“I see you. Go on in. A man named Edgar will assist you. He’ll be waiting beside the metal detectors.”
Edgar? Interesting. I assumed he’d be in the camera room only, but it seemed these men played multiple roles. In tables like these, run by families with reputations, these circles were kept small and trusted. Henry Wittacker didn’t simply invite anyone, which was probably why it hadn’t been difficult for Rada to find Trace through Mel. Trace likely was forced to use his last name in obtaining a seat at this lucrative table. He needed money to get out of the UK, fast, and short of robbing a bank, poker was a way of making quick cash. Underground, even more so.
It occurred to me that Rada had put her reputation on the line for Theo. Members of the poker elite didn’t rat on each other. Politicians, restauranteurs, celebrities, Russians, the mafia, the code of this brotherhood was simple: Keep your mouth shut.
In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if this man were Steve.
“Thank you, sir.”
I picked up my skirt and stepped through the double-arched doors the man swept open for me. If the outside of the house was basked in a golden wash of sunlight, the interior was even shinier, the unobtrusive light fixtures glinting off brass accents—or likely gold, and vintage at that. The small table under the diamond shaped mirror with delicate gold legs could have been gifted by the royal family, as well as the Renaissance paintings guiding my way to the left, where two largely obtrusive metal detectors waited, right before marbled stairs with gold railings descended to the bottom floor.
Hades indeed.
“Miss Mathis?” a very tall man asked, also in an all-black, three-piece suit. My head maybe reached his shoulders. He appeared lean in his outfit, but I was confident his arms and thighs were roped in muscle, a man adept at combining martial arts and wrestling, bare-chested, with no protective armor against his opponent. A visual representation of poker, if you will.
“I’m Edgar. Follow me.”
We strode around the metal detectors and the two people manning it, and I clip-clopped down the staircase, my fingers running across the cold golden railing, one step behind Edgar. A one-second check in my handbag to make sure my phone was on, and—
“I hafta be honest, it’s not often we have a lady in the house,” Edgar said.
I refocused. “Yes. I get that a lot.”
“You must be good, to come here.”
“I’m all right,” I said as we reached the landing.
Edgar was fishing, but that was okay. I was well-used to men attempting to “know” me, or in their version, have presumed aspects of my personality that no matter how I answered, would remain prominent until I drained the pot. The potential for Edgar being no different was high, but I played along anyway, though not too hard. I was to be above-average, but not amazing.
“It’s interesting, you know, how you landed on the VIP list mere hours ago.”
Hmm. Edgar was also observant.
“It was a last-minute detour into the UK. My fiancé, well, he has his quirks. One being diverting our”—my mind raced to recall the charter plane Theo had flown us in on—“Bombardier en route to Persia because he just had to have the world’s most expensive burger. Have you heard of it? Involving gold and lobster? Regardless,” I waved a hand at him like I pictured a sheik’s princess would do, “If I smell like a cheeseburger, that would be why. He’s now asleep at our suite, and I’m bored and waiting for him to wake up so I can reboard my plane.”
Yeesh. I hope I sounded fancy enough. That, right there, was so much pulled out of my ass in record time.
Meanwhile, Edgar probably had a delicate internal monologue beginning with, rich people. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.
Couldn’t agree more, buddy.
“Interesting story,” Edgar said, then stuffed his hand in his pants’ pocket and pulled out a brass key. “Just so you know, I’ll be watching you carefully.”
MMA Edgar. Also smart.
Lucky for me, nothing untoward was planned at this game, other than monitoring another lap dog. My job was simple. Sit down, play decent hands, wait for Mel to finish up, then call it and leave. So easy peasy that it was obvious why Theo allowed it to happen. This was the safest thing I’d been up to since the routine of getting up and making it to my morning high school classes every day.
“This key allows you to re-access this room,” Edgar said. “Show it to security upstairs whenever you have to exit to have a smoke, or other … ladylike things.”
