Player: Stone Cold MC

by Carmen Faye

  A large, dark brown desk and matching chair stood in the middle of the room, and Antonio Jerrill sat behind it, looking like he thought he was king.

  Or God.

  Mr. Muscle finally let me go, and I yanked my arm free like my release had been my own doing. Jerrill leaned back in his chair.

  “What were you doing talking to Mr. Miller?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “Eugene Miller. My associate.”

  He glanced up at the henchman to my side. “John?”

  John? John the henchman. Really?

  “He was talking to him in the alley,” he said. “I saw him leave through the fire exit.”

  “You were in the alley talking to Mr. Miller.”

  So Rat had a name.

  “I didn’t know he was an associate,” I said. “It was personal. He’s… a friend.”

  That was what he’d said after all. A friend, so I could call him Rat.

  Jerrill laughed, steepling his fingers on the desk. The sound wasn’t a nice one, something menacing rather than joyful. Then he nodded to John the henchman and a huge fist came out of nowhere and hit me in the stomach. The sucker punch floored me, and I sank to my knees, couching and gasping for air. It felt like he’d ruptured something. I was struggling to get in enough oxygen just to function.

  “I know you,” Jerrill said after I’d managed to get myself standing again. My insides were screaming obscenities at me, and I wondered if Jerrill would be offended if I vomited on his nice carpet.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. My voice was strained.

  “I think I do,” he answered. “You’re the arrogant son of a bitch who’s been showing face around my casino.”

  I assumed that he meant it was his casino in the sense that he was the most consistent regular. It might have been wrong, it’s happened before.

  “So, seeing that beating you up or throwing you out won’t keep you away, I propose we play this like real men.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant so I didn’t respond. He nodded as if answering himself. “That’s what we’ll do. Poker.”

  Not again.

  “How about blackjack?” I said. “I’ve only just learned the game, and it fascinates me.” Of course that was a lie on all counts, but I wanted him to think I was new to it. I knew how to count, and I thought that would let me win better than poker would at this point. Jerrill smiled an awful smile that promised more pain than pleasure. His black eyes were shrewd.

  “Very well. I always allow preferences around here.” He nodded at Henchman John who grabbed my arm again.

  “I can walk by myself,” I said. Jerrill looked at me for a moment as if considering it, and then nodded.

  “Let him carry himself out with dignity,” he said. Dignity. How nice.

  The idea was to win as much money as I could and then get away somehow. I didn’t want to leave Jerrill empty-handed, not after he’d dragged me around like a servant.

  He got up from behind his desk, and I followed him out of the office and through the maze of tunnels with John flanking us. The bodyguard was light on his feet, silent as we walked. I knew he was there only by his looming shadow.

  When we were back in the casino, the crowds parted for Jerrill. I followed him through to the middle blackjack table. The dealer was swapped, a new deck of cards opened, and our money exchanged for chips.

  This wasn’t exactly a game that you played against someone else, rather against the dealer, but I had the idea Jerrill wanted to stick close to me. And if it really was his casino as he said, it didn’t matter which way he played it, the money would end up in his pocket anyway.

  The game started and I focused, counting the cards like Alex had taught me. I did pretty well, too. I wished she could see me winning the way I did. Jerrill got more and more irritated every time I won.

  “For a beginner, you’re good at the game,” he said.

  “Beginner’s luck,” I said, but by the way he squinted at me, I was sure he wasn’t buying it. I had to make a plan to get out of here soon if I wanted to leave with all my body parts intact. I glanced over at John’s hands. They were folded in front of his body, but together they were the size of my head. My stomach still hurt, and I didn’t want another run in with those fists.

  “I find it strange that you said no to poker,” Jerrill said. “After all, I know that it’s something you like to do. Mr. Reeker.”

  I hadn’t given him any names, especially not that one. He knew who I was and that I was involved in the Crucifix Six. I was in trouble now.

  I started collecting my chips calmly.

  “I need to get going,” I said. Jerrill looked up at me.

  “So soon?” he asked. John headed toward me, but there was a considerable crowd and they didn’t part for him the way they did for Jerrill. It would have worked better if Jerrill himself came after me, but the man obviously didn’t get his hands dirty.

  I pushed through the crowds easily and made it to the money counter where I swapped my chips for cash. The lady behind the glass took forever to count it and hand it to me. I glanced over my shoulder. John was getting closer, steamrolling over guests who wouldn’t move. I tried to leave, but suddenly no one moved for me the way they had before. John was coming.

  I did the next best thing. I grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table nearby and smashed it over a man’s head. I turned and threw it to John who caught the broken bottle on instinct. By the time the guy’s friends looked around to see what had happened it looked like John had been the one to start the fight.

