“I knew his uncle was in the mob, and that he steered clear of that.” I couldn’t believe this. “Why didn’t you tell me about his connection here? You know I wanted to get away from him.”
“Hey, everyone is connected in Vegas. You can’t escape a man like Frankie at any casino.” Celeste rolled her eyes. “You are too naïve for Vegas, darling.”
I worried my lower lip, then stopped. I hated when I did that. “Maybe or maybe not.” I wasn’t willing to concede the point.
“Who was the hot number you lip-locked?” Celeste’s East Coast accent sounded nasally to me. And she only let it show when she wasn’t working. When there were high rollers around, she was all class and sophistication.
“A guy from my hometown—one of the bikers I don’t like.”
“You liked that kiss, girl,” she squawked.
I sat at the vanity and opened the makeup box I’d left here. No way was I using the crap the casino provided. I had standards—expensive ones. And I didn’t believe in applying other girls’ bacteria to my face. But I was in the minority.
Celeste shook her head at me. “Girl, you need to get your priorities in order. Take that biker home with you and earn some cash.” She tsked. This wasn’t a new argument. We’d been roommates for two years now.
“I do it my way.” I had received a nice bump in salary when I’d joined the Remington. And working the special events boosted my wages more, but I drew the line at the special bonus. Jerry and his crew offered the biggest incentive for the girls who would give the players anything they wanted. Celeste called it partying, and she did it every chance she could. I refused to be a whore. I mean if you were paid twenty bucks or a thousand, you were still selling yourself. And I hadn’t come to Vegas to be a prostitute, not even the high-class kind. Not that I cared what she or the others did, it just wasn’t in me to bend that way.
“Well you better watch out for Jerry and Frankie tonight—they’ll both be trying to change your mind.” Celeste brushed out her fake eyelashes and fluffed her teased auburn hair.
“I can avoid trouble.” I lined my lips and reapplied my favorite MAC lipstick.
“Trouble is your middle name.” She stood and stretched. “I’m going back to watch the action. I might just snatch up the biker dude. He had to put down a half mil to play tonight—he’s got scratch.” She winked at me. “Ready?”
I shook my head. “I’ll come back when my time’s up. The longer I stay away from Frankie the better.”
The door shut and I moved from the row of vanities to the leather couch. I curled up and stared down at my phone, planning to read another chapter in my romance. Instead I clicked open the list of players tonight and found him. His picture didn’t even begin to capture his sexiness. Terrence Owen Holt, Jr. Call him Ren was noted under his name. Age thirty-two. From Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Entrepreneur? was listed under profession. And that was all Jerry had on him. They didn’t know jack shit. Hell, I knew more about him, and I’d just met him, but Brotherhood boys were cut from two molds: military or misfits. Ren shouted military with his short hair and the way he held himself ready for whatever came.
I swiped the message icon on my iPhone and clicked on Avery. She was my best friend in the world, and now an old lady to Rock, a member of the Jericho Brotherhood. I had known I would leave Barden for years, but I had stayed until my two best friends joined the club. I would never do that, so I’d packed up and followed my dream to Vegas. I’d always loved dance and theater, but Oklahoma was a wasteland for those kind of arts. As a kid I’d taken every kind of dance possible, and Mama had signed me up for every pageant in Oklahoma and Texas. It only made sense I’d end up a Vegas showgirl in a chorus line with a sequined costume, dancing my nights away.
I was earning a living doing what I loved. While I hadn’t taken the town by storm, I was definitely holding my own, and it wasn’t because of my goddam face. Here every dancer, every girl who worked the strip was breathtaking.
Unlike home. As I’d grown, I’d turned into that untouchable kind of beauty that made most people treat me like some china doll. Mama hadn’t helped any with her passion for beauty pageants and get-rich-quick schemes that hinged on my looks and her brains. They never panned out.
Tell me about Ren, a biker in your brotherhood. He’s in my casino, playing high stakes poker. I hit Send and the message flew to my bestie.
