Gambling with Gabriella (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 2)

by Tara Crescent

  “Yup. Is that going to make you stop flirting?” He smiles as he asks the question, but he’s not worried about my answer.

  Alarm bells have been chiming dimly in my head ever since his first warm greeting, but they rise in volume now. Something’s off. Bulldog calling me as early as he did, Ed’s unusual friendliness. “No, of course not,” I wink, stalling for time. “Ready to play?”

  “Sit next to me,” he invites. “You can be my good luck charm.”

  It’s poker, not a game of dice, and we’re playing for the same pot of money. Ed’s words don’t make any sense. But I smile and nod as if every word he says is fascinating, and I inch close to him. I don’t know the entire situation between Carter and Ed. But I can’t afford the luxury of doubt. When Noah’s back home, I can reassess the situation, but right now, I have to do everything in my power to locate that little child so that he can be reunited with Carter.

  * * *

  I’ve never played a more distracted round of poker. My mind is pulling me in a thousand different directions. Ed’s thigh periodically grazes mine, and every single time this happens, it takes conscious willpower not to stiffen and pull away, but to lean into his body and do my own touching and flirting. The dealer watches us with curious eyes, but I ignore him and everyone else. I have to convince Ed Wagner that I’m into him.

  At the cigarette break, Ed turns to me. “Want to get out of here?” he asks. “Take this somewhere more private?”

  This is it. We are finally going to track Noah down. I should be filled with triumph, but my stomach churns, and I feel a sick sense of fear.

  I push back my nerves. Not now, Gabby, I tell myself. Focus. I’ve played in a thousand high stakes poker games in my life and I haven’t flinched away, but the stakes are even higher now. My palms are cold and clammy, and my skin is covered in goosebumps. I take a long gulp from the can of club soda that I clutch in my hands, and I will myself to smile.

  “You are going to miss a few rounds of poker on my behalf?” I say, keeping my tone light and flirty. “I think I’m flattered.” I flutter my eyelashes. “When you say private…”

  “I mean my bedroom,” he interjects bluntly. He runs his hand up, from my hips to my waist, then he pulls me close to him. “Have I been misreading the signals? Are you a tease, Gabriella?”

  I giggle like a silly child. “Guys usually buy me a drink first,” I stall. Why am I stalling? But something about this moment feels wrong and forced. Ed was entirely disinterested the first day, and he walked out on me after kissing me yesterday. This eager pawing is an about-face, and I don’t trust it.

  “There’s a bottle of rum in my apartment,” he says. He pulls a set of car keys from his pocket. “Coming?”

  “Why don’t I follow you in my own car?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “I’ll drop you back,” he promises.

  His eyes are starting to get wary again, and he’s probably wondering why someone who threw themselves at him yesterday is so reluctant to play ball today. I can’t delay this anymore. If he spooks, we might never find Noah.

  But I can’t also ignore my feeling that something is very wrong. On a sudden impulse, I lean towards Ed. “Let’s do this,” I say. “But I need to go to the bathroom first.”

  “Sure. Why don’t I get your purse from Bulldog while you use the ladies? I’ll meet you at the restaurant entrance.”

  Fuck. That’s one tentative plan cut off. I was going to call Carter from the bathroom and ask for instructions. Now, I can’t insist on my purse without raising Ed’s suspicions.

  I make my way to the ladies’ room and sit on the toilet, my head in my hands. Think, Gabby, I urge. How can I communicate to Dominic and Carter that something is possibly wrong?

  Then it comes to me like a bolt out of the blue. The tracker. It’s stuck on the inside of my shoe, where it’s been chafing my skin all evening long. I pull it out and contemplate the tiny electronic device. I can’t smash it with my heels - that noise might be heard from the outside. But I can flush it down the toilet, and though I’m sure that it’s well constructed, the gadget won’t survive being immersed in water.

  If the tracker goes dead, will that give Dominic and Carter enough of a message that I think something’s wrong? I remember the worry on both their faces as I drove away. Yes, I think it will.