  They jumped him without a second thought. The fight spread like a wildfire, as if hate was contagious, and suddenly everyone fought around me. It made it impossible for John to come after me. Security shut the front doors, and I knew the police would come sooner rather than later.

  I changed direction and made my way to the fire exit where I let myself out and ran down the wet alley, money hugged to my chest and no one following me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  It was Saturday, exactly a week since I’d heard from Rip, and I was starting to get really irritated with the whole thing. He couldn’t have left town. He’d worked hard to get onto the Crucifix Six’s radar. No one just left that kind of work behind, and he didn’t seem like the kind to just run.

  He had a goal—whatever that was—and I had the idea he would reach it before moving on.

  That meant that he was still around here somewhere, and if he was around here, he would be gambling to make money. No doubt using the tricks I’d taught him. What a jerk.

  I thought about it logically. He couldn’t really go back to Harlan Gold without Jerrill recognizing him, what with the man being the kingpin around there. He also had a name that he’d made at Lady Luck. His fake name. He had an alias he could slip in without thinking twice.

  My guess was that was where he would be if he was anywhere. I’d been there a couple of times, I had contacts. Maybe I could figure something out once I was there.

  I didn’t want to make a night of it, but cash was running low so I got dressed in a black cocktail-type dress that had a slit almost up to my hip and put black heels with it. I had to play a bit to get money for the next week or two, just until I could pull my act together again and make bigger money.

  I put red lipstick on, left my hair loose, and got in my car. I wasn’t planning on drinking.

  The drive to Lady Luck felt longer than it should have, and I couldn’t find a parking space until I’d driven around the parking lot for almost ten minutes. By the time I got one and finally walked to the front doors, my mood was black and I felt dangerous.

  Security eyed me when I walked past them. I didn’t make eye contact.

  Inside, I sat down at a blackjack table and made a quick couple of hundred. It was too easy. This was why I loved what I did.

  All this shit Cass had been talking into my head about how bad gambling was and how it was her fault I did this now… I wasn’t like Mom. I would
never be like her, and it wasn’t as if I was going to use all the money and leave kids to starve. I didn’t have kids—and I was going to keep it that way.

  I took care of myself, and I wasn’t interested in her opinion of how I did it.

  The fact that she was comparing me to Mom hurt though. I didn’t like it when my older sister thought I was going to be an unreliable excuse for a human being. I didn’t like it that she thought I needed her to tell me how to live my life.

  I was fine. Besides the assholes for men who kept coming in and out of my life, I really was fine.

  The problem was I’d really thought Rip was different. I didn’t know why I’d thought that. Maybe it was because he’d said he wanted to take me out on a date. Maybe it was because he’d stuck around for long enough to make me think he cared about more than my money or my ass.

  Maybe it was because I’d wanted him to be different.

  I lost count and lost some money, which just pissed me off more. Focusing on the game again, I only played until I’d won it back again, and then I got up. Lady Luck was pulsing with people full of hope and wonder and the potential to win. And tonight it just wasn’t my scene. The thronging crowds made me feel claustrophobic, and the laughter and clinking of glasses irritated me. The smell of smoke pinched my nose, and I sneezed.

  I traded in my chips for cash and left the casino. Rip hadn’t been inside and that just pissed me off so much more. He was being an idiot. I was willing to bet he was going to be in trouble soon, if he wasn’t already. I’d been a fool to think that I could work with him and trust him.

  I flashed on his body again, arching against mine, his breathing in my ear, skin slick on mine. Sex with him was of the mind-blowing variety. And it had been so good to spend time together afterward.

  Which was exactly the problem. I’d started thinking about the afterward just as much as the actual deed, and that meant that on some level I’d stopped seeing him as an egotistical male. And that had been exactly what had gotten me to this point.

  Now I caught myself thinking about the damn guy, waiting for a text or a call, wanting him to appear out of thin air and give me a good reason why he’d disappeared…one that didn’t have me as the main motivation.

  This was Tom all over again, but a crash course.

  Tom and I had been together for two years. We’d started out great, the puppy-love phase had made me feel like teenager again, but better. Back then I hadn’t felt good about myself. With Tom I felt pretty and worth it.

  I was studying some course at college that I really didn’t like. Tom helped me pay for it, which was sweet of him, but I was thinking of dropping out.

  “You can’t just give up every time something gets hard,” he said.

  “And what do you know about me and a hard life?” I asked. He didn’t know about my mom, and I didn’t want to tell him. He worked in the admin division of some financial development company, and even though his job didn’t pay a lot, it was money coming in that we could use.

