She nodded. “Yep. He sure did.”

“I know how to get it back,” he said, as the cab swerved around a bus onto her street. She jerked sideways, her shoulder bumping hard against his.

“Ouch,” she said, rubbing her shoulder.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “You just have a really hard shoulder.”

The car pulled up to the curb. “Hard shoulders are good things,” he said, and reached for his wallet. “I got this.”

“Thank you,” she said, and opened the door and stepped out of the cab. She lifted her face to the night sky, breathing in the cool air and the starlight until she heard a voice.

“Hey.”

She swiveled around and saw Max stalking towards her from the front stoop of her apartment. Tension roared back into her body in a heartbeat as Skunk’s goon-in-training with the baby face and the barrel body stared coldly at her. She glanced over at the cab where Clay was busy handing the driver a credit card.

“Charlie sent me to find you.”

“It’s Saturday. I’m not playing tonight.”

“Yeah, but he wants you to know you’re going to New York next weekend for a game. He has some new blood in the city from the startups there, and he wants you to hustle them.”

She straightened her spine, liquid courage coursing through her. “What if I don’t want to?”

His eyes widened with anger, and in seconds his hand was on the back of her neck. “You think you can talk to me that way?”

He grappled at her skin, digging in. She swatted at his arm, trying to knock him away, but he was more than double her size. “Let go of me,” she spat out.

“Let go of her,” Clay said in a cool, cold voice.

Max shifted his focus to Clay, who was now by her side. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s going to make you let go of her,” he said, and before Julia could process what was happening his elbow came down hard on Max’s arm, freeing her from his grip. Then Clay’s fist connected with Max’s jawline with a loud crunch. Julia cringed, the sharp snap echoing down the street.

Max grunted, his eyes nearly popping out from surprise. His gaze darted down at his ankle, and fear flashed hard and fast before her eyes. Oh God, did he have a gun?

“No!” she screamed, but the sound was cut short when Clay slammed a fist into Max’s belly, and the man unleashed a loud grunt as he doubled over. He was fast for his size though, and quickly straightened up. Clay cocked his fist to swing again, but this time Max was faster, landing a punishing jab on Clay’s cheekbone, his hairy knuckles cracking hard against his temple. She swore she could hear bones crunching as Clay stumbled, the back of his head smacking hard against the brick wall of her apartment building. He grunted loudly from the pain, and all her instincts told her to run to him and comfort him.

“Stop! Please stop,” she shouted, and she wasn’t sure if she was talking to Clay or Max, or just praying to the universe for an end to this fistfight. But when she looked around, the street was empty, and she knew this was going to be between the two of them.

Clay lunged forward quickly, brushing off the double-blow like it was nothing, but Max went after him again, raising his fist and swinging hard. Clay dodged that blow, then Max threw another, landing one on Clay’s shoulder that barely seemed to bother him. Especially since he grabbed Max’s hand, twisted it around his back and yanked hard.

“Don’t ever touch her again,” he seethed, jerking the arm higher. Then he let go and reacquainted his fist once more with Max’s jaw, sending the big man stumbling backward and landing flat on his ass on the sidewalk. Max was helpless, huffing in a heavy pile, staring up with wide-open eyes at the man who’d landed the final blow. With fists clenched at his sides and anger radiating off him in hot waves, Clay bent over him. “Now I’m giving you five seconds to get up and run the hell away.”

Max nodded once, scurried to his feet, and took off down the street. When Clay turned to Julia, he was breathing hard and blood streaked from his temple down his cheek.

CHAPTER TEN

He flinched as she dabbed at the cut with a wet washcloth.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

“I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head where he’d hit the building.

Kneeling between his legs, she gently cleaned the blood as he sat in her bathroom. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

She shot him a doubtful look. “Not even a little?”

“Not even a little,” he said, but the expression on his face told her otherwise when she wiped off the last drop of blood. She reached for the Neosporin, applied some to the cut, and then opened a Band-Aid, pressing it gently along his temple.

“There,” she said. “You look totally rugged now.”

He managed a small laugh as she rose, dusting his other cheek with a kiss. Handing him two Advil and a glass of water, she said, “For your head.”

He swallowed the pills and gave her the cup. She set it down on the sink. “Now let’s get you out of your clothes and you can rest.”

“I’m not resting,” he said, rolling his eyes at her.

“You need your rest.”

“It’s only a cut. I’ve been cut worse at my gym,” he said, and she knew he was trying hard to be the big, tough man. She was having none of that. He’d gone to the mats for her, and she was going to take care of him until he was no longer bloodied and bruised, and even then some.

“I don’t care,” she said, parking her hands on her hips and giving him a sharp stare. Then she bent forward and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re not taking off my shirt to go make me lie down in bed,” he said roughly, trying to swat her hand away. She grabbed at his hands and stilled his moves.

“Oh yes I am,” she said sternly. “Watch me.”

She worked her way down his shirt, unbuttoning the fabric, spreading it open and gently taking it off, trailing her fingertips along his chest as she did. He moaned low and husky as she touched him. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Mister.”

“It wasn’t a funny idea. More like a dirty one,” he said with a sly grin.

She reached for his hand. “Come on. Bed. Now.”

“Bed for other things,” he said, but he let her lead him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then he stepped out of them. After laying the clothes neatly on a chair, she turned around to find him already in her bed, briefs on the floor.

“You’re fast.”

“Zero to undressed in no time,” he said in a tired voice.

“We’ll add that to your skill set.”

“Come here,” he whispered, resting on his side under the sheets. “Let me unzip your dress.”

She moved to him, perching on the edge of the bed. He reached his hands up the back of her dress, those same hands that had defended her and protected her, and gently lowered the zipper on her dress, his knuckles softly grazing her spine as the dress fell to her waist. She shifted her body, so she could watch him. He smiled faintly as he unhooked her strapless bra. She stood and turned to face him, sensing he needed to show he could take care of her, even when he was the one hurting. She placed his hands on her hips, guiding them to slide the dress down her legs. Off came the shoes, then she curled up next to him in bed.

“Thank you,” she said, gently tracing his other cheek with her finger. “For doing that.”

“Julia,” he said, pulling her in close. “I can’t believe that’s what you’ve been dealing with.”

She sighed. “Yeah. That’s my life.”

“This needs to stop. You’re not safe,” he said, concern thick in his voice.

“He’s not even usually the one assigned to me. My regular has the flu or something,” she said, flashing back to Skunk’s pale face and peaked look earlier that day.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said firmly as the shadows from the moonlight streamed across the bed, casting the room in a blue midnight light. “So this is what I didn’t get to say in the car. I play every week. With actors, clients, colleagues and some of my friends. It’s not a rigged game. It’s a real game with real stakes and real money. Come to New York this weekend, and join us. Play for real. Play in a game that’s not a set-up where you’re not hustling. And take us down. Win on your own terms,” he said, and the idea took hold instantly, planting roots inside her. She craved that feeling—win on your own terms.