“Even if I did, you’d never get access to it. Face it, Ivy, you’re mine.”
If I had to put a definition on the way I’m looking at him, it would go in the dictionary as a death glare.
“Do you want me to patch this up? Or should I leave you to bleed out?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you want, Sun.”
I huff under my breath but manage to finish the task. When I stand, he goes to stand too, but I shake my head. “Sit down. I’m just getting some water.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods. When I get back, he’s still in the same position, slouched back without a care in the world. Or so he appears. When I begin to clean off his leg, he stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cleaning up the blood,” I deadpan. “What does it look like?”
He remains silent for several seconds as he considers me. “Why are you helping me?”
I sigh. “Because I’m not like you, Cyrus. I help people. I don’t harm them. And besides, if I’m stuck here, I’d prefer not to have to see blood everywhere.”
He chuckles at that. “Not a fan?”
“I could live without it,” I admit. “I’m not one for violence.” I watch him while I say this, looking for any indication of remorse or that he feels the same way, but his blank stare gives nothing away. “I take it violence doesn’t bother you?” I press my luck in asking that question.
He shrugs. “Violence is necessary sometimes. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
My stomach roils at his admission. What the hell has happened to this man to make him so callous about such things?
“That’s . . . sad, Cyrus. Violence should never be necessary,” I say. “What happened to make you like this?”
He jerks back. “Like what?”
“Like . . . like this.” I gesture at him with my hand. “Gruff, callous, dangerous.”
His eyes narrow, and he leans toward me. “You have no idea how dangerous I am, Ivy.”
His words, the proximity of his body . . . they do something to me that I can’t quite explain. I should be repulsed or, at the very least, angry, but all I feel is need.
I’m on fire.
My stomach flutters, and my core pulses with need.
The way I feel for him is amplified at this moment, and a part of me is disgusted with myself. Am I getting off on the fact that he’s a violent man? Do I like that he’s dangerous?
Am I sick?
Am I a bad person?
“Let’s play a game,” he says, pulling me out of my own thoughts. “A game for the answer.”
The way he says that word has me perking up. “Are you serious? You’ll finally answer the question?”
Neither of us has to clarify what the question is. It’s been hovering above us since the first day I met Cyrus.
“Only if you win.” He smirks, looking entirely too smug for my liking.
“What game?”
“You name it,” he says.
I tap my finger to my chin, trying to think of the best game. What could I suggest that would give me an edge with this man? “Let’s play spades,” I finally suggest.
He cocks an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
I think about his question. No, I’m not sure about anything. I have no idea what this guy is involved in.
For all I know, gambling is his thing. He does run a poker game, but that doesn’t mean he plays.
I have to hope that after all those times I played with Trent, I have enough practice under my belt to at the very least hang. Besides, I have nothing to hide. So even if I do lose, the joke is on him. He won’t get much from me.
“I’m sure,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Spades it is,” he says.
He tells me where to find the deck of cards. I shuffle and set the pile in the middle.
“You first.” I offer him the cards to draw from the top. He draws the top card and decides to keep it. We continue to take turns picking cards until we each have thirteen in our hands, deciding whether or not to keep them.
“I’ll bid three,” he says, looking far too confident.
“I’ll bid four,” I respond, hoping like hell I can get to five hundred first.
I start the game by laying a four of diamonds. He follows up with a queen of diamonds, winning the hand. As we continue to play over the next twenty minutes, it’s clear he is a master at cards. I should have known; you don’t host a game unless you can play. I just have to have faith that my luck will turn around soon.
As I look at the cards, a nostalgic feeling rolls over me of a time when I was young, and things were different. “I used to play this with my dad all the time.” I close my eyes as I speak, replaying the good times before everything changed. “I remember the first time he sat me next to him and Trent, and they made me play for hours.” I chuckle, my eyes opening again. How things have changed since then. I wish my dad was still that man. “That was so long ago. I miss those times,” I whisper more to myself than to him.