Page 9 of Ruthless Game

“That’s exactly what I’m here for,” he said cryptically. To James, he said, “You, however, have somewhere else to be.”

“No, I don’t.” James puffed up his chest, even though I could see the anxiety crinkling his gray eyes. “I’m on a date with Emma right now, and you’re interrupting.”

Lawson crouched down, so his head was level with James’. Lowering his voice, he said, “No one is on a date with Emma. Emma doesn’t date anymore.”

“Emma does whatever she wants to do,” I snapped, over this.

Lawson ignored me. “Emma behaves, if she knows what’s good for her. And little British aristocratic spoiled brats like you know they have no chance with her, so do the smart thing and leave. Unless you want my fist in your throat.”

James spluttered. “No one talks to me like that! I’m the son of the Earl of⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit who your daddy is,” Lawson said, the patience in his voice terrifying. “If you want to explain to him why you’re breathing through a tube, by all means, continue your one sided ‘date.’ Otherwise, it’s time for you to go.”

James glanced at me, considering, but apparently I wasn’t worth a trip to the hospital.

“Whatever. You can have the frigid twat,” he said.

Frigid twat? What the hell had I done?

Lawson’s hand fisted and he rose to standing. “What did you call her?”

I snorted. Like he had any right to or interest in defending me.

James swallowed hard. “Nothing, nothing. I’m leaving.”

Without even an offer to pay the bill, he stumbled out of the booth and practically ran out of the pub, leading to even more whispers.

Lawson watched. “What was his name?”

“None of your business.”

“Emma,” he said, that same frightening patience in his voice. “I’ll find out whether you tell me or not, but protecting him will just make things worse for you later. What. Is. His. Name.”

“James Manchester. He’s the son of the Earl of Norwhich.”

Lawson nodded, like he was filing that away. “I’ll deal with him later. No one insults you but me. Move over.”

No one insults you but me. Somehow both sweet and terrible.

Instead of sitting in James’ vacated spot, he slid into the booth next to me, spreading his thighs so his jeans pushed against my bare leg. The friction made something clench low in my body. Up close, I could smell him—sage and salt. I’d never understood why Lawson smelled like the ocean, since he hated water so much, but Maine had buried itself in his bones.

I craned my neck to look at him, trying not to get lost in the deep, stormy blue of his eyes. “Why are you here, Lawson?”

“I don’t like you calling me Lawson,” he said. “Call me Max.”

“The day I call you Max is the day you’re dead,” I said, knowing I was being hurtful and not caring. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

His eyes flashed, lightning on deep water. “I’m here, Starburst, to bring you home.”

I laughed. I laughed hard. “Let me get this straight. Three years ago, I told you that if I left, that was it between us. And you told me to go. After that, nothing. No texts, no calls. I assumed you moved on. So did I. And now you’re here to ‘bring me home?’” I shook my head, rolling my eyes for good measure. “Gehenom hasn’t been my home for a long time, Lawson. So no, I’m not going anywhere with you. Glad we settled that.”

The words cost me, but they had to be said. I turned back to my cider, dismissing him.

“We’ve settled nothing. You’re going to want to come home with me. Now, I can explain why, and destroy your entire worldview, or you can trust me and we can go back to your apartment so you can pack. Our flight leaves tomorrow.”

“I’m calling your bluff, Lawson. There’s nothing you can say that would get me to go back to Gehenom with you.”

He closed his eyes like he was searching for patience.