  That’s what I do. I hop off the seat. Closing my eyes and saying a little prayer, I flush the button-shaped device into the toilet. Then I open the stall, eyeing my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands. I look tense. Hopefully, Ed confuses that with lust.

  Opening the door, I smile brightly at Ed Wagner, who’s waiting right outside, holding my handbag in his hands. “I’m ready,” I tell him. “Shall we?”

  I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking into a trap, and as soon as we get into Ed’s beat-up pickup truck, my hunch is confirmed.

  Because Ed Wagner is turned towards me, and there’s a gun in his hand, pointing straight at my head. “Tell me, Gabriella Alves,” he says. “Who are you working for?”

  18

  Gabriella:

  “What the hell?” I screech. “What are you doing?”

  With the gun in my face, I’ve never been more grateful I followed a hunch and flushed the tracker down the toilet. Had he found it…? My blood runs cold.

  Ed ignores my yelling. The gun stays pointed at my face, and he rifles through my purse, searching for anything that might incriminate me. But there’s nothing there. There’s not even a key to the Grand River suite where I’m staying, because I’ve intentionally left it behind both days, for fear of being connected with Dominic.

  His search comes up empty, and for the first time, I see the gun waver. “Who are you?” he repeats, though his tone sounds less confident than before.

  I exhale. How would a person act if the guy she was hoping to get it on with pulls a gun on her? With indignation, I imagine. Should my ardor be cooled off? Definitely. Would I be willing to resume the hanky-panky? Depends on whether I’m an adrenaline junkie, I guess, and I’m definitely that.

  Besides, we are still in the parking lot of the Mexican restaurant. Bulldog’s crew patrol the place, and Carter and Dominic have told me they can’t get too close, not without risking a shootout. We are no closer to finding Noah. I have to play along.

  “Again, what the hell?” I say. “Is this how you react when a woman’s hot for you? Because I have got to point out, having a gun shoved in my face is not really a turn-on.”

  His expression swings from sheepish to suspicious, and back. “Sorry,” he says as he tucks the gun in his waistband, clicking on the safety first to protect his junk. “I confused you with someone else.”

  “Someone you want to shoot,” I say flatly. It wouldn’t add up if I forgave him too easily.

  “I didn’t want to shoot you,” he protests. “I just want the truth.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I’m going out of my mind here.”

  Though he pointed a gun at me, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Up close, he looks exhausted. Dark circles line his eyes, and his fingers tap a restless rhythm on the steering wheel. “What’s going on?” I keep my voice sympathetic. “Are you okay?”

  He tosses my handbag behind the seat before he answers. Though the gun’s tucked away, his suspicion hasn’t evaporated completely. My phone is out of reach, and I have no way of calling Dominic or Carter. Damn it.

  “I’m in the middle of a custody battle for my kid,” he says vaguely. “There’s a lot going on. I might have overreacted.”

  “Yeah, that’s quite an understatement,” I say dryly. “Sounds like you need a drink or two.” I give him a sidelong glance. This is my chance, and I can’t mess it up. He has to want to take me home. “Didn’t you say you had rum at your place?”

  “You still want to go?”

  “I am a gambler,” I reply. “You just keep that gun tucked in where I can see it,
and I’ll try to forget you pulled it on me.”

  “Sounds like a deal.” He turns the key in the ignition. “Let’s go.”

  Not for the first time tonight, I’m left wondering if I’m making the right decision. I try not to focus on that ominous weapon, and I try not to remember how terrifying it felt to stare down the barrel of a gun.

  Dominic and Carter, I whisper to myself, the two of you had better bail me out of this situation fast.

  * * *

  Carter:

  “Fuck,” I swear.

  Dominic looks up.

  “The tracker just stopped transmitting,” I explain to him, double-checking the readings to make sure it isn’t my imagination. The two of us are in a van, about a mile away from Bulldog. Neil Holder has a dozen men in place closer to the Mexican restaurant, but the restaurant is in the middle of a flat street, and there aren’t too many places we can set up watch without being fully in sight of Bulldog’s guards.

  Matt Gao is in the van with us. He’s the communications expert. He studies the screen. “The tracker’s broken,” he says.