Ah, men. Always assuming women will constantly need the bathroom.
“Thank you,” I said, palming the key and dropping it in my purse. It was small entertainment to think the clank of it against the phone could’ve hurt Theo’s ears.
“Good luck.”
Edgar trotted up the stairs, and I waited to see which direction he turned when he reached the top. Right, which meant that was where the security monitors lay.
I pushed the door open and wandered into an environment that had become my home.
There was no focal point in this room. No shiny fixtures, carved Renaissance-style wood, diamond chandeliers, nothing. I was in a secret add-on, a room unknown to any guests passing through the main entranceway and onto marble tiles rippling with precious stone. The duke’s son—Henry—had a man-cave that, with any other guy living with his parents, would have contained video game consoles and special gaming chairs, computers and a flatscreen as the centerscape. Here, there was thin carpeting as to mute distracting footsteps, a single medium-sized flatscreen showing a recording of the French Open, and one circular table, stapled over with the most expensive purple felt money could buy.
Wasn’t purple the color of the Royals? Ballsy.
As the men quieted their conversation and chips stopped clicking against each other, I murmured to the man seated just at the door with an open lockbox, trading cash for chips. He ran the cash through an electronic money-counter. Its whirrrrr echoed through the silence, but at its end, he nodded with satisfaction and passed over a plastic tray containing four rows of chips in green, blue, purple, and red respectively.
Five people were seated at the round table. I took the second-to-last available chair on the right, sitting down with a vague smile. A few flickers of interest, but otherwise, the men stayed with their chips. Henry sat across from me and lifted his fingers in hello, an acknowledgment of my presence. The others were in form-fitting designer suits, tailored with Englishman’s precision. All blazers fit them perfectly—a sign of true wealth.
And as usual, all men.
My clutch lay unobtrusively on my lap, the clasp open, and I hoped Theo could hear. I pictured him in his car, sheltered by the night, the only light coming from the reflective screen of his phone as he listened carefully, earbuds in, and tapped his index finger anxiously against the case. It was one of his very minor tells—just a few taps before he caught himself and schooled both his body and his mind. I wanted to be beside him, palming his cheek and smoothing out the lines.
“We’re all here,” Henry said. He’d unbuttoned his collar, and if he had a tie, it was discarded. In his House, I supposed he could dress however he wanted.
“Nope, we’re missing one,” a man seated two from my left responded.
A quick scan of faces, and I noted Mel had not yet arrived. Was he going to come at all? Our planning assumed he’d be here, that Trace was eager for more cash so he could leave this country and his crime behind.
“If he ain’t coming, we ain’t waiting,” Henry said. “I’m ready to play.”
“As am I,” I said.
The players jolted at my voice, sounding so light but playing so hard on the vowels the way their accents didn’t. It was crucial to speak up, both so Theo could locate my voice and to utilize my best weapon. I chose icy-cool, unperturbed, graceful, and sweet-toned. It was enough to get even the savviest players to look up at the sultriness, glance over, and study—if only for a second. It was in that single second of appreciat
ing the sexiness of a woman that they gave up their tells.
“Who are you, again?” asked the first man who’d spoken. He remained crisp in his navy suit, mid-fifties, with more salt than pepper hair. His eyes were keen.
“I apologize for not introducing myself. I’m Vivienne. A pleasure.”
“Mm.”
“A sheik’s princess, is that right?” Henry added. “You have a spare yacht you can loan us?” He laughed at his own joke.
“I believe my prince has three.” I smiled.
“What’s he doing allowing you out, looking so beautiful without him?”
This came from the man on my right. I thought of Theo. “He knows that if he doesn’t loosen the leash a little, I’ll bite him.”
The man guffawed, then patted my arm in a fatherly way. “I like ‘er. Let’s play.”
“Is Melrose coming?” Another man asked, this one in a midnight blue and black two-piece suit. These tailorings would truly send Kai into an orgasm. It almost made me do the same—picturing Theo in these pieces, striding into the room, commanding attention with the fit of the lapels over his chest, the cup of fabric over his ass—good Lord, he would put these skinny, pot-bellied men to shame.
