Dare to Love (Maxwell #3)

by S. B. Alexander

  I hooked my arm through Kelton’s. “I’ll walk you out.” It was better if they left before Dillon changed his mind.

  The stars were out but hardly visible. A light wind blew, the chimes on someone’s porch singing.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “We’re dealing with illegal gambling. If Mr. Davenport finds out—”

  “I’m not letting you go in without me.”

  I prayed nothing went wrong, for his sake.

  25

  Kelton

  We zipped by buildings, restaurants, and people darting in and out of nighttime establishments as Dillon navigated through the streets of Boston toward the North End or Little Italy. Kross rode shotgun while Lizzie and I sat in the backseat of Dillon’s SUV. The Camaro was too small for all four of us.

  I snaked my hand out to rest on her thigh. “You look amazing.” She was wearing a short, black, low-cut cocktail dress. Since underground games didn’t have a dress code, I would guess she was trying to use distraction as part of her bluffing. God, I hoped her strategy worked. I worried she wouldn’t be able to bluff. Then she’d be out of the game early. Which meant Lizzie wouldn’t have the patience to wait to tear Terrance a new one. Neither would I, for that matter. And that would lead to mayhem. Not good when we were guests of the Italian mob, and because of that I wanted to lock her up and prevent her from coming to this mob-infested soirée, but in part I understood her need to see Terrance in person. Zach always had issues getting ahold of his old man.

  She smiled seductively.

  My heart slammed against my chest. Boom. Boom. Boom. Since I’d told her I loved her, my heart hadn’t calmed down. All I kept thinking about was her and how every time I kissed her she tasted of bubblegum, the past, and everything I wanted in my future, a future of her and me tangled together. Yeah, my balls were blue, dark fucking blue.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Patriots. Football. Super Bowl. Inwardly, I laughed. I’d started chanting my mantra days before the big game. I believed on some higher level that Tom Brady had heard me. The Patriots beat the Panthers in the Super Bowl. Of course, that wasn’t what should have been going through my head in that moment.

  “You remember what we discussed yesterday?” Kross and I had met over at Dillon’s to finalize plans. “Use your nervous habits to throw them off. Bite a nail if you have a good hand. Smile when you have nothing. But don’t keep using the same habits. Change it up. If you can, don’t use any expressions.”

  “I get it,” she said, doubt resonating in her voice.

  My hand traveled up her dress, slow and sure, hoping my touch would calm her. She grasped my hand before it got too far then shook her head.

  I whispered in her ear. “Baby doll, relax.” I was the one who needed to chill. If my brain wasn’t thinking what could go wrong that night, my dick was certainly jonesing to have that woman right there and then.

  “Let’s run through this one more time,” Dillon said as he braked at a light. “There’ll be ten players. Two tables. Ten guests. Security guards and two dealers. You’re out when you run out of money. Afterward, you’re allowed to stay and watch. If Terrance tanks before Lizzie and me, then Kross and Kelton, since you’re not playing, make sure he doesn’t leave. And remember, this isn’t a casino. You can’t cash in your winnings if you want to leave early. Also, Lizzie, as much as you want to have words with Terrance, keep things civil during the breaks. Otherwise, you’ll be thrown out.”

  Quietness kept us company for two more turns and three more lights until Dillon parked across from Frank’s.

  My body tensed. “You sure you’re ready?” I asked Lizzie.

  “One hundred percent,” she said with no hesitation, puffing out her chest.

  I stifled a groan. Now is not the time to be thinking about sex, moron.

  As soon as I stepped on the sidewalk, all thoughts of my steamy plans for Lizzie and me dissipated. My nerves began jumping around like a pogo stick. I’d rather have pinned Terrance down at a legal casino, not a mob-infested underground game. I’d suggested to Dillon and Lizzie that I could reach out to Jeremy Pitt for help in snagging Terrance from this game. After all, he was the Russian mob. But Dillon had told me that the game had been set up by the Italian mob. Which would only spark a fire between the Russians and the Italians, and I didn’t want to be the one to start that war, especially when I knew how much Pitt hated the Italian mob. After all, he’d been instrumental in rescuing his niece, Lacey Robinson, when her grandfather, head of the Italian mob, had kidnapped her.

