The Client

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Those poor bastards she's playing," I said, snorting, getting a big smile out of Raven.

  "I know, right? I've never won a single game against her."

  "This underground casino..."

  "It's invitation only."

  "Oh," I said, feeling my hope deflate.

  "Oh my God. Look at those sad eyes," She said, grin getting huge. Like she was pleased I was miserable. "I will give you this," she said, producing a black and gold casino chip. "But you have to promise to hear her out."

  "That's the second time I've heard that tonight."

  "Yes, because men aren't exactly known for their listening skills," Raven said, shaking her head.

  "That's fair. I want to hear her out. That's why I spent the past few weeks trying to track her down."

  "Alright," Raven said, nodding. "Here you go," she said, tossing the chip, making me grab for it.

  "Thank you, Raven. I really appreciate this."

  "Yep. Go have your chat. Oh, and Fenway?" she called making me turn back.

  "Yeah?"

  "If you hurt my girl, I will hire someone to toss you off that fancy yacht of yours. And make it look like an accident."

  "Should it come to that," I said, giving her a smile, "Might I suggest you turn to Quinton Baird & Associates for your crisis management?" I said, then turned and walked away. "They've never steered me wrong."

  I might as well get them some new business.

  I was pretty sure I was retiring from the international scandals over the fairer sex.

  I'd have my hands full with just this one.

  FOURTEEN

  Wasp

  "I'm going to kill Raven," I grumbled, looking at the pity in my brothers' eyes. "I'm fine. Go back to your clubhouse with all those yummy biker brothers of yours. Leave me alone."

  "How long have you been moping in here?" Cyrus asked, moving to the side of the bed, dropping down next to my body.

  "I'm not moping. I'm... recovering from some pretty epic jet lag."

  "Jet lag," Reeve repeated, arching a brow as he moved in the room, but didn't come too close. When it came to respecting boundaries, Cyrus didn't exactly understand the concept, while Reeve very carefully gave you the space he thought you wanted. "Last I checked, jet lag doesn't make you puffy-eyed. Like crying does."

  "I never cry," I insisted, not wanting to admit to them that was no longer true.

  "Wasp," Reeve said, tone much like our father used to use, impatient, yet indulgent.

  "I was on a job. It got a little crazy. I am getting a little R&R. It's no big deal."

  "You've never needed R&R before," Cyrus insisted.

  "Yes, well, I am getting old, asshole," I told him, getting a small smirk out of him.

  "Come on," Reeve tried, moving to the foot of the bed, putting his hands on the footboard. "We all know that Raven wouldn't be calling us unless you were in bad shape. That's your girl. She has been able to handle you for your whole life. If she needs reinforcements, this isn't that you're tired from a job. You can tell us to fuck off, but don't lie to us."

  That was fair. We weren't always the closest of siblings, what with my traveling all the time, but we didn't bullshit each other either.

  "I caught feelings for a mark. There. Are you happy?" I grumbled, wishing I could throw the covers over my head, hide my heated cheeks.

  "Hey," Cyrus said, patting my leg over the covers. "You don't need to be embarrassed with us. Shit happens."

  Shit happens.

  That was such a Cy thing to say.

  He was the proverbial duck with everything sliding off his back.

  Reeve was much more serious, more introspective, someone who thought things through deeply.

  "Yes, well, this shit doesn't happen. I don't fall for marks. Marks are assholes. That's why they're marks."

  "So, asshole is your type," Cyrus concluded, shrugging. "I'm not exactly surprised. Who else would want to put up with you?" he teased, nudging me.

  "I'm not so much worried that you caught feelings for a mark, Wasp," Reeve said, dragging my attention in his direction. "I'm worried why we've been told that you've been in bed for weeks. You. Who could never sit still for more than five minutes."

  "I mean, I got a call from your heels today," Cyrus said, looking grave. "They said they're worried about you too. They haven't seen you in ages."

  "Look. It's not a big deal. I'm just in a mood. It will pass."

