He looked toward the door as an older man in a standard dealer’s uniform entered the room and took his place behind the table. He unwrapped a sealed deck of cards as Jason addressed the players.
“Gentlemen,” Jason said, glancing at his watch. “Let’s begin.”
Brooks and Sarkisian picked up their drinks and brought them to the table. While they got settled, Max got his chips in order and took inventory of the other chips on the table.
It was pretty much what he expected. Chumak’s green chips indicated he was the owner of the heroin. Yuri Kozlov had two different color chips, blue and pink, indicating he was trading the underground resource kits and IDs. Alan Brooks was in possession of white chips, no surprise given his affluence in Silicon Valley, where the elite still snorted coke like it was 1985.
But it was Sarkisian who got his attention: he was loaded with gold chips — more chips than any of the other men at the table.
Max forced himself not to look too closely. He had a feeling “Russian Rose” was code for a trafficked woman. Making Sarkisian feel like he was under the microscope was a recipe for disaster, especially Max’s first time out of the gate.
The music was lowered a notch and the dealer placed the cards in an electronic shuffler, then dealt from the deck as he announced that the game was Texas Hold ‘Em. He went on to explain the rules, clearly a formality.
Max kept his face impassive as he looked at the two cards he’d been dealt. The dealer laid down the first community cards, and the players started pushing chips into the center of the table.
He didn’t usually like being the new guy in any game, but this time he was relieved to be the rookie. It bought him time to survey his options without drawing undue attention, and he cautiously moved some of his chips forward, taking inventory of the amount being bet by everyone else at the table.
No one folded in the first round, and five minutes later Sarkisian was awarded the pile of chips — including four of Max’s, roughly the equivalent of one of the Syndicate’s hot cars.
Plenty more where that came from.
The dealer dealt again, and Max settled in, playing conservatively and letting his mind wander to the room at the front of the hall where Filippovic had handed out the chips. It was safe to assume he had put the ledger back in the briefcase after he was done distributing the chips. Did he wait in the house while the game was played and then return to the room for the payout? Or was his part in the drama over, Max’s opportunity to look in the briefcase gone?
There was only one way to find out: he needed to get to the chip room, and he needed to do it while the game was in play, the other players busy.
The instructions he’d received said the game stopped at precisely five a.m. That meant they’d have to take breaks for the bathroom and to stretch their legs — and probably, if Max was honest with himself, for at least some of the men to partake from the pleasures afforded by the women downstairs.
It would be impossible to do any looking around then, when the other men were wandering the house, and after this game, Max would be expected to know that the breaks were coming.
Which meant he needed to take advantage of his rookie status now.
He waited until they’d been playing for nearly two hours to throw a hand, losing the equivalent of four of the Syndicate’s cars. Then he shook his head in disgust and stood.
“I’d say it’s a good time to take a leak.” Chumak looked mildly surprised. The other men were already waiting for their next round of cards. “I’ll sit this hand out,” Max said to the dealer.
“Bathroom is across from the chip room,” Brooks muttered as he moved his chips around.
Jason had disappeared since the start of the game, and the bartender was focused on cleaning glasses, the dealer’s full attention on the cards. Max would have to hope that Chumak chalked up his mid-game departure to poor sportsmanship following his loss.
Max ambled slowly into the hall, trying to appear like he had nothing more urgent on his mind than finding the bathroom.
The music had been turned down on the first floor and was barely audible behind the distinct murmur of feminine conversation. He thought about Sarkisian and his gold chips, about Kozlov, who had already won several of them.
How much would it take for Kozlov to win the “Russian Rose”? How would Max ever be able to leave this place knowing a woman might have been sold during this fucked up game?
He passed several closed doors on his way to the front of the hall. He wanted to look, but it made more sense to start where he thought he had the best chance of finding Filippovic’s briefcase.
And that meant the chip room.
He walked quickly now that he was out in the hall, aware that he was probably already bucking the rules, that even in the best of circumstances a bathroom break only bought him a few minutes.
When he got to the chip room, the door was closed. He forced himself not to hesitate in opening the door. If he was caught, his excuse was that he was looking for the bathroom. To make the excuse stick, he had to look like someone randomly opening doors for the bathroom, not someone hesitating because they were afraid of being caught.
He also assumed there were hidden cameras throughout the house, both for security purposes and because now that he’d been forced to accept that Jason was one corrupt motherfucker, Max had to assume blackmail might be on the menu later.
At the very least, Jason would want to keep it as an option.
If he was spotted on the security cameras, flinging open doors in search of the bathroom would be less incriminating that being careful.
But when he opened the door, the chip room was empty except for the table Filippovic had used to dole out the chips.
He closed the door quickly and turned around. Brooks had told him the door directly across from the chip room was the bathroom, but it was easy enough to claim later that he hadn’t heard or had misunderstood.