The door opened and the other two girls tottered in with glassy eyes and the scent of weed and cigarette smoke hanging on them. Both had been dancers for ten years at the casino, and they only worked the parties now. I’d never seen them at a single practice or show. Celeste had explained that the dancers referred to them as Jerry’s Reserve. They were wild girls who Jerry pimped to the less picky high rollers. As long as I never had to do it, I didn’t care what they did.
Without a glance my way, they each sat down at the vanities. One sat at my station and I hurried over to grab my makeup. Just as the skinny black-haired woman grabbed for the lid of my makeup case, I laid my hand firmly over it. “This is my makeup.”
“Bitch, it’s all the same shit. Take another makeup case home,” she snarled at me.
“No, it is my personal makeup.” I slid the case toward me and pointed with my chin to the bag of cosmetics the casino provided. “That’s what you’re looking for.”
“Aren’t you special.” She sniffed and smiled over at her companion. “Too good for the Remington’s stuff. Aren’t you the princess.”
I didn’t bother to respond because they weren’t even worth a retort let alone a frown. I’d known from a young age girls could be vicious bitches. And that hadn’t changed with age. It’s why I cherished Avery and Celeste. Neither of them were threatened by me.
The two girls glanced my way before leaving. In five minutes I was due back in the suite. The first break in the game would be in fifteen minutes.
I stood and slipped back on the red heels that had cost half a paycheck, but they didn’t kill my feet so I considered it money well invested.
My phone buzzed in my handbag. I picked it up and saw Avery’s pic on my phone. She’d texted me back. His name is Delta. One of Rebel’s bounty hunters. Rock says he’s a pussy hound. Is that a good or bad thing? I vote good thing for my girl if you want to get laid. And who doesn’t? She included a whole lot of eggplant and other sexual emoji. Avery liked emoji too damn much.
I grinned and stuffed the phone back in my purse. Delta—one of the bounty hunters along with my third cousin Rebel. I was related to too many of the damn bikers anyway. And in my opinion, that kind of family wasn’t a good thing.
I hurried down the hall and into the suite right on time. Jerry gave me the stink-eye, but I ignored him and took a seat at the bar. This vantage let me see Delta’s profile. No doubt he’d hate any name but his biker one—it was one of the things Avery had told me.
She’d told me a lot about bikers, and I had to admit part of me loved the life she described. But in the end, they were a cult of misfits who lived on the very edge of the law and the wrong side of respectability. And what’s more, I wasn’t meant for that tiny town and a dead-end job. I needed the bright lights and challenges Vegas offered—it was who I was. And Barden just didn’t have what I needed, no matter how much I’d thought I loved Mark or was tempted by the other bikers.
I’d wanted Mark to follow me to Vegas, to embrace my dream, but it wasn’t meant to be. And dammit, I deserved to be somebody’s number one consideration. I wasn’t second to anyone, especially some cult.
A player stood up and walked away, pulling my attention back to the game, which had an intense vibe at the moment. Even the players not in this hand all watched the play unfold. Delta was aloof and looked relaxed compared to the others, but then he didn’t give much away. The pile of chips in the center was huge—easily several hundred thousand. I bet it was the first big pot of the night. Frankie, of c
ourse, was in the hand. His stack of chips was much smaller than the other players’. If he kept this up he’d be the first out.
The room had an artificial quiet to it with the sound of shuffling chips the only background noise. One of the veteran players considered Delta and Frankie again, then dropped his chips on his stack and folded. He stood and walked away from the table, muttering something.
Play moved to Delta and he didn’t hesitate a second before pushing in three stacks of chips.
“Goddammit, Ren—you are a cocky SOB.” Sid, another regular who was known for his mouth, pushed in a small stack of chips.
Delta must have raised. The other player pushed in his chips and that left Frankie staring down at his meager pile. Frankie was normally the aggressive player who bullied others. That didn’t appear to be working tonight.
“Fuck it.” Frankie mumbled and pushed in all of his chips.