  We checked in with the security guard at the door, who scanned the list of names. Once cleared, we entered the narrow hall of the brick building only to be stopped by two more security guards. I watched intently as Lizzie slipped off her jacket, revealing her body to the guards. My muscles hadn’t loosened, and they wouldn’t until I was comfortable she was out of this place and safe. They went about their business, sizing her up instead of searching her. She couldn’t hide any weapons with that dress. The garment barely fell to her knees, the spaghetti straps were angel-hair thin, her hair was up, and her sandal-type heels had no room to store even a razor blade. They sifted through her jacket before they waved her through. I went next, then Kross, then Dillon. We were all in jeans and button-up shirts, and we’d left our jackets in the car.

  We made it through easily before we were escorted by another guard down a set of stairs and into a basement that smelled of piss and other unpleasant things. I kept my hand on Lizzie’s lower back as much as I could. Just before the guard opened the door into a room, I whispered to her, “Last chance to back out.”

  “No way,” she said, smiling at me.

  Son of a bitch. The woman was determined as hell, which made me love her even more. But she didn’t know what she was walking into. None of us really did. I didn’t want to jeopardize my law career, but I couldn’t let anything happen to her. I would never recover if I lost her again.

  26

  Lizzie

  Cigar smoke choked me as we entered a dungeon-like room: cement walls, cement floors, a bar that appeared to have been wheeled in, and a cluster of metal folding tables. The lighting was dim, except over the two poker tables. The room hummed with mostly middle-aged men. It took me a second to orient myself, and I blew out air through my nostrils.

  Kelton guided me forward with his hand on my back. “You’ll get used to the smoke in a few minutes.”

  I didn’t know about that. The haze was thick and suffocating. But no amount of cigar smoke would deter me from the reason we were there. Plus I was actually excited to play poker.

  Heading to the bar, I scanned the crowd. All manner of men—tall, short, skinny, hefty, fat, bald, hairy—mingled. A handful of women, mostly short in stature, chatted as though they were long-lost friends. But no man resembling Zach with a big belly.

  A bartender with a buzz cut was serving a beer to a large man with a comb-over when we joined the group. The other bartender, a female who had biceps as big as Kross’s, served a lady with short brown hair.

  We hovered near an empty table away from the other people in the room.

  “Drink?” Dillon asked us.

  “Water,” Kross said.

  I wouldn’t have minded a shot of tequila to calm my nerves. It wasn’t like I couldn’t have one, either. After all, everything there was illegal. Kelton and I declined. Better to keep my wits about me and my bladder empty. Dillon had schooled us that a poker game could go on all night. And I wasn’t sure how many breaks we’d get.

  “Are those two men the dealers?” I asked Kelton.

  Two men, one short, one tall, both dressed in black suits and red ties, stood between the two round, felt-topped poker tables, talking.

  “Probably,” Kelton responded as he eyed the room with mechanical precision, reminding me of a robot.

  Dillon brought over two glasses of water. Kross plucked one from his hand. Dillon sipped on the other.

  “Terran
ce here?” Dillon asked.

  “No,” I said, my voice cracking. Then something depressing popped into my brain. “What if he doesn’t show?” With Zach and Kelton not on speaking terms, maybe Zach had warned his father of our plan. We’d told Zach about the poker game, although he didn’t know we were playing in it.

  “Then we still play poker,” Dillon said. “We paid the money. Might as well see if we can win seventy thousand dollars.”

  Yeah, that would be the icing on the cake. I could pay back my debts and have money left over. I dismissed the thought, as exciting as it sounded. I’d only learned the game a week before. Unlike some of the people playing that night, who I imagined had been at it for years.

  “This is all wrong,” Kelton said. “I got a bad feeling. Particularly with the frightened look on Lizzie’s face.”

  My muscles tightened. “I’m good.”

  Kross set his water down then pushed up his shirtsleeves, revealing a rattlesnake on his forearm. “Make them believe you have something you don’t. It’s like boxing. During a match, I always throw a left hook when my opponent thinks I’m going to throw a right.”

