Isabella’s gaze settled on the man. “Don’t rely on luck. She’ll always let you down.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The other man asked. “How else would I win? If I even can. How come the house wins so much at this godforsaken hell hole?” His glass thumped down on the table even as he leaned closer to Isabella. “How come you win so much?”
He was spitting, and to Isabella’s credit, she didn’t step back. “Did you want to draw?”
The words were ones dealers spoke every day, but they lit the man’s simmering temper and without warning, he swung his fist directly at Isabella’s face.
She must have seen it coming because she swerved out of the way, the man’s beefy knuckles missing her by the width of a hair.
A growl erupted from his throat as he burst through the curtain and grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, spinning him from the table.
Anger hot and white burst inside him. He swung his other fist around his body and landed on the hard bone of the man’s nose. He heard it crunch as he tossed the man to the floor.
Pointing at the guard, he snarled, “Get him out of here.”
Then without another word, he spun about and grabbed Isabella by the upper arm, propelling her toward the back rooms.
What was it about her that brought out the beast in him? He gripped her upper arm, wondering again why in the hell he’d agreed to her scheme.
Pretending to be a man was dangerous for her…what if that gambler had landed that punch? The idea of Isabella crumpling to the ground made his stomach lurch and he snarled again.
“Bash?” Came her shaky whisper. “Are you all right?”
“Me?” he asked, opening a door and pushing it with such force that it flew into the wall, bouncing back toward them. “I’m more concerned about you. You could have been killed.”
She shuddered and he felt it. Without warning, his anger was replaced with fear and he hauled her up against her chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I have to be here,” she said, burrowing against his chest.
She had him there. He dropped his cheek to the top of her head. “I’ll help you even if you don’t—”
“No,” she shook her head. “That’s not the way.”
“It is if I say it is.”
She leaned back with a sigh. “Bash, try to understand. We’ve known each other for a day. What if you grow tired of helping me? What if you decide I’m too much trouble? The only way this works is if we need each other. Depend on one another.”
He drew in a shaky breath. He understood her point. But she failed to understand her rather profound effect on him. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“And I’m not going to change mine. This is the only way.” She bit her lip as though she wished to say more. “I refuse to just be a burden.”
“Women were not meant to be here. Furthermore, it’s a man’s job to take care of—"
“It’s not your job.” She pulled away, creating space between them. “We’ve struck a mutually beneficial bargain. I am not your charge, your mistress, or your wife.”
He clenched his teeth together. It was on the tip of his tongue to say she should be. But he couldn’t. Every time they were together, he came closer to letting out the demon that lived within. The one his father had placed there.
“What happened?” Vanity stepped into the room. He furrowed his brow as he stared between the two of them. “Why have all the games stopped?”
“Go man the curtain,” Bash barked in return. “And find a dealer for Isabella’s table. She’s done for the night.”
“Done?” Vanity asked. “I just finished counting the first pick up from the tables. She made three times as much as any other table.”
Isabella crossed her arms. “See. You need me.”
Bash scrubbed his face.
“She’s right. We need her,” Vanity added because, clearly, he didn’t value his own life.