Frankie had been a royal pain in my ass the past few weeks, and I enjoyed seeing him squirm. He was in over his head at this game, that was obvious from his lack of chips.
The last card flipped up—a ten of spades. The five cards out on the table were a four of diamonds, an ace of spades, a jack of spades and a seven of diamonds. One last round of betting was set to the side since Frankie couldn’t bet more. Frankie showed his cards first. “Aces up, for a triple, boys.” He grinned wide but there was fear under the smile.
The next guy threw in his cards and muttered, “Fuck.”
The next guy threw his cards face down, meaning he’d been beat.
Ren flipped up a king of spades and a seven of spades—a flush.
“You fucking prick—you bet that shit.” Frankie stood up and knocked his chair to the floor. “You’re a rotten player, no one plays those fucking cards.” He sputtered and shoved the chips—a full-on temper tantrum now. “You’re a fucking cheat, that’s what you are.”
The guys at the table scooted back and two looked to the official for help. There were rules in poker—I’d worked enough games to know that. And calling another player a cheat was against the cardinal rule. It had serious consequences.
Delta did some maneuver and was across the table in a flash. Frankie was down, arm curled behind his back, head smashed into the table. “You better resolve this before I do.” Delta looked every inch the brawling biker in that moment—deadly dangerous.
Jerry hurried forward with the two officials in the room. “Let him go.”
“When security is here to detain him.” Delta looked hard at Jerry. “He doesn’t get the family pass on this one.”
Jerry turned white and put his phone to his ear. Seconds later two bulky guys with guns at their waist came rushing in the room. Delta let Frankie go and stepped back. “If I’d known you let family play, I wouldn’t have even come to this game, but this shit isn’t going unchecked.”
Jerry glanced at the other players, who were all nodding along.
“You can’t run shoddy games, mate,” Aaron, a weekly player at this game, moved next to Delta. “We’re playing a big boy game, and if this bloke ain’t ready for it, then he should go suck his uncle’s wanker.”
Delta grinned at the Australian. I’d always liked Aaron but I loved the way he stood by Delta now. Two of the other players moved over beside them.
Jerry gulped and put the phone back to his ear. “Review the tape on the last hand. We have an allegation of cheating by Frank Ricci.”
“I will have you fucking fired, Jerry,” Frankie snarled.
Security restrained Frankie.
“You’re fired too!” He spit at each of the guards.
They didn’t look impressed.
A waitress brought drinks, but the players didn’t budge from the small groups they had formed. A tense knot of silence held the room captive. Accusing a man of cheating in a formal game of poker at the Remington had two outcomes. If the accuser was right, the accused would be stripped of his cash and banned from the Remington, and all Vegas casinos in practice. If the accuser was wrong, the accuser would be stripped of cash and banned from the Remington, and usually other casinos. No one wanted this kind of problem in their casino.
Frankie was so fucking screwed. And Delta was as calm as could be. If I hadn’t seen him turn deadly, I wouldn’t believe it now. He appeared totally relaxed, harmless even. But I’d seen the flash of who he really was when he’d put Frankie down.
Jerry listened when his phone rang then sighed, heavily. “Frank Ricci, you are banned from the Remington poker tables for life. And banned from this casino property for one year.”
“No fucking way! I own this casino. You’re the one out of work!” he bellowed and tugged on his arms.
A phone rang from Frankie’s pocket.
“Let him get that.” Jerry sounded more weary than anything.
With a smug look Frankie retrieved his phone. He held it up to his ear and the smug smile dropped from his face. “Yes, sir.” Then a moment later. “I understand, sir.” And finally. “I understand, sir.” And he swiped off his phone.
Frankie’s eyes met mine, and he gave me a cruel smile. “Grab your coat, baby, we’re going out tonight.”
I glanced at Jerry and saw in an instant I was on my own. Jerry would let Frankie have me in order to soothe the brat. Fear sliced into me—I wanted nothing to do with him. He’d take out his rage and shame on me. I raced through alternatives to get out of this tight spot. The card Delta had given me poked my breast. And an idea struck me—one I knew would work.
