Cowboy Boots and Unadulterated Pleasures [Cowboy Boots 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (23 page)

“Two ten,” Crue corrected him.

“Fuck!” Brock screamed, noting Veronica taking Riley’s place.

“Problem?”

“Yeah, Sloane was supposed to be the in-between. Veronica can switch up the cards quickly and this game could be over in one hand now that Lorenzo is rattled.”

Crue turned to him. “And that’s a problem why?”

Brock shook his finger at Colt’s broken image on the screen. “Lorenzo’s little mind fuck played with his head.”

“He’s all right,” Crue assured him.

“Let’s hope so. If he isn’t and Veronica gets hurt, Sloane will go after everyone’s blood.”

“Who the hell did you fuck to get this gig?” Lorenzo asked, looking her up and down.

“Ah hell,” Colt muttered, running his hand through his hair. He was tired of playing cards. He was ready for some action. After he had been forced to listen to Kelly’s pleas for sex and more stimulating pleasure, the kind of pleasure brought to her by another man, he was pissed.

He wanted to reach across the table and strangle Lorenzo. Actually, strangulation was on the bottom of the list. He could think of better ways to kill him, to make him suffer. He couldn’t believe he’d sat there for this long without ripping him apart.

Now, when he wanted his blood more than he had in the previous hour, they’d brought in Veronica Remington.
Fuck
. And she looked as if she were ready to pop.
Double fuck
.

What other tricks did the Donovan brothers have up their sleeves, and why the hell were they placing a pregnant operative in the middle of a warzone? Last he’d heard, Veronica was on leave, working on raising a family.

This was one damned hell of a fucked-up situation. Now he had two women to watch!

Veronica patted the felt as if she’d been dealing cards most of her life. She dealt two cards to each player. Soon, they were playing hand after hand, nothing substantial happening.

With five minutes left on her shift, Veronica dealt the final cards. Her expression didn’t change. The only difference in the way she’d dealt this hand in comparison to others was that she turned and looked at Riley prior to dealing them.

As soon as Colt saw his hole cards, he saw the setup. Ace-king of hearts. With the flop, the community cards included a nine of clubs and an eight of clubs along with the queen of hearts. By the turn card, he could’ve called the hand. The turn would be a jack of hearts and the river would bring a ten of the same suit.

He should’ve been a gambling man.

Then again, not every poker player had the luxury of seeing Veronica Remington behind the table. Sloane entered maybe a second before Lorenzo went all-in, probably so convinced he had the hand won with his straight flush that he never saw the royal coming.

Colt took his time calling the hand, realizing once the cards flipped, the game was over and undesirable characters from all walks of life would pour out of the adjoining room. He focused on Riley. Then, his eyes met Sloane’s.

Neither man showed his emotions. By all accounts, Veronica was all-in, too. Her hair was all knotted up, topping her head in an unruly fashion. He’d wager a small fortune she’d used a sharp weapon to secure her fashionable style.

“If you’re all-in, turn them up,” Lorenzo demanded, tapping his finger on the felt.

“I’ll be happy to do just that,” Colt said, rising to his feet. “But first, I want Kelly out of this room.”

Lorenzo’s jaw twitched. “You aren’t too sure about your win then. Are you?”

“We had a deal, Lorenzo,” he said, glaring at Veronica then. “And the women dealers. I want them out of here, too.”

Lorenzo sniffed at that. Sloane’s lips curved in a slow smile, obviously satisfied with the deal made on behalf of his lady. Veronica, however, opposed. “It’s my game. My table. I’m not leaving until the clock strikes twelve.”

“Then I’ll wait two extra minutes and your replacement can take over,” Colt said, not about to be outdone by a woman with a baby to consider. He was looking out for her and her unborn child. One day she might thank him.

“Fine,” Lorenzo conceded. “The women dealers and Kelly can wait downstairs with my brother.”

Motioning for a man who’d stood in the corner since the poker game had begun, Lorenzo said, “I believe we’re in good shape here. Take the future Mrs. Molinelli to our favorite bar downstairs. The female dealers are free to go. They’re of no use to us now and the less they know, the better.”

