The man stared at her, a small smile playing on his lips. He thought she was playing a silly game. He didn't realize he was dealing with a woman who had lost one too many games already. She wasn't about to lose to anyone else. Not him, not Ang, and most-fucking-certainly not Jameson.

Play time is over.

“So what are you going to do, in order to exact your revenge?” the man asked, his voice low and sexy. Tate slid off her bar stool, slowly, and stood so she was brushing against his knees. She leaned close to him, pressing her lips against his ear.

“Anything I want,” she whispered.

And then she walked away, leaving him staring after her.

Abso-fucking-lutely anything.