He turned down the hall near the top of the stairs instead. The open door that had given him a glimpse of the bed on his way upstairs was closed now. He opened it — might as well commit to his bathroom ruse — and found a lush boudoir dominated by a giant bed, silk and velvet linens, and a wall of mirrors.
He closed the door and started for the next one, making a point to keep up what he hoped would be construed as an urgent hunt for bladder relief and not awareness that the clock was ticking.
He opened the next door and was unsurprised to find it nearly identical to the next one in layout, although the decor was mostly platinum and ice blue.
He was closing the door and debating the merit of going back to the main hall to try the closed doors between the game room and the chip room when he ran into a meaty wall.
“Can I help you?”
It was the guard from the front door, the one who had swept him for wires and taken his phone.
“Trying to find a place to take a leak,” Max said, keeping his manner easy, maybe even a little drunk.
The man studied him for what felt like a long time. “Follow me.”
Max followed him to the main hall, and he held out a hand to the closed door across from the chip room. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
Max stepped inside a luxuriously appointed restroom. He waited half a minute, then flushed the toilet and washed his hands. The other players had to be wondering where he was by now.
The likelihood of getting away again was slim. He would have to try a few of the doors on his way back to the game room.
He opened the door and found the guard standing to the side of the door. “I’ll be happy to accompany you back to the game, Mr. Cartwright.”
Max grinned. “The VIP treatment?”
“You might say that.” He extended an arm, indicating that Max should go in front of him.
Fuck.
Twenty-One
Abby shivered as Max slid her trench coat over her shoulders and bent to kiss the nape of her neck. It was both a promise of things
to come and a perfect end to a magical meal.
She’d been looking forward to Friday all week and had been happy when she realized Max had chosen Hugo’s Cellar, a gourmet restaurant tucked away in the Four Queens, one of Vegas’s older hotels. With its low ceilings and dark interior, it wasn’t what she expected from him — she’d always assumed he liked glitz — but the food was legendary, the atmosphere perfect for hand-holding and quiet conversation.
The spa treatments with Meredith had left Abby feeling pampered and sexy, and she was eager to take Meredith’s suggestions to heart in bed with Max. She drank a little too much champagne and had grown increasingly relaxed.
She sighed happily as Max tucked her hand in his arm and led her out of the restaurant.
“Want to stop for a drink somewhere?” he asked when they got to the car.
“No,” she said. “I want to go to bed now.”
He grinned. “Your place or mine?”
She nudged him playfully. “You’re so easy!”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you love it,” he said.
It was true. She loved it.
Loved him.
She just hadn’t said it yet.
“I’m not complaining,” she said. “But since you asked, let’s go to my place this time.”
He started the car. “Your wish is my command.”
She watched the shimmer of city lights as they passed through downtown and thought about how much had changed in the past couple weeks. The city was always changing, new casinos being built, old ones being demolished, but for a long time, it had felt like she stayed the same.
Maybe not on the outside — she’d grown up like everyone else — but inside she’d still felt scared. She’d managed to cover it with bravado, to play the part of confident, successful woman, but it had been a lie. If she’d really healed from everything that had happened to her, she wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to keep people away. She wouldn’t have cordoned herself off in her jobs and her little house, wouldn’t have cordoned off her body from feeling anything powerful or intense.
Now she only had two choices with Max, the man she loved. She could either play it safe, hold him at bay like she had everyone else, or she could take a chance, open herself fully to him.
In the world of finance, they would call it high-risk, high-reward.
She looked over at him as he drove and knew it wasn’t any kind of choice at all.
Besides, she was starting to think she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. She’d been better about facing her demons lately. Stronger. Even her stop at her father’s apartment after work that afternoon hadn’t shaken her.
They pulled up outside her house and Max killed the engine, then hurried around to open her door.
They made their way up the walkway, Abby all too aware of him standing behind her as she unlocked the door of the house.
They stepped into the foyer and Abby set her keys on the table by the entry. She was untying the sash on her trench when she felt Max’s arms side around her waist.
She leaned back against him and closed her eyes as his lips touched her jaw. He spoke between kisses, making his way toward her ear.
“Let’s not pretend we’re going to do anything but go to bed, sweetheart.”
He took her earlobe in his mouth and sucked as he pushed open her coat, then slid a hand down to her thigh. He bunched up her dress and second later the heat of his palm covered her mound.
“Deal,” she said, laying her head back against his shoulder as his fingers stroked her sex through her underwear.
He lifted her into his arms and started for the stairs. She leaned her head against his shoulder, watched the polished banister disappear as they hit the landing, the creamy paint she’d chosen for the hall glowing by the light of the sconces that came on every night when it got dark.
Then they were in her bedroom, the place where it had all begun.
No, it had begun a long time before that, when she’d been just a kid, scared of her own shadow and everyone else’s, too. When a sweet boy with blue eyes had stood between her and the world.
Between her and every secret fear.