The man disappeared in the bedroom and a few minutes later, Kelly emerged. Her face was ashen. She’d been crying again, but he could tell by the way she was walking where she’d hidden her weapon. She’d obviously attached the piece to the inside of her thigh and was having a difficult time concealing the gun. With her luck the pistol would drop to the floor about the time she walked through the door.

“Miss?” Sloane lifted Veronica’s chair and held out his arm to the left. “If you will please follow the other ladies.”

Veronica brushed by him. She didn’t say anything to Sloane, but she bit out something in passing as she walked by Riley, apparently determined to let someone know she wasn’t happy with the way things were ending.

Sloane looked at Colt. “Now, play your hand. I’m ready for the grand finale.”

Lorenzo studied Colt and then looked at Sloane. Had he caught the air of familiarity between the two men? Did he recognize him? Had Daniel ever spoken of the legendary Sloane Remington?

Colt touched the edge of his cards. Lorenzo held up his hand. He glared at Sloane, shooting daggers through the man with his angry gaze, the only visible piercing instrument in his possession.

“Once upon a time, there was a man named Gomez Gustavo Esparza.” Lorenzo spoke in a diabolical tone. “Do you remember him?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Sloane said, never moving a muscle.

Lorenzo leaned forward. A smile lifted his lips before he continued. “I was a small boy when my Uncle Gomez—you may have known him as Gus—took me under his wing and brought me to the States.”

Riley dropped his arms behind his back. His breathing had quickened and Colt caught a visible twitch in Sloane’s cheek. Fury lingered behind his tight façade of a cool demeanor. Any evidence of the earlier mischief Colt had witnessed when Veronica had been dismissed was long gone.

“I don’t know you or any Uncle Gomez,” Sloane bit out.

“Let me refresh your memory,” Lorenzo said, his upper lip curling. “Wilson Remington died on his front porch right in front of his sons. Benson Remington killed on his front lawn not long after his father was gunned down.” Lorenzo’s smile broadened and he extended his hand. “Perhaps a more formal introduction is in order. I’m Lorenzo Molinelli Esparza, one of two surviving nephews of Gomez Gustavo Esparza, the man responsible for your father’s and brother’s deaths.”

Riley drew his gun. Colt backed away from the table, reaching for a blade tucked in his boot, but Sloane grabbed Lorenzo’s offered hand and withdrew and opened a switchblade, slicing Lorenzo’s forearm from his elbow to his palm, bending his fingers back as he cursed under his breath.

Lorenzo gasped as the reality of his approaching death hit home with a spurt of blood exiting the wound. Lorenzo’s men rushed the room. Colt yanked the poker table forward, slamming the wood against Sloane in an effort to give him coverage until he regained his composure.

Riley pumped several rounds of bullets into his approaching attackers as Colt slung one open knife into a brute’s shoulder while retrieving another weapon from his belt.

By this time, the rest of their team had rushed the room. Brock Donovan and Kemper entered with their guns drawn. Crue and Gabe came inside the room pumping rifles like shotguns, marching like robots as they finished clearing the area.

When the smoke vanished, all heads turned to Sloane. He knelt beside Lorenzo and ripped away the jagged blade, leaving Lorenzo’s flesh torn and open, the gaping wound an apparent reminder of the hell Lorenzo’s family had once brought down on the Remington family.

Veronica rushed the suite and crumbled around him, holding his head to her chest as she rocked him back and forth whispering to him. Brock stalked across the room, opening and shutting doors before he turned to them and said, “Riley, clean up downstairs. We’ll take the brother back to Virginia for questioning.”

Colt glanced at Crue, who had never approved of Brock Donovan’s means of handling interrogations. “Don’t you mean ‘torturing’?”

Sloane rose to his feet and stalked Crue. “He had it right the first time.”

“Get this mess cleaned up,” Brock said, leaving the suite as if he’d just completed another day at any normal office job.

Colt’s eyes met Veronica’s. “Are you okay?”

“Considering you botched my job? I’d say the question of the hour is—are you okay?” She approached him with a limp and before he knew what had happened, she’d bent her knee and aimed for his crotch. He grabbed her upper body with one arm and secured her calf against his side.

“Pregnant or not, I won’t give you a free one there, sweet thing.”

Sloane sneered and Colt held his breath. He’d fully expected a war of words, but instead, Sloane grabbed Veronica’s hand and they immediately left the scene.

