Page 72 of The Villain

I wasn’t quite sure what to do now. Was I supposed to play host? Jace probably knew this apartment better than I did.

I blurted out, “Do you want something to drink?”

He stopped shuffling, raising his eyebrows as one side of his mouth curled into a little smirk. “Wow. The Detroit Devil is offering me hospitality?”

“Oh, fuck off.” I stomped over to the couch and sat down. “No water for you.”

Jace ducked his head, but I could see a small smile on his face. He finished shuffling, then eyed me as he prodded his lower lip with his tongue. The silver ball piercing in the center clicked against his teeth.

“Cian said you didn’t kill Patrick.”

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. I’d been promised poker, not a discussion about murder. “I didn’t want your father dead.I didn’t pull the trigger or order it. But he died because of his association with me.”

Jace’s knees shook. “He died because of what he did. He knew what he was getting into with you, so that’s on him.”

“That’s a mature way to look at it.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “You do know I’m an adult, right?”

“If you say so.”

“I’m twenty-three, dickhead.”

“You don’t look a day over nineteen.”

“I take after my mother.”

“I can see that.”

Jace went back to shuffling cards. At this point, I wasn’t sure we’d ever actually play poker. Then he cleared his throat. Shifted in his seat. Tugged at his earrings again.

Finally, he said, “Thank you.”

“Sure. I like poker.”

He huffed in annoyance. “Not for this.”

“Then what?” I asked, deliberately being obtuse.

“You’re an asshole for making me say it.”

“Hey. I’m notmakingyou do anything. You walked in here entirely of your own free will.”

He exhaled sharply. “Thank you for saving my brother.”

I leaned forward with my forearms on my knees and looked Jace in the eye. “Sure. But I didn’t do it for you, your threats, or your thanks.”

His fingers went very still as he clutched the deck of cards. “So why’d you do it, then? Why are you loyal to my brother?”

There were a lot of reasons, but I said the first one that came to mind. “He fights my nightmares. And he wins.”

Jace blinked rapidly, releasing a ragged breath. His eyes grew wet, but he quickly looked down and beat the emotion back. He shuffled the cards in his hands and gave a curt nod. “I’ll deal. Playing chips are in the closet.”

As I stood to get the chips, that damn flame of hope burned brighter.

Jace was terrible at poker. But he tried, and he had an endearing side that surprised me. He smiled a lot and laughed loudly. He was expressive and competitive, and whenever he lost, he’d throw his head back and groan like he’d been shot. And when he won—a rare occurrence—he’d crow in victory, even if he was still down half a million in fake chips.

Occasionally, he touched me. Just the brush of his fingers over my hand. But that quickly turned into him playfully kicking me in the shin, or smacking my chest. At one point, he threw an arm around my shoulder, and I tried to shove him off before we ended up wrestling on the floor.