Boy Next Door (Parkside Avenue Book #2) by Raquel Lyon Read Free Book Online Page B

poker.”
    He had a point. “But poker isn’t
life-threatening.” I shovelled the last of the casserole down my throat and set
the plate down.
    Kendrick sniggered. “Depends on the
players.” He jumped up. “You ready?”
    ***
    Three thunderous faces greeted me,
when I entered the poker room, making me seriously question my mentality about
returning. I was no wimp, and could hold my own in a fight, but I wasn’t
stupid, and I didn’t fancy my chances if ganged up on by the men who watched me
warily as I took my seat. Still, the desire to pocket more dough was stronger
than my concern over how I was going to escape the club with my face intact.
Contrary to my earlier words, I’d only packed a couple of hundred into my
wallet, with no intention of letting the other players relieve me of my
previous night’s winnings, and I fully expected to repeat my good fortune.
    The evening’s victims followed immediately
behind me, and I didn’t miss the smug look that passed between Snakehead and
Yellow Shirt, who had made the change to pink, tonight—the combination of the
fuchsia colour with his straw-like hair was not a good look, but the muscles straining
the bright material told me I’d better keep my opinions to myself. It was clear
the pair expected a bumper haul from the upcoming game, and it was almost a
shame I’d have to disappoint them.
    When I’d returned to accept my
fate, I’d left Kendrick at the bar, awaiting Liam. Nerves about his mate’s
business jingled in the back of my brain, but I pushed them aside when the
first cards were dealt. Distractions meant failure. I had to get my head in the
room.
    With six players, the pots were larger,
and after a shaky start, I found my stride and thrashed the living crap out of
them. It didn’t go down well.
    “Shitface motherfucker!” The
snake’s eye developed an angry twitch. “You were supposed to be losing.”
    “Oh yeah? Who said?”
    “You did. You said we’d win it
all back.”
    “Nah. Your brain’s been polluted
by too much ink. I said you’d get the chance.” I bent over the table, holding
eye contact as I scooped up the pot. “Not my fault you’re all losers who can’t
hang on to your dough. I beat your asses fair and square.”
    Snakehead sprang to his feet,
bracing his hands on the table. “I’m gonna pound your brains so hard you’ll be
shitting them out for a week.” His two sidekicks rose and puffed out their
chests, and even though I’d been expecting a similar conclusion to the evening,
I’d been hoping for a less violent one. I had a quick decision to make: fight
or flee. It wasn’t a tough one. I backed against the door, twisted, and flung
it open, before speeding through the bar as fast as I could. I never spotted
Kendrick. If I had, I would have grabbed his collar and dragged him outside
with me. Instead, the sound of stools falling and disgruntled calls of ‘Hey,
watch it fuckface’, followed me into the street.
    The trio was hot on my heels, but
the men were old and slow, and with some nifty, evasive tactics, I was able to
outwit them by ducking down a side street. I waited in the shadows, willing my
lungs to refill. Then, when the sound of frustrated cussing faded into the
night, I emerged and jogged home. I’d been lucky. I knew that. Mixing with the
seedier section of society was a dangerous game, but a couple of grand was a
couple of grand. Easy money if you lived. Shame I’d probably just used up my
last chance of fishing in that ample pool.
    ***
    The following day, I had a phone
call. One of my leaflets had pulled through and incited a response. Two hours
of pounding the pavements had, at least, turned out to be worth more than a
couple of aching muscles. I was invited to meet up with the owner of a local
restaurant to discuss the redesign of his outside terrace. It was precisely the
kind of job I’d hoped to secure. Hardcore was an easier deal than landscaping,
and promised a bigger pay cheque at the end. I was