  "It will pass," Reeve repeated, raising a brow.

  "Yes."

  "Moods don't just pass, Wasp. You know that. You deal with them and move on. Or you fall into a hole because of them."

  Reeve would know. He lived in a hole for far too long.

  "I'm fine," I insisted, but the words fell flat even on my own ears.

  "If you were fine, you'd have blown out of this town a week ago," Reeve said, and we all knew he wasn't wrong. "You're putting down roots because you want your people close. Because you feel like shit. Well, we're here. Tell us what's going on. Let us help you stop feeling like shit."

  A big part of me didn't want to tell them, didn't want to admit to my little failures once again. But when Cy put an arm around me, the words just burst out, each of them tumbling over one another to try to get out first.

  "So, now you see why I am in a bed, dealing with my mood. Because there is nothing I can do about this. I screwed up. I can't fix it. So I just have to deal with the aftermath."

  "Is it written somewhere that you have to deal with it in bed?" Cyrus asked.

  "I want to be here."

  "Yeah, well, give the mattress some time to miss you," Cyrus said, reaching into his pocket, producing a small black and gold gambling chip.

  "What's this?" I asked, seeing an address on it.

  "It's an invitation. And I damn near had to promise my next child to get it. So you are going to take it, you are going to get dolled up, and you are going to go use it. Get your ass out of bed for a while. You're not going to feel any better if you lie around endlessly."

  He wasn't wrong.

  I had to admit, the more I stayed in bed, the more I wanted to, the further away motivation got.

  I thought I just needed to rest, to sort through my feelings, to come to terms with what had happened.

  I guess that was the tricky thing with sadness. It let you think you could outsmart it. Then it kept pulling you deeper and deeper. Until there was no motivation left to pull yourself back out of it.

  I'd seen Reeve go through it.

  And the only thing that got him out was us, being there for him, demanding he try, forcing his hand at times when he couldn't find the will to do it himself.

  Slowly, surely, he got there; he started to rebuild his life.

  If he could do it, with a much more horrific situation than mine, then I could do it too.

  "I like gambling," I said, running my finger over the chip, trying not to remember Fenway's loud assertions that I was cheating when I kept beating him.

  "I imagine it is even more fun when it is underground and illegal," Cyrus observed, clearly never having been there himself, despite being part of a big criminal empire in Navesink Bank.

  "I'm happy to stay here in bed."

  "Yeah, well, too fucking bad, kid," Reeve said, shaking his head.

  Reeve never pulled the big brother card, so the fact that he was doing it now was telling. All the times I'd screwed up, all the times I did things he didn't approve of, he'd always kept his mouth shut.

  He wasn't going to let me stay in this bed.

  And maybe he was right. It was toxic. Sure, it felt like there was something gouged out of me with a hot poker. But it had been weeks. Staying in bed wasn't helping. It was time to try something else.

  "Okay," I agreed, nodding. "I'll go gamble. Are you both coming?"

  "Neither of us are coming," Cyrus told me. "It was hard enough to get one chip. We're connected, but, apparently, you need to be a whole other kind of connected in this town to be invite
d to Eamon Awan's casino. That address on the chip will bring you to a street somewhere where one of Awan's men will be. You and whoever else is there will be blindfolded and loaded into a stretch. They'll drive you around, then lead you down into some basement somewhere. Then you get to take off the mask. And have a good old time. They will deliver you back to that spot later, or to your house. Or, in this case, Raven's house."

  "How the hell did you guys find out about this?"

  "Gotta love our incestuous little town," Cyrus said. "I heard it from someone who heard about it from someone who has been there. But I have heard from reliable sources that it was safe and they had a lot of fun. We wouldn't send you if we thought it was seedy. But we figure it is just crazy enough to pique your interest. Shaking it up might be good, y'know? I hate seeing you like this," Cyrus said, nudging me with his shoulder.

  "This isn't you," Reeve agreed. "I get that shit went down and you are feeling it, but don't let it change who you are—"

  "Because you're fucking perfect," Cyrus finished for him.