  When he lost his job that was just all the more apparent. We were already living together, and suddenly everything we needed was gone. No more income.

  So I did the one thing I knew how to do best. I gambled. I’d watched my mom so many times on the tables whenever she took a break from slots that I knew how to bring in cash.

  Tom never liked it, but it was something that needed to be done. We had bills to pay. I had college fees. Gas. Groceries. It all took cash. And as long as I was bringing it in, Tom looked for a job so that he could be the man of the house again.

  He finally found something, and we were going to be okay again. But I didn’t want to give up the gambling. I didn’t want to stop and hand him back the authority and power of being the sole breadwinner. I liked the idea that there could be more than the bare necessities. I liked that I was making a contribution.

  Most of all, I liked the glamorous life. Dressing up, going out in style, being someone else for a night. I think that was what got me more than the money, although it was almost a tie for first.

  We started going out to casinos after work. Tom came with me because he believed that you supported your partner’s hobbies. He believed in equality, bless him.

  Those were the best nights of our relationship. The man I loved, the life that I’d always wanted, an outlet. We started off good.

  But then Tom didn’t want it anymore. He wanted to stay in. He wanted to stop the gambling because we had money again. I just didn’t want to give it up. I wanted the financial freedom, the fact that I made a difference in my own life and didn’t have to rely on someone else.

  We fought about it all the time. “This is consuming you,” he used to say.

  “I’m not wasting money. I’m not placing us in danger by doing it. There’s nothing wrong.”

  We had the same fights, going in circles over and over again. At some point it felt like that was all we did.

  Then one night, after I’d gone out alone, I came home and he was all packed, two bags standing at the door. I tripped over them when I walked into the house because I’d had some wine. I was still buzzing with the win, but it all drained when I saw the bags, and then him leaning in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest.

  Blocking me out.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’m leaving, Alex,” he said. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t compete.”

  I pleaded with him to stay. I said I could change. But we both knew what was true.

  “Let’s face it, Alex, this just isn’t working.”

  I knew it wasn’t, but I didn’t want to let him go.

  “I love you, goddammit!” I shouted after him when he walked through the door.

  He turned and his eyes were sad. “Love alone isn’t enough,” he said. And then he left, and I was alone in that giant house, wearing glamourous clothes, feeling like my heart had been ripped out.

  At least this time he hadn’t left me because of my gambling problems. It just felt the same. Maybe it was because I knew what it felt like to be crushed by a man that I recognized it so much quicker now.

  Or maybe it was because there was a gentleness about Rip that reminded me of the reasons I’d loved Tom. Either way, I was being completely stupid, and I had to get over the idea that Rip could be in my life as all. He would never be more than just a partner, but even that was a problem now because I couldn’t trust him.

  I drove home. My headlights cut to shafts into the night when I drove into the residential area. I thought for a moment I saw Rip on the sidewalk, but I shook my head. He wouldn’t be heading toward the house. I was being stupid; it was a hallucination born from my pathetic obsessions.

  I stopped in front of the house and allowed myself no more than three seconds to pull things together again. I opened the car door and slid out, my heels clacking as they hit the driveway. I took out my purse and walked to the front door, unlocking it. Tomorrow I could go to the shop and grab a couple of things.

  I walked into the house and started closing the front door when someone called my name. I put down my purse and opened the door wider again, hiding behind it.

  A dark figure came down my driveway, and I was suddenly nervous. What was I going to do if someone was after me? But then his face came into the porch light’s range and it lit up Rip’s features.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. He stopped in front of the front door, looking tired, like he’d been running. “I haven’t heard from you for a week, and now you’re in front of my door. Did you think I was going to let you in?”

  I was furious. Not just with him, but with the fact that my stomach had erupted in butterflies the moment I’d seen him, and I was sick and tired of my body not listening to my rational mind. I didn’t like Rip. I couldn’t like Rip.

  I shouldn’t like Rip.

  “Can I come in?” he asked, and his piercing blue eyes pleaded with me. And God help me, I let him in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
r />   I didn’t even know why I let him in. I was pissed at him for being a jerk and leaving me hanging to think the worst.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” I said after he was inside my house. I folded my arms over my chest and shifted my weight from one leg to the other.

  “You’ll never guess what I’ve been doing,” Rip said. His blue eyes sparkled. He had something special to tell me, but all I could think of when he said “what I’ve been doing” was that I hoped to God that “it” wasn’t other girls.

  Which was ridiculous, because it didn’t matter what—or whom—he did. I’d established that he wasn’t anything of mine. I didn’t want to be involved.