  “I know, bluff.” Habits were hard to break, especially with frayed nerves.

  The tall dealer with slicked-back hair announced, “Five minutes. Last chance to use the facilities until the scheduled break.”

  People scattered. Some darted to the restrooms located in the far left corner while others casually made their way to their seats at one of the two poker tables. As the area thinned out, the door opened, and in strutted blond-haired, big-bellied Terrance Malden with a short platinum-blond woman at his side. He glanced around. I couldn’t say for sure if he would recognize me. Bee had done my makeup. Allie had coiled my hair off my shoulders in a fancy twisting up-do. Anytime I’d met with Terrance, I’d been plain Jane—no makeup and hair down, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops.

  “That’s him,” I said.

  Kelton agreed. “He’s looking quite haggard these days.”

  I’d forgotten that Kelton knew him.

  “You know, maybe if we hit him up now, we could get the hell out of here,” Kelton said.

  Dillon shook his head. “That will only start a shit-storm. Remember, no trouble. Let’s stick to the plan.”

  We couldn’t waver from our plan since Dillon and I had money on the line.

  “Mr. Malden,” the tall dealer said. “Nice to see you.” They shook. “Why don’t you take your seat? We’re about to begin.”

  Terrance nodded then kissed the short woman before finding his spot. Those exiting the restrooms claimed their seats.

  “Is it assigned seating?” I asked, hoping that I was at the same table as Terrance.

  “Yeah.” Dillon focused on Kelton and Kross. “You two strike up a conversation with the blonde. See if you can find out where he’s staying in case we can’t get anywhere with Terrance.”

  At least someone was thinking of all the angles.

  Kelton drew me to him. “Remember: bluffing is the game here. And”—his lips feathered over mine—“kick some ass.”

  Laughter escaped me, skittish and high-pitched, as anger and fear crashed in tidal waves through my stomach. Dillon grabbed my hand and ushered me to the tables. The players seemed to be in their own worlds, checking their phones one last time or lighting up fresh cigars.

  Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. I took in one breath of cigar smoke then released it. Then I repeated the process as I found the tent card with Reardon typed on it. I was at the same table as Terrance.

  The butterflies in my stomach perked up as I took my seat. On my left sat a large man with a comb-over and body odor, whose name card read Oscar. The brunette with short hair from the bar sat on the other side of Oscar. I couldn’t see the name on her card. Next to her was Dillon, followed by Terrance, who sat across from me. He was reading something on his phone. I straightened in my chair, glancing past him to the bar where Kross and Kelton were, though the light above us made it difficult to see them.

  The tall dealer walked up to stand next to me. “Okay, let’s begin. Each of you has a tray of poker chips with twenty, fifty, and hundred-dollar chips. We’ll begin by dealing first to Ms. Reardon.” The dealer motioned to me with a flip of his hand.

  At the mention of my name, Terrance whipped up his head. His hazel eyes went wider than the poker chips. I kept my expression impassive—at least I hoped I did—and pictured kicking him under the table, handcuffing him until he confessed, sticking out my tongue, screaming at him, or even punching him square in his hook nose.

  My imaginary fun was shattered when the dealer continued. “The game is five-card draw. Once the cards are dealt, the bet will begin with Ms. Reardon. You can’t replace more than three cards unless you have an ace. Breaks will be on the hour. Once your money is gone, you’re out. Any questions?”

  “I have a problem with Ms. Reardon,” Terrance said, his voice gruff as though he’d smoked one too many cigars. “She doesn’t belong here.”

  The dealer glanced at me then back at Terrance. “Her money is as good as yours.”

  “She can’t be but twenty.” Terrance’s jaw flexed.

  The man knew exactly how old I was. He knew more about my life than anyone else at the table.

  I narrowed my eyes. “And you don’t need to be gambling my money away.”

  The dealer studied me for a long minute. “Do you have an ID?”

  “Are you kidding me?” The gambling age in Massachusetts was eighteen. “He’s just afraid I’m going to take his money.” I lifted a shoulder. “Which I am.” Don’t get cocky, girl.