  "Oh look at you two. Being all sappy," I told them, forcing a smile because their efforts deserved it.

  I had a feeling it was going to take a lot of forcing to get myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and out of the house. But, let's face it, I was the queen of faking things. I could fake entire identities, actual relationships, and no one was ever the wiser.

  I could fake the old Wasp for the evening.

  Maybe if I did it well enough, I could even convince myself it was true.

  "Thank you guys. For coming. I'm usually the one doing the ass-kicking in this family, but I'm happy to know you guys are willing to do it too when I need it."

  They left half an hour later, and Raven plied me with cups of coffee as I went through the process of getting myself together.

  Something about the ritual of general self-care helped break up some of the dark clouds that had been hanging overhead, letting little slices of light shine through.

  It wasn't happy.

  It wasn't even status quo.

  But it was better than sobbing in the shower.

  It was better than barely being able to force myself out of bed.

  I guess there was a reason for that old 'fake it 'till you make it' phrase.

  "I'm sorry, who are you?" Raven asked when I made my way down the stairs after slipping into the highest pair of heels I owned. They were what I called "sit down shoes," but I figured that I would be spending most of my night at a poker table, so they would work. "The only guest we have staying here has giant mats in her hair and a permanent pillow indent on her cheek."

  "Do you think it's too much?" I asked, waving down at the skin-colored silk bow-tied open back dress. The hemline was of the mini variety, and the bodice dipped low, leaving very little to the imagination. It was the sexiest dress I owned. I figured if I was going to do it, I was going to do it right.

  "I think it is just enough," Raven shot back. "But hold on. You need something," she told me, getting up, rushing upstairs, coming back down with a simple gold necklace with a small golden bee pendant. "I had this picked out for your next birthday, but I think it completes the look," she told me, going behind me to slip it on. "There. That's perfect. I know you still feel like garbage, but sometimes getting your warpaint on can help. I hope you have a lot of fun."

  "Did you see my car pull up?"

  "Yeah, they're waiting. Get super wasted and take them for all that they've got. And given the kind of people I hear frequent those types of places, that is a lot. Like a vacation house a lot," she told me, wiggling her brows. By the time the car was dropping me off at the location on the chip, I could feel anticipation starting to bubble up inside.

  It was smart of my brothers to pick an illegal casino over something tame like going out to dinner or the movies. The thrill of it was possibly the only thing that could penetrate the thick wall of regret I'd been building inside.

  "Oh, now, look at this one," a tall, svelte blonde woman with ice-blue eyes said as I walked in their direction. She was in a pair of champagne-colored slacks and a blue silk top, giving her an air of casual sophistication —not to mention money, judging by the diamonds at her ears.

  "If she is coming with us tonight, she's not looking to work for you, Faye," a tall, attractive bald black man in a gray suit told the woman, then turned to give me a smile.

  "Aero," he said, extending his hand. "And this is Faye. You are?"

  "Wasp," I told them, inclining my chin toward the man walking up behind them.

  "Oh, and this is Richard Balefire," Aero introduced.

  "You're bringing your girls now, Faye?" Richard Balefire said, inclining his head at me.

  "I'm not entirely sure if that is a compliment or insult," I told Richard, getting a smirk from him.

  "Faye is a madam," he explained.

  "So you think I'm a prostitute," I mused, feeling my lips twitch.

  "A very, very expensive call girl," Faye corrected.

  "Well then, I guess that's a pretty good compliment."

  "You're new here," Richard Balefire concluded.

  "I'm not from around here," I told them. "Anymore," I added. "I am just in town for a few weeks. I needed a fun night out."

  "What's your game, Wasp?" Aero asked.

  "Oh, honey," I cooed, giving him a once over the way the old Wasp would, always running a con even when I wasn't working. "It doesn't matter. I always win," I told him, watching as his smile went a little devilish.

  "I bet you do, babe. I bet you do."

  "Really, are you sure you don't want a job? A side gig?" Faye asked. "I'm pretty sure you just made Aero come with that look," she added, smirking.