  “Why would it break?” Dominic asks. “Where did it break?” I say at the same time.

  Matt answers me. “It stopped transmitting in the restaurant,” he says. “But I don’t know why. It just went dead all of a sudden.”

  “Could it just be a malfunction?” Dominic inquires.

  “Unlikely,” I say. “I checked it myself.” I’m opening my mouth to suggest we try calling her when my phone rings. It’s Joshua, another one of my team working on finding Ed Wagner.

  “Carter,” he greets me. “I have some news.”

  “Tell me you know where Wagner lives, Joshua,” I say.

  “Sorry, Carter,” he replies. His voice is serious. “I just heard something that could be a problem. Ed Wagner’s best friend in high school bought a gun today.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Of course, the purchase of the gun could just be a coincidence, but two things have now gone wrong. The tracker has failed, and a gun’s been added to the mix. I feel a cold trickle of worry at the back of my neck.

  “Thanks for calling,” I say absently. “Keep looking.”

  “Will do, boss,” he says and hangs up.

  Dominic’s overheard enough of the conversation. “I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I.” I dial Neil’s number to warn him about the gun and to caution him to stay alert. This situation is like a pressure cooker. At any moment, the lid’s going to blow.

  * * *

  Gabriella:

  I’m trying to pay attention to where we are going, but I’m hampered by my absolutely terrible sense of direction. Without that little blue dot on Google Maps to tell me where I’m going, I’m worse than useless.

  But we eventually turn along the road that runs parallel to the ocean. When the car stops at a light and the engine noise dies down, I can hear the faint sound of waves washing against the shore. There’s even a full moon in the night sky. Under different circumstances, and with a different companion, this moment would be romantic gold.

  Ed seems to agree, because his hand rests on my thigh and he strokes my skin. It’s ironic. Had Carter or Dominic touched me this way, I’d have been turned on in seconds. But with Ed, I’m fighting my queasiness, and I’m doing my best to act as if I welcome his touch.

  “You can touch me back,” he says, giving his crotch a suggestive glance.

  “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on the road?” I say. “I don’t want to get us in an accident.”

  “Don’t be boring, Gabriella.” His face twists with displeasure. “Live a little. There’s no one around.”

  There’s no avoiding it, so I reach over and rub his hard-on through his jeans, a little surprised that he’s good to go. So far tonight, he’s pulled a gun on me, threatened me and is now driving me back to his place. I would have thought all of that would have cooled his lust, but no. His bulge is clearly visible underneath his pants. “Mmm.” I channel my best porn star voice. “Is that for me?” I giggle. “I’m flattered.”

  “Harder,” he clenches out. “Rub harder.”

  Ugh, ugh, ugh. I am feeling so squicked out by the idea of touching Ed that my pussy is as dry as sandpaper.

  “Are we close to your place?” I ask innocently. I’ve been trying to notice the road signs without it being too obvious. I think we are headed south on Atlantic Avenue. All the houses look identical in the dark, and we are far enough away from the glitz and the glamour of Atlantic City that streetlights are few and far between.

  “Getting there,” he grunts. His eyes are open just a sliver, and his attention is clearly on the hand-job I’m giving him, not on the road. Delaying tactics aside, I am genuinely afraid we are going to crash, so I pull my wrist away. “Why did you stop?” he whines.

  “I’ve a better place for that bad boy,” I tell him with a wink.

  “We’ll be home in ten minutes.” He gives me a sidelong look, one that’s heated with desire. It frightens me a little. I’ve believed all along that Dominic and Carter would be right behind me, but what if they aren’t? I’m not prepared to go through with the promises I’ve been making to Ed Wagner. I don’t want to have sex with him.

  Ten minutes. Where are you, Carter and Dominic?

  * * *

  Dominic:

  “Tell me we know where she is right now,” Carter’s voice is dangerous, and I feel a brief moment of sympathy for Holder, on the other end of the line. “Damn it, Neil. What the absolute fuck?”