“What do you think will happen to Lorenzo’s brother?” Brand asked.

“I’d say there’s a good chance he’s already been shown the tunnels under the city,” Kemper replied, relaxing his shoulders.

“He won’t make it that far,” Colt said, walking to the door and looking down the hall. Sloane had departed as if he weren’t in any hurry. Now, he stalked to the elevator, dragging Veronica behind him. His body language suggested he was an aggressive operative in pursuit.

“Think Sloane will go after him?” Crue asked him.

“If the gun were in the other hand and you were in the grave? It would take a force stronger than Brock Donovan to stop me.”

“I would’ve rather had an enema than sit through that interrogation,” Kelly said, entering the suite a few hours later. Tossing her keys to the counter, she poured herself a glass of water at the wet bar. “I’m telling you an enema wouldn’t have left my ass this sore. I sat on a metal chair for nearly three hours while they grilled me.”

“What is it about your woman and enemas?” Brock Donovan’s voice rose above the television.

She froze in place. Her skin heated in about two seconds flat. Slowly, she turned to face her men—she didn’t know how long she could think of them as such, but for the time being, they were hers—and the Donovan brothers.

Riley smirked as Brock pointed at the sofa. “Come in and have a seat. Maybe your ass will be properly rewarded after while.” He swung his gaze at Colt then gaped at Crue. “On second thought, you might want to stand.”

“Ha. Ha,” Crue said. “Very funny.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Brock said.

“You want to talk about notoriety in the lifestyle?” Crue challenged him. “You’ve trumped me, man. Many times over.”

“We’re not here to whip ’em out and compare size,” Brock said, motioning for her to sit again. “I know you’ve already been questioned, but I need to know everything you told the boys in blue.”

“Tell me you didn’t stick around so I could punch the rinse-and-repeat cycle and go through the whole process again.”

“I did and you will,” he said, holding up an empty glass and tilting the rim at Brand.

“Stop the meeting,” Riley said. “The one with the God complex is thirsty.” A beat later, he added, “Brand, don’t wait on him hand and foot. He knows how to lift a bottle and he can get his own damned drink.”

Brock stormed to the bar and dropped three chunks of ice in his glass. Dousing the cubes with scotch, he returned to the large sitting area. By this time, Kemper had pulled Kelly’s body over his lap and Gabe was holding her legs across his.

Brock cleared his throat. “I’ll make this quick.”

“It’s appreciated,” Crue said, his eyes dark as he watched her.

The sexual tension in the room thickened by the minute and to make matters worse, Kemper stuffed his hand under her shirt. He didn’t do anything inappropriate, but the soft pads of his fingertips smoothing across her back destroyed her senses. She couldn’t think, much less carry on a conversation with Brock, a man who undoubtedly had played plenty of games with his shared wife, Sydney.

As if Kelly’s body needed another fuse lit, Colt stood behind her massaging her shoulders, his engorged cock parallel to the back of her head. To add to her building lust, Gabe removed her shoes and gave her a heavenly foot massage.

Brock cleared his throat. “Do the three of you mind to leave my operative alone long enough for us to debrief her?”

“She’s on our time now, Brock,” Kemper said, sliding that hot gaze down the bridge of his nose and eyeing her like a man battling several degrees of personal heat.

“What happened?” Riley asked, taking over. “We just need the long and short of the type of questioning you endured, what you told the detectives, how much they seemed to buy into your story, and that sort of thing. Summarize for him, or this could take all night.” He eyed Colt and then looked at Crue. “By the looks of things around here, I don’t think your fellows want to wait that long.”

Kelly squirmed in Kemper’s arms. She couldn’t help but notice how none of them corrected him.
Her fellows
. Were they finally and completely
her fellows
?

Pushing aside her overwhelming personal needs, she told her story. She explained in vivid detail what happened after she left the suite. Lorenzo’s brother had taken her to the bar and then excused himself. Veronica had followed them downstairs and, upon noticing his departure, motioned for her to leave, something she would’ve done on her own accord anyway.

Eyebrows raised around the room when she defiantly mentioned she hadn’t needed Veronica’s guidance. Picking up on the stiff necks and squared shoulders, she said, “You know, it’s not easy being the new kid on the block, but there’s something I’d like to say. I am my father’s daughter.”