  "If you're done trying to recruit, Faye," Richard said, but sounded amused, like he had a soft spot for her, "our ride is here."

  "Wasp, I hope you don't mind a blindfold," Aero said, taking one from one of the men who had emerged from the limo, handing out a pile of blindfolds.

  "With a sight like you here, I'm sure she is thankful for it," Faye teased, getting a chuckle from Aero.

  With that, we all climbed into the limo, putting on our blindfolds, and riding in silence as we seemed to be driven around aimlessly.

  I'd grown up in this area. I knew the back roads as well as any local kid who'd ridden their bike around every afternoon after school. As such, while we drove for about half an hour, I was pretty sure I knew the general vicinity of this private location.

  We all were helped out, led down a set of stairs.

  The next thing I knew, hands were at the back of my head, undoing my blindfold.

  And there I was.

  In Navesink Bank's invitation-only underground casino.

  It didn't have the same cheesy glitz of a casino in Vegas or Atlantic City —all neon lights and harsh colors.

  Whoever Eamon Awan was, he clearly had taste.

  Everything was in shades of black—some shiny, some matte—with the occasional splash of red. Understated. Upscale. The kind of place millionaires dropped salaries of the average middle-class families in a matter of hours.

  "Wow," I said, and just for a single second, that was all that was on my mind.

  Only a second though, mind you, because, inevitably, my mind wandered back to Fenway, thinking about how much fun this would have been to enjoy with him. I would sit there winning endlessly. He would keep losing with a smile on his face as I scolded him about wasting so much money.

  It would be an amazing experience with him.

  But, I reminded myself, I would have to find a way to enjoy it without him. As I would with all future adventures in my life.

  "What do you say, Wasp?" Aero asked, offering me his arm. "How about you whip my ass in poker?"

  "That is an offer I can't refuse," I told him, being led over to the table exchanging cash for coins as everyone else did.

  Our dealer was a silent man in his later mid-life in a pitch-black suit and salt and pepper hair.

&nb
sp; "So, Wasp," Richard said a few moments later. "What brings you to Navesink Bank?"

  "Oh, I'm visiting with a friend," I told him, arranging my cards.

  "And how did you manage to snag an invitation?" Richard asked.

  The only spot open was beside Faye who was across from me. I couldn't help but wonder if it would only be the four of us, if this place was that exclusive, or if others would make their way in later, in a different limo.

  "A treat from my brothers."

  "And they are?" Richard asked. They were probing, and I couldn't' quite figure out if they were just a tight-knit group, or if they were somehow suspicious of me.

  "Local outlaw bikers. Henchmen," I supplied, figuring that if they were the kind of people who would be regulars at this casino, that they were also the type who could figure out exactly who I was.

  "Oh, that's a yummy group," Faye said, tossing a couple chips in the pot. "They're not clients," she told me, looking at me from under her lashes, "in case you wanted to know."

  "I sincerely hope they didn't find themselves so lacking in game that they had to pay for it," I said, smiling.

  "You'd be surprised how many men prefer not having to chase. Despite the stereotype. Alright. Who's trust fund am I stealing tonight?" she asked, shooting me a wicked smirk.

  Between the two of us, we'd won three rounds before Aero declared he needed a drink before the next hand.

  "Can I get you a drink, Wasp? What's your poison?" he asked.

  "I—"

  "Pink champagne," a voice said behind me. That voice. The one that made an ache slice through my chest, the voice I still heard in my ear in quiet moments.

  But no.

  No way.

  He couldn't be there.

  He was in freaking Australia.

  Even if he did come back to the States, what were the chances that he would be here, in this town, in this underground casino?

  Slim to none.

  Yet, there was no denying it was him.

  I knew that voice as well as I knew my own.

  My body was already warming, thawing, at the sound of it.

  "Unless that was a lie too, darling," he said, making my stomach plummet.

  Across the table from me, one of Faye's well-shaped brows lifted, intrigued.