I smiled at Jerry. “I’m happy to do that but I will have to cancel the private party D—” I corrected myself. “Ren booked with me.”
Delta winked at me before Jerry turned to him.
“You have plans with our Glory?”
“I do.” He crossed his arms and dared Jerry or Frankie to push him further. “That a problem?”
Frankie stalked toward the door, but he shot me a look filled with hate. Adrenaline pumped through my system. I was safe for now, but the way he’d stared at me couldn’t be good for my future here. Maybe I should look for a new job, although I hadn’t been at the Remington very long and that would look bad. But I didn’t need to be on the bad side of Angel DeLuca, Frankie’s uncle and owner of this casino. Maybe I should’ve just gone with Frankie after all.
Once Frankie left, a buzz started in the room. Delta stalked toward me, and I wanted to duck for cover. His eyes flashed with something dark even as he smiled down at me. “Stroll with me on the balcony.” He looped his arm in mine and turned me toward the glass door.
I had no choice but to follow him. And honestly, I owed him since I’d used him to escape Frankie.
On the balcony, he walked up to the railing and looked out at the night skyline. “What’s your situation, Queenie?”
The nickname irritated me, but he’d saved me from Frankie. “What do you mean?”
“The Frank Ricci situation.”
I sucked in a breath. “He’s my ex and he doesn’t like being my ex. I came to work here thinking he’d be less likely to harass me. He told me he rarely even plays here.”
“And you thought, why not work here where my ex prick can control my life?” Delta’s harsh tone made my back stand up straight.
Maybe it wasn’t my best move, but he didn’t have to be an ass about it. I blew out a breath and reminded myself not to lose my shit, again. “Look, I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. Sorry.”
“Too late for that, sweetheart. I was involved when I found out your hometown.” Delta’s icy blue eyes assessed me and maybe found me wanting.
I wanted nothing to do with the Brotherhood. “I don’t need your help.”
“Oh Queenie, you need me.” His voice dropped into this sexy timbre that made me want to squirm.
Since I’d agreed to be his sexual partner when I’d told Jerry we had a date, no do
ubt my boss would collect the two grand. Delta would let me back out if I asked, but I didn’t want to be that girl. So I sucked in a breath and straightened my spine. “I doubt that.”
Chapter 3: Delta
Queenie gave me a glare that dared me to do my worst. Damn, she had moxie, and I liked it too damn much.
“You won’t doubt long.” I turned her toward me and kissed her the second time that night. Peaches filled my nostrils and her soft body pressed into me. Damn, she had me hard again.
The balcony door opened and someone cleared their throat. “Five minutes, Mr. Holt.”
I stepped away with a reluctance that shouldn’t be there. What was it about this blonde that made my blood run so fucking hot?
She was beyond beautiful but that wasn’t it. Her defiance turned me on. In fact, she might have as much attitude as me.
We walked into the suite again. “You wait for me, right here.”
She frowned and started to argue.
I placed a finger on her lips. “Frankie might be waiting out there.” I flicked a hand toward the hallway. “I can’t protect you there.”
Her brow creased more but she nodded.
“Say it.”
“I’ll stay here.” She spoke with a sullenness that amused me. Definite ’tude.
I walked back inside with no desire to play anymore. But if I left now, there would be rumors and then more subtle challenges next time I played. Nope, I wasn’t letting the dickhead even dent my reputation.
I sat down to a table that was lighter three players—Frankie had been forced to leave, but two other players had also left. Poker players were superstitious, and confrontations brought bad luck.
I noted the players who left, then focused on the ones who’d stayed. The chump’s move would be to come out dominant, trying to win every hand just to prove some nonexistent point. They had witnessed me win by luck on the river the hand before, so I wasn’t going to tempt the others with more bluffs, so I settled in for the slow, conservative play.
Get Away Page 2