  Neil must be saying something soothing on his end, because Carter’s shoulders relax. He hangs up with a curt goodbye and he turns to me. “They aren’t a hundred percent sure they are following the right car,” he says. In deference to Matt Gao, who’s sitting in the van with us, he doesn’t say something disparaging about the general incompetence of Neil’s crew.

  “Let’s get on the road. Which way?”

  “If Neil’s right, south towards Margate,” Carter replies. “Yeah, let’s go. I feel about as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.”

  “That’s oddly descriptive,” Matt quips, shaking his head. “Where do you get these things from?”

  I know where the phrase is from. Chloe. She was full of odd metaphors. She’d find the oddest expressions, and she’d amuse all of us with them.

  I’ve been in love with her for so long, and I’ve spent the last three years mourning her memory. There’s a part of me that’s always going to cherish every single moment I had with her, but I didn’t lie when I told Gabby that Chloe was in the past.

  I’m done being in love with a ghost. There’s a real, live woman in danger now, a woman whose smiles have beguiled me, whose laugh soothes my heart, whose warmth eases away all of my cares. Somewhere ahead of us, Gabby’s in a car with Ed Wagner. She’s destroyed her tracker for some reason, and I’m afraid that this situation is spiraling out of control.

  But she’s not alone. Carter revs the engine and we tear out of the parking lot, making our way towards Margate City. Hang on, princess. Help’s on the way.

  19

  Gabriella:

  Ed pulls up in front of a non-descript ground floor apartment tucked away on a back road. Leaning forward, he opens the glove box and locks the gun into it, before getting out of his truck and slamming his door shut. To my surprise, he comes around to open my door for me. “That’s very gallant,” I tease. I don’t really know what to make of Ed Wagner. Just thirty minutes ago, he pulled a gun on me. But if he’s dangerous, that’s not the vibe he’s giving out.

  “The door sticks,” he smiles back. He doesn’t make any effort to retrieve my purse, which is behind his seat, and thinking about it quickly, I decide against mentioning it. After all, I supposedly have the hots for Ed. I’ve been stroking his dick on the drive. He’s already searched through my purse, and there’s no makeup in it, so I can’t even use the excuse that I want to freshen up.

  “You have to be really quiet,” he warns
me as he opens the door. “Noah’s probably sleeping, and I don’t want to wake him.”

  I remind myself that even if Ed’s being friendly at the moment, I’m walking into potential danger. But mostly, the emotion that fills me is puzzlement. Carter hates this guy’s guts, but right now, Ed Wagner just sounds like a concerned parent.

  My confusion deepens when I see the teenage girl sitting on the couch, her eyes glued to her phone, scrolling through Facebook posts. “Hey Mr. Wagner,” she greets him. She ignores me. If she’s surprised that Ed’s accompanied by a woman, she doesn’t show it. More likely, she just doesn’t care. I remember finding adults incredibly responsible and boring at her age, and I would have rather endured a trip to the dentist than spend a few moments in conversation with my parents’ friends.

  “Hi Tiffany,” he replies. He reaches for his wallet and pulls some money out, giving her two crisp twenty dollar bills, money I know he won tonight playing poker. “Thanks for watching Noah. Was he good?”

  Hang on. This guy has a babysitter for his kid? More and more, I find myself questioning Carter’s loathing of this guy. There’s two sides to this story, and I’ve clearly only heard one.

  The babysitter answers him, takes her handed money and leaves. In the meanwhile, I look around the apartment, which isn’t large. The kitchen is just a nook in the corner of the living room. The furniture looks shabby and tired, but the place is spotlessly clean. “I’m just going to check on him, okay?” he tells me, gesturing to the couch. “Sit down, or if you want a drink, it’s in the kitchen. The rum’s on the counter and there are some beers in the refrigerator.”

  He disappears into the adjoining room, where I assume Noah is sleeping. For a moment, I debate following him and trying to catch a glimpse of the child, but I talk myself out of it. Ed seems cool now, but I can’t allow myself to forget that he held a gun to my face. While every instinct of mine is screaming at me that his action was borne of desperation, not any genuine desire to hurt me, I’m still a fan of self-preservation. There’s only one of me - it makes me rather preoccupied with staying alive.