He set her down on the floor and stood looking at her by the faint light of the moon leaking in from the windows. When he spoke, his voice was gruff.
“Are you going to let me know all of you now, Abby?”
She drew in a breath and nodded as she looked at her feet, afraid to meet his eyes. Afraid he would see all her fear. That he would know she’d been a fraud all this time. That she was no stronger now than she’d been twenty years ago.
He took ahold of her chin and tipped her head up, forcing her to look at him. “You have nothing to fear from me. Now or ever. I just want to love you. Will you let me do that?”
His eyes looked black in the near-darkness, but it was still him.
Still her Max.
“Yes.”
He lay his hand against her cheek as he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was long and leisurely, the movement of his tongue casting a spell over her body. She relaxed against him, her arms sliding around his neck as their tongues parried.
He untied the halter of her dress, and the top of it fell, exposing her bare breasts. He reached down to slide the rest of the dress off her hips.
She was standing before him in nothing but a pair of pink lace underwear, already wet from his hands and mouth, when he knelt at her feet. She forced herself to breathe as he looked up at her, his face inches from the heat of her pussy.
“I don’t think you know how perfect you are, Abby, but I’m going to teach you.”
He leaned forward, closing his mouth around her sex through her underwear. She moaned and grabbed his hair as the warmth and wetness of his tongue sunk through the fabric of her underwear.
A war was waging inside her — body versus mind.
Her mind wanted to analyze what was happening. To recognize that Max had his mouth on the most intimate part of her.
Her body didn’t give a fuck. It just wanted more.
She gasped as the heat of his mouth disappeared, replaced by a cool air in the room.
He reached up and tugged at the strip of pink lace, pulling it free with surprisingly little effort.
She was bracing herself to feel his mouth on her again when he stood. “Lay down, Abby.”
There was a tone in his voice she didn’t recognize.
A command.
It sent another thrill through her body and she obeyed, laying on the bed. The silence stretched between them as he stared at her. Then he reached for the buttons on his shirt.
She watched as he undressed, revealing his chest one button at a time. By the time he got to his pants, her center was throbbing, pulsing with need for him.
He unzipped his pants and dropped them to the floor. His magnificent cock sprang free, every bit as beautiful, as powerful, as she remembered. Her body called to him, and she had to resist the urge to touch herself, to stroke the wet folds of her pussy while she looked at his naked body poised over the bed.
That, she wasn’t ready for yet.
He got onto the bed and knelt between her legs, then stretched himself over her. She was a frenzy of sensation as he swept her mouth into a kiss, his cock brushing against the inside of her thigh, so close to the cleft between her legs she could almost feel him sliding into her.
Could imagine him fucking her.
Instead he kissed his way down her jaw, lingering over her shoulders and the base of her neck. She thought she could hear him breathing as he made his way toward her breasts, then realized it was her. She was almost gasping, desperate to feel him inside her, to arch toward him, to do anything to decrease the distance between their bodies.
He drew one of her nipples into his mouth, flicked it with his tongue while he sucked, massaging it with his hand.
Her fingers traveled over his
shoulders and upper back, around to his muscled chest, down toward his cock. She wanted to hold him in her hand.
To know he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
She was almost there when one of his hands came around her wrist. “Not right now, beautiful,” he said against her breast.
He nipped at the hard peak of her other breast with his teeth before covering it with his lips.
She arched toward him, wanting even more to hold him in her hand now that she knew she couldn’t. He released her nipple and kissed his way down her stomach.
She gasped when he dipped his tongue into the well of her belly button, his hands on her waist as he nibbled at the soft flesh of her stomach. She stroked his hair until it was out of reach, his mouth searing the tender skin of her inner thigh.
Her body was in overdrive as he worked his way toward the heartbeat of her sex, but her mind was fighting for purchase, screaming that he was between her legs. That she was spread open for him, that he was going to see all of her.
She tried to let go, to release her thoughts when he pushed her thighs open with his hands. It was nearly impossible until he ran two fingers over her swollen folds. Then her mind had no choice but to retreat as it made room for the overwhelming sensation.
She knew he’d bent his head to her from the soft wind of his breath against her pussy. His hands slid under her ass, grabbed ahold of her hips. A tidal wave of pleasure roared through her body as he ran his tongue through the wet petals at her center.
She cried out when he closed his mouth over her, his tongue slipping into her channel before he slid it up to the beating drum of her clit. She was barely aware of her hands in his hair, of the silky strands between her fingers holding him in place as his tongue started to lap at the bundle of nerves holding her hostage.
There was no room for thought. She only knew she didn’t want him to stop.
He alternated sucking and lapping, drawing the seed into his mouth, releasing it to circle it with his tongue. Her hips moved with the motion, picking up the rhythm through some kind of primal instinct, thought obliterated as she ground against his mouth. His hands held her so firmly in place, she couldn’t have put distance between them if she wanted to.
King of Sin: Las Vegas Syndicate Book One Page 14
