he had come back to see
her
hadn’t crossed her mind. Any possibility that he was interested in
her
for more than what she could do hadn’t occurred to her. But despite his touch throwing her off course for a second, even more than it had in the lock-up, she was instantly back on task, her heart sinking, when she looked across the room.

Just as she had suspected, sauntering three steps ahead of Homer, Tatum was on her way to join them.

As deadly as Mya, only with a mind of her own and an intelligence to go with it, Tatum wore the numbers on her arm with pride. Numbers that warned of the painful demise of the three men who had dared cross her in her past.

It was a cruel move on Pummel’s part, but a predictably strategic one. Newbies could use whatever façade they wanted, but get them between the sheets and it was a sure way to get to the true detail of who they were. If Eden’s previous behaviour – both with turning down Mya on the roof and his self-restraint with her in the lock-up – was anything to go by though, this wasn’t about to work in Eden’s favour.

But as Eden looked up only to be snagged by what he saw,
she now didn’t just have the threat of Pummel uncovering their secret – one session with the sadistic Tatum could do precisely the same.

Tatum’s strides were confident, her head held high, her full hips swaying in her tight jeans. Jeans low enough to show her hipbones, her pierced belly button and the dove of peace that ironically spread its wings over flesh curvy enough to differentiate her between a girl and a woman. Her cropped top, gold silk with thin spaghetti straps, hung loose on her slender shoulders, the deep plunge barely covering her small, braless breasts that sat high and firm beneath.

From the far side of the pool table, Eden raked her slowly with his gaze, his bottle poised at his lips. But just as her unease coiled into a fist of uncharacteristic and inexplicable jealousy,
he paused for only a moment longer before knocking back a mouthful. Placing the bottle back on the edge of the table, he leaned over to align his next shot.

As part of their usual routine, Tatum sashayed up to Pummel and lifted her five-foot-seven-inch stature from her flat, jewelled sandals to allow him to kiss her on the cheek. He was lord of the manor and she was lady – their connection purely professional, as was their shared understanding over Eden. Turning away from him again, she spread her arms along the end of the pool table.

‘What’s your new friend called, Pummel?’ she asked.

‘Eden,’ Eden answered, not looking up at her as he took his shot from the far end of the table. ‘And I’m more than capable of talking for myself.’ He stood upright, his gaze coolly meeting hers fleetingly before he moved around to the adjacent side of the table to take his next shot.

Pummel smiled, rubbed his jaw lightly with his fingers as he waited, as much as everyone else, to see what Tatum would do next.

Tatum bit into her bottom lip, her head tilted slightly to the side as she watched Eden bend over. And as she raked him with unashamed interest, accompanying it with a smile that told Jessie he’d already captured her attention in ways other than just another little job for Pummel, Jessie’s stomach coiled with more than jealousy – it coiled in possessiveness.

He was
her
find. He was
her
problem to deal with. A problem now increasing by the minute if he reciprocated Tatum’s interest.

Eden stood upright and strolled around the back of Tatum, collecting his bottle before heading back down to the far end of the table nearest Jessie.

As he took a mouthful of beer whilst contemplating his next shot, Tatum trailed her long nails along the mahogany edge on her way around to him, all the while drinking in every inch of him as he leaned over once again to align his cue.

This time he missed.

Tatum met him at the corner of the table, directly in front of Jessie, so close that Jessie could see every freckle scattered over the pale skin of her nose and cheeks, the blunt strands of her thick auburn bob sleek against her feminine, enviably well-defined jaw as her narrow hazel eyes gazed blatantly into his from under her low, fine eyebrows. Her full and sensual lips, as bare as her face aside from heavily made-up eyes, curled into a smile as she made full-on eye contact with Eden. ‘Sorry,’ she said, taking his bottle from him as she moved in closer. ‘Did I put you off?’

She caressed her lips with the bottle rim before tilting her head back slightly to consume a slow mouthful as she watched him from under half-dropped, black eyelashes that made her hazel eyes seem even paler.

‘And you are?’ he asked.

Jessie’s heart plummeted at the question as Eden squarely held Tatum’s gaze.

‘Tatum,’ she declared with a smile that didn’t vary whether she killed or seduced. Pressing her lips together, she passed the bottle back to him.

He didn’t even bother to wipe it before he took his own mouthful. His gaze dropped to her chest, to her hips. He even blatantly tilted his head to check out the jut of her behind – something that only made Tatum’s smile broaden.

It was the worst-case scenario:
she
was his type.

The sickness in the pit of Jessie’s stomach intensified. Her hands tightened on the wooden seat, the struggle to keep up the appearance of indifference, she was sure, slipping a little. She should have left, but like watching the ticking clock amidst the inevitable loss of a loved one, she felt helpless to watch on.

As Pummel moved in to take his own shot, Eden pulled away from Tatum to ease up onto the stool only two away from Jessie – his far enough forward for her to see the right side of his face.

‘You don’t have a lot to say for yourself,’ Tatum remarked, stepping between Eden’s spread thighs as Pummel reclaimed his lead in the game. She reached for his wrist, laying it out flat to expose his forearm. ‘But I like the quiet type. I think there’s something
very
sexy about a man who has nothing to prove.’

Brushing the leather of his watchstrap, her fingers were feather light on his skin as she ran the pads of them delicately up his arm, tracing the numbers. As her lengthy nails skimmed his skin, her spaghetti strap slid down her shoulder with the motion, partially exposing her breast to him. But she did nothing to rectify it as her eyes met his again.

Jessie’s jaw tightened as she watched through her shroud of hair, restraining herself from shoving Tatum away.

‘I bet you can make a man bleed with those,’ Eden said, glancing at her nails before knocking back another mouthful of drink.

And that was the problem: she would.

Tatum smiled again. ‘I can use them however you want,’ she said, releasing his forearm to slide both hands up his inner thighs, splaying her fingers dangerously close to his crotch as she leaned in to whisper something in his left ear.

He didn’t even flinch. Instead his smile was fleeting before he took another mouthful of beer, his cool dismissal only fuelling Tatum’s need for persistence – particularly when he placed his hands low on her hips only to move her away to take his next shot.