Fighter in Lingerie (Lingerie 14)

I didn’t flinch when I came into his presence.

Carmen did. She moved closer to my side and made sure not to look at him.

The other men were different kinds of criminals, the kind that defrauded the government and lied about stocks. They took money from the exceptionally wealthy and made themselves insanely rich. They looked normal, wearing their suits and ties. The Butcher stood out.

We took our seats.

The dealer stood at the head of the table. “The buy-ins have already been placed.” He nodded to the chips in the center.

I tapped my lap, indicating for Carmen to take a seat.

She hesitated for a moment before she listened. She sat across my thighs and crossed her legs, small in comparison to my large size. Her arm hooked around my neck, and she stayed close to me.

Some of the other men had women at their sides. The Butcher was alone.

We started the game.

“Cigar, sir?” One of my men handed me a fresh one along with a lighter.

I raised my hand and silently dismissed him.

Another man brought two glasses of scotch, remembering that was Carmen’s choice of drink as well.

She stayed still and looked at my hand as I played, keeping up a poker face so she wouldn’t give me away. She rubbed my chest and gave me the affection I liked, soothing me and keeping me calm despite the rising tension at the table.

When I looked at The Butcher, his eyes were always on Carmen. He was hardly paying attention to his cards, more distracted by my woman than the cash on the table.

The whole reason why I brought her with me was so men could be envious of me. Not only was I the richest and most powerful man in that building—but she was the woman I was fucking. No other man could have her—because she was mine.

The game continued as we were dealt more cards, tossed some, and then raised our bets. The bet started at twenty-five million, but we quickly escalated to fifty million. One of the men folded right away, probably because his hand was just too shitty to stand a chance.

The Butcher’s eyes were still on Carmen. He probably looked at his pile of chips before he raised his bet because he was too distracted by her.

Carmen ignored him, her attention only on me.

More of the men folded, leaving The Butcher and me alone in the round.

His stare never ceased. He was only halfway in the game, most of his brain thinking about the woman sitting on my lap.

The moment came to throw down our hands.

I had four aces.

He had two pairs.

The dealer pushed the chips toward me. “Bosco Roth wins the hand.”

Millions of dollars in chips were pushed toward me. The other men didn’t hide their annoyance at the fortune I’d just won. I put in twenty-five million but made three hundred million in profit—within fifteen minutes.

Carmen was still, probably shocked by the transaction that had just happened right in front of her.

Like The Butcher hadn’t just lost a fortune, his eyes were still on Carmen.

I started to get angry, feeling like he’d crossed the line from appreciation to obsession. I turned my gaze on him and stared at him for several heartbeats, the tension rising with my anger.

When he felt the hostility, he turned his gaze on me.

I didn’t say a single word, but I didn’t need to. The threat in my eyes was more than enough. Women were obviously a weakness for him. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself and his dick in his pants—even when they said no. It was one thing to harass a dancer or let his stare linger too long. It was another matter when my woman was involved.

The corner of his mouth rose in a smile before he finally looked away.

I watched him a moment longer, making sure he wouldn’t make the mistake of turning back to her.

He didn’t.

7

Carmen

Bosco was a phenomenal poker player. He won most of his hands, and he always walked away from the table with the biggest winnings. It was all luck, so I didn’t know how he managed to be so good at a game that was unbiased.

It must be that poker face.

If I were home right now, I would be sitting on the couch waiting for him to come home. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until that elevator beeped with his arrival. It had nothing to do with security, knowing I was invincible with him there. There were a dozen men in the lobby who guarded his fortress.

I just missed him.

When we were sitting at the table, there was a terrifying man who didn’t seem to belong there. With six scars across his face, he was hideous. They looked like purposeful cuts he made with a knife, shaving off the skin until he flattened the surface. With a fat nose and a bulky physique, he looked like the devil himself.