  “You tell him, honey,” the brunette said.

  Terrance glared daggers at the woman, who reminded me of Halle Berry.

  “Milt,” Terrance said to the dealer, about to stand.

  Dillon put his hand on Terrance’s shoulder. “What’s your problem? We’re all here to play.”

  “In an underground illegal poker game, no less. Therefore my age doesn’t matter.” My tone was neutral, even though I was shaking inside.

  “Again, her money is good,” Milt said. Then he dealt the cards.

  Terrance scowled.

  When all five cards were in my hand, I fanned them out close to me. I had the two of spades, three of diamonds, seven of hearts, ten of diamonds, and three of clubs. I had nothing.

  “Ms. Reardon, pass or bet?” Milt asked.

  I slowly lifted my gaze to Terrance. He still had a dirty look on his face. Might as well make him sweat. The game was about bluffing as much as it was about the hand that was dealt. I could start us off with a bang by betting half of my money—make a statement. That might serve to show them I was crazy, and I did want to be taken seriously, be professional, and handle my situation like an adult, not like some lunatic.

  I counted out ten black chips then pushed them to the middle of the table.

  “Bet is a thousand,” the dealer said.

  Oscar, the Halle lookalike, and Dillon each bet a thousand. Studying me, Terrance stalled before dumping his thousand into the pot. I didn’t have an ace, but I only discarded two cards—the seven of hearts and the two of spades. I was left with a pair of threes and a ten of diamonds. I wanted to keep my highest card.

  When everyone was ready, Milt dealt the appropriate number of cards to each player. Perspiration coated my underarms. As I picked up the two cards, placing them behind the others, I willed my hands to stop shaking. Then I checked the cards one by one.

  “Ms. Reardon, it’s your bet,” the dealer announced.

  I had three tens and a pair of threes—a full house, which was the fourth best hand to have outside of a four of a kind, straight flush, and royal flush. Since I’d started off with a bet of a thousand, I continued with that amount, placing my chips in the pile. In my mind, it wouldn’t be appropriate to lower the bet. That would infer I didn’t have anything or that I’d screwed up by getting rid of the wrong cards.

  Osc
ar folded. Halle matched my bet. Dillon folded. The bet was to Terrance. He checked me, then his cards, then looked at me again, his expression blank.

  “I’ll see your thousand and raise it by two thousand.” He counted his chips before plunking them into the pile.

  “Ms. Reardon, the bet is to you,” the dealer said. “Two thousand to stay in the game.”

  Oscar lit up a cigar. Dillon’s eyebrows furrowed. Terrance sat back, plastering a smug grin on his face. Everyone at my table watched me intently as the room dropped into a thick silence.

  I wanted to check on Kelton, but I didn’t want to be distracted. Nor did I want people to think I was seeking help. So I stared at my cards, thinking. The pot totaled ten thousand dollars. Twelve if I matched Terrance’s bet. I had a full house. Three other poker hands topped what I had. Terrance had more experience than me, and I had eight thousand dollars remaining to play more hands. So I wasn’t in any danger of running out of money yet. But if I could come out of the game as the big winner, I’d win seventy thousand dollars provided I didn’t make stupid decisions. A wild laugh broke out in my head. Sitting there was a stupid decision. No, it was a desperate one. Leave now. Get up gracefully and walk out the door. Let the legal system take care of Terrance. But if you win, the money will help you get on your feet until the courts resolve your case.

  “Ms. Reardon,” the dealer prodded.

  I glanced at Terrance.

  “You don’t belong here, Elizabeth.” Terrance looked down his hooked nose at me.

  I bent the cards as a desire for vengeance overtook the impulse to leave. I peeked at Dillon. He shook his head with the barest movement. Whether Terrance was an expert at the game or not, at that moment, nothing mattered except revenge. Sitting across from him, seeing his condescending mug, remembering my dad and how he’d admired Terrance, I wanted to physically harm him. He was betraying my dad and the tight friendship they’d had. That thought alone made my blood boil.