Henry’s half-hearted head shake snapped me to attention. “Nuh. He asked a friend to take his place.”
“A lot of ‘friends’ taking position at this table, Henry.” It was the first man who spoke, the one with the keen eyes.
Henry shrugged. “They come from vetted sources, no need to get your knickers in a twist, Sal. I’ve been in charge of these games how long? And nothing’s ‘appened.”
“Yeah,” he said, and I got the impression he hated that a kid was in charge of the best game in town.
“Right, then when’s he coming? This friend? My wife has me going to a charity gala in a few hours. I’d love to get some more plays in,” another man said.
“Any second now,” Henry said. “Let’s keep going. He can join the next flop. Xavier?”
Henry looked to the man who had a white chip with DEALER in front of him. Since this was a small game with no casino elements, each of us would take a turn as the dealer.
A cocktail waitress appeared from a hidden door, tray in hand. As she placed the other player’s drinks to the right of their elbow, she looked to me. She appeared to be exactly my age when I started this career, her fine brown hair pulled high and tight in a pony-tail, all the better for men to tug at when they thought they were being cutesy and attempting to get her attention. Her bodice was red and tight, the lace garters under her leather mini-skirt even more so.
It was not an outfit she would have chosen. It would be all Henry’s work.
“Gin and tonic,” I said. When she passed by, I put a green chip on her tray as tip.
“Much obliged,” she said quietly, and disappeared back through the secret portal. Not without a few appreciative studies in her wake.
We played. With each hand, I grew increasingly nervous, waiting for Mel to come through those doors so I could begin the task of becoming a mentalist.
Five hands later, the door stayed shut. In my distraction, I lost more money than I intended, which had me thinking fuck it, and refocusing on the game. I couldn’t let these players completely dismiss the sheik’s mysterious princess.
“Sir.”
With the stealth of an alley cat, Edgar had walked in and was leaning into Henry’s ear. Henry nodded at whatever Edgar said. “Let him in.”
“Are you … sure?”
The hesitancy in Edgar’s voice heightened my attention.
“I’m sure. He owes me.”
“Princess Leia? You’re up.”
Keen-Eyes wasn’t so keen on me. A brief study of my two cards gave me the answer before I went back to Edgar and Henry’s conversation. “Check.”
If, when Edgar went to open up the room, it was Theo on the other side, I wouldn’t be surprised. This plan of ours would be crap if Mel never showed, and it had been two hours without his presence. I was playing with Rada’s money, which, if I lost any more, would cost both Theo and I in ways I’d yet to measure. And to lose tonight would mean Trace was back in the wind. At each point in our trifecta, fire lay.
Why then, would Theo risk going on camera? I glanced up at the black lens in the corner right as the tiny green light flicked off. A subtle glance to my right, and another camera’s light went black.
“Mel’s friend’s here,” Henry said for our benefit.
My hand was slack against my face-down cards, every joint of mine carefully schooled so no outward emotion would show.
Edgar pushed down on the door’s lever and the ornate wood opened. In its place stood a man with sinful blue eyes, arms with the power to lift me and shoulders to withstand my weight. Narrow hips sheathed in a suit expertly crafted to display the Adonis underneath. A wave of hair, burnished and silky, that when during sex, would fall against his brow.
Everything about this man was so familiar that if I wasn’t careful, I’d mistake it for love.
But it wasn’t Theo.
20 Cracked Lightning
My old wound throbbed. I tasted real fear, acrid and rancid, at the back of my throat.
Trace.
He was here, and in two seconds his scan of the room would land on me.
My elbow scattered chips to the floor and had the man next to me swearing like I’d just spilled his drink. I hunched under the table to collect them, mentally going over various plans on getting the hell out of here without being noticed.
I didn’t have many to go on.
