– or dispel the very encounter Jessie so desperately needed to prevent.
When he eased back onto the stool as Pummel took over again, as Tatum backed between his legs, her hand disappearing behind her to massage his crotch, he had no shame in wrapping his arm across her collar bone, letting his hand slide down to clasp her breast as if they were familiar lovers alone.
Worse, his thumb that had glided along Jessie’s lower back with such secret intimacy, that had made her feel more alive than Pummel’s cold touch ever did, was now cruelly gliding over Tatum’s hardened nipple with a pressure that seemed stomach-churningly cold considering his gaze never left the game.
And not once since Tatum had arrived had he glanced back in her direction.
The stark reminder, the crash to earth of what she was dealing with, cleared her head. And when Eden moved Tatum out of the way to take his next shot, winning the third game, it was the clincher.
She needed him gone.
He held his hand out for Pummel to take. ‘Hope you’re a man of your word, Pummel.’
With a smirk, Pummel accepted. He looked across at Homer. ‘Tracker’s room is free now, right?’
Tracker’s room – up the stairs on the other side of the arch. Pummel was keeping him close.
‘Unless you’re expecting rent from a corpse,’ Homer confirmed.
‘You’ve got yourself a bed until tomorrow,’ Pummel declared, turning his attention back to Eden. ‘Then we’ll talk again.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Eden said, placing his cue on the table to conclude the game, having secured his reason for playing.
‘Mind if I show our new boy the ropes?’ Tatum asked, her hand sliding into the back pocket of Eden’s jeans.
Pummel flashed a grin that Jessie had seen one too many times. ‘Sure. Make him feel at home.’
Jessie watched Eden leave with the same quiet confidence that had marked his entry, grabbing his jacket along the way. Less than a handful of hours since his arrival in Blackthorn and he had nested himself in the most lucrative row having already played one of Pummel’s most prized possessions and now about to get up close and personal with his other. She couldn’t deny giving him credit where credit was due.
For as long as it lasted.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ Homer asked, keeping his voice low despite Eden being out of earshot.
‘I want to see if our new resident bad boy is as bad as those numbers say he is,’ Pummel said quietly as he watched them leave. ‘You saw that stuff – however the fuck he got his hands on it, he still did. I want you to do some digging around between now and dawn. Find out if anyone else has got a penitentiary number that matches his. I want to know everything about him.’
‘And then?’
‘Tatum will be finished with him soon enough. I’ve got the feeling he’ll pass. I’ll set him a task at dawn. And if he’s playing me,’ he said, looking back at Homer, ‘he’s dead.’
5
I t had been risky , but Eden knew Pummel’s type only too well. Lord his authority though he may, deep down the notorious con had a respect for those who dared face up to him. And that was what Eden needed to get in there: his respect. Respect and to snag his curiosity. Clearly he’d managed the latter with the honeytrap, or initiation, or rite of passage, or whatever the fuck Tatum was as she lead him out of the room and down towards the kitchen.
The red-haired beauty moved with a natural elegance, promoted by the quality of the top she wore. From the flow of the fabric, let alone what he’d felt, it was one hundred per cent authentic silk. Clothes of that quality were hard enough to get hold of in Blackthorn, let alone afford. Those who got access to it had to be able to pay for it one way or another, whether on the black market or paying above the odds in the one or two stores that managed to sell it – stores owned by people no one dared risk stealing from. Tatum rightly wore it like the status
When he eased back onto the stool as Pummel took over again, as Tatum backed between his legs, her hand disappearing behind her to massage his crotch, he had no shame in wrapping his arm across her collar bone, letting his hand slide down to clasp her breast as if they were familiar lovers alone.
Worse, his thumb that had glided along Jessie’s lower back with such secret intimacy, that had made her feel more alive than Pummel’s cold touch ever did, was now cruelly gliding over Tatum’s hardened nipple with a pressure that seemed stomach-churningly cold considering his gaze never left the game.
And not once since Tatum had arrived had he glanced back in her direction.
The stark reminder, the crash to earth of what she was dealing with, cleared her head. And when Eden moved Tatum out of the way to take his next shot, winning the third game, it was the clincher.
She needed him gone.
He held his hand out for Pummel to take. ‘Hope you’re a man of your word, Pummel.’
With a smirk, Pummel accepted. He looked across at Homer. ‘Tracker’s room is free now, right?’
Tracker’s room – up the stairs on the other side of the arch. Pummel was keeping him close.
‘Unless you’re expecting rent from a corpse,’ Homer confirmed.
‘You’ve got yourself a bed until tomorrow,’ Pummel declared, turning his attention back to Eden. ‘Then we’ll talk again.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Eden said, placing his cue on the table to conclude the game, having secured his reason for playing.
‘Mind if I show our new boy the ropes?’ Tatum asked, her hand sliding into the back pocket of Eden’s jeans.
Pummel flashed a grin that Jessie had seen one too many times. ‘Sure. Make him feel at home.’
Jessie watched Eden leave with the same quiet confidence that had marked his entry, grabbing his jacket along the way. Less than a handful of hours since his arrival in Blackthorn and he had nested himself in the most lucrative row having already played one of Pummel’s most prized possessions and now about to get up close and personal with his other. She couldn’t deny giving him credit where credit was due.
For as long as it lasted.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ Homer asked, keeping his voice low despite Eden being out of earshot.
‘I want to see if our new resident bad boy is as bad as those numbers say he is,’ Pummel said quietly as he watched them leave. ‘You saw that stuff – however the fuck he got his hands on it, he still did. I want you to do some digging around between now and dawn. Find out if anyone else has got a penitentiary number that matches his. I want to know everything about him.’
‘And then?’
‘Tatum will be finished with him soon enough. I’ve got the feeling he’ll pass. I’ll set him a task at dawn. And if he’s playing me,’ he said, looking back at Homer, ‘he’s dead.’
5
I t had been risky , but Eden knew Pummel’s type only too well. Lord his authority though he may, deep down the notorious con had a respect for those who dared face up to him. And that was what Eden needed to get in there: his respect. Respect and to snag his curiosity. Clearly he’d managed the latter with the honeytrap, or initiation, or rite of passage, or whatever the fuck Tatum was as she lead him out of the room and down towards the kitchen.
The red-haired beauty moved with a natural elegance, promoted by the quality of the top she wore. From the flow of the fabric, let alone what he’d felt, it was one hundred per cent authentic silk. Clothes of that quality were hard enough to get hold of in Blackthorn, let alone afford. Those who got access to it had to be able to pay for it one way or another, whether on the black market or paying above the odds in the one or two stores that managed to sell it – stores owned by people no one dared risk stealing from. Tatum rightly wore it like the status
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