The cocktail waitress bent down at my feet to assist. I grabbed her wrist to keep her there, and well versed in antics of her rich clientele, she covered her squeak of surprise nicely. Her wide brown eyes landed on mine.
“I need you to help me out of here,” I whispered. I hoped, with my earnestness, I instilled in her the sheer urgency of the situation.
“I don’t understand,” she replied, and I covered a curse.
“That man that just walked in? He’s my ex. An abusive one. He can’t see me. He can’t.”
The pain of Trace’s bullet throbbed at my ribcage, a silent alarm my body crafted as a reminder of the pain he could inflict. The death he almost accomplished.
The gorgeous suit he wore most definitely housed a handgun. There were no illusions that once he noticed me, sifted through his memories and saw through my brown hair, that he would shoot me on sight. Nobody here owed me anything, much less protection.
The waitress hesitated.
“Are you all right down there?” the fatherly man asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said, making my voice higher than normal. “Just cleaning up my mess. I’m so clumsy. Um…” I looked to the waitress, and, well-versed in the subtleties of this room, she understood my silent question and answered, “Rebecca.”
“Rebecca is helping me count my chips. Ensuring I didn’t lose any under your shoes,” I finished.
Another pair of shoes took up position across from us. Trace was sitting down at the table. If I popped up, I was done for.
“Rebecca, please.”
She blinked a few times as she thought. “Yes, okay.” She hooked my waist and we both lifted off the floor.
“Oh, dear,” she said to the men. I remained at her elbow, facing away from the table. “It seems we have an issue.”
Playing along, I tottered against her, and she balanced us into a wobbling stand.
“She been drinking before coming here?” someone asked behind me, and I heard the scoff.
“Nice friends, Henry.”
“If you don’t take the game seriously, sweetheart, we don’t want you here.”
“Jesus H. Christ. Take better stock of your players, Henry.”
A shadow covered us, and I coughed through the yip of terror that wanted to come through instead, but it was Henry. “Get her out of here,” he said to Rebecca, then looked upon me with disdain. “Permanently.”
I mou
thed a pitiful I’m sorry, then pretended to retch.
“Good Lord.” He jumped back. “Your fiancé will hear about this. And you’re not getting your buy-in back.”
“I—I—” another well-timed retch and Rebecca and I were practically pushed through the hidden door.
My clutch was making an indent on my belly, the clasp automatically shut as soon as I grappled it against my stomach and scuttled out of there. As I straightened, I clicked it open and yell-whispered, “Cassie. Cassie, Cassie, Cassie!”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said to Rebecca. “Thank you. For helping me out of there.”
“Of course. That man…” Her eyes slid to the side and down. “He’s not very nice.”
“You know him? The one who just walked in?”
“Yes,” was all she would say. “He’s one of Drea’s regulars, but she quit abruptly and now I’m pulling shifts every night.”
I raked down her body, as if I could x-ray through her clothes and detect any bruises. Something chewed on my brain. I asked, almost off the cuff, “You know someone named Drea?”
Her gaze pinged onto mine. “I thought you were saying the name Cassie.”
“Yes, but now I’m thinking of Drea. You know her.”
“I—no. I do not.”
She turned, and I clasped her elbow. “Rebecca, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” she said, avoiding my eyes again. “I’m afraid of him.”
“Did Drea work here? Was this a side job of hers?”
“I can’t be gone for too long. They’ll notice.” She started to walk away.
“I used to be one of you. The exact same. A cocktail waitress at these underground houses,” I blurted to her back.
She stilled.
“I know what it’s like,” I continued. “I was even stupid enough to fall in love with one of them. Is that what Drea did? Did she fall in love with Trace?”
“I’ve told you—I don’t know who that is.”
“You do, Rebecca. I can spot a tell a mile away. And you know how I learned it? By being a server to these men who think that a hot chick in a sexy costume just for them is too stupid to notice how poker is played. Or who’s behind the cards.”
WIN THE GAME Page 16
