Ashes

by Aleatha Romig

  It was difficult to put into words, but there was something different about this city, unlike larger ones such as Chicago and New York. Buildings here were unique and closer together, and there was an air of history that resonated somewhere out of touch. Granted, most of it was conjured by ghost stories, TV shows, and movies. Nevertheless, as we walked through the lobby to the elevators, that separate dimension was palpable.

  With Mason and Sparrow leading the way, Madeline was before me and I was taking up the rear. We had my wife surrounded, cocooned in a Sparrow formation. Despite all the precautions, my nerves were stretched taut and on the verge of snapping as I took in every person, no matter how mundane the individual appeared.

  I recognized our men, but I wouldn’t the New Orleans outfit.

  One face I didn’t expect to see—not yet—was Marion Elliott. We’d confirmed his arrival to the city and that he’d reserved his stay at another hotel nearby in the business district. Nothing was far away from one another in New Orleans.

  So far, there was no confirmation on Ivanov’s location. He’d agreed to meet with Sparrow at the tournament. That was a broad time period. Three days. We didn’t know when he’d arrive. Our only indication from Bykov was that it wouldn’t be Thursday. We had men watching the airports and thus far, radio silence.

  Using a key card to access our floor, we rode the VIP elevator to the top level. Our suite comprised a large portion of the floor. With one entry to a large living area, there were four separate bedrooms attached, all with en suite bathrooms. While I’d prefer to have Madeline secluded away to myself, this arrangement allowed us privacy while at the same time giving us safety in numbers. Of course, we had men stationed around the hotel. No one would enter the VIP elevator without our knowledge.

  Once inside our private area, Madeline walked around the room, taking in the ostentatious décor. Wallpaper, crystal lamps, and heavy draperies were but a part of the New Orleans feel. Opening the closet, she inspected the dresses we’d sent ahead. A smile came to her lips as she ran her fingers over the material. “Sinful Threads,” she said as her grin grew.

  I nodded, coming closer. “Two of those aren’t available for sale yet.”

  She lifted a hanger and brought the emerald green silk dress to her chest. “This is beautiful.”

  “You’ll have to tell Araneae once we’re home.”

  Hanging the dress back in the closet, Madeline turned my way and brought her hand to my cheek. “Stop worrying, Patrick.”

  I reached for her other hand and lifted her knuckles to my lips. Catching in them rays of sunlight streaming from the windows, her new wedding rings glistened. My gaze went back to her shining green eyes. “You’ve made so much progress in the last few weeks; it’s natural for me to be—”

  “This won’t cause me to regress. Being with you lets me move forward.”

  My chest felt heavy, weighed down with concern. “I think you’re the strongest fucking woman I’ve ever met, and that doesn’t stop me from wanting to keep you in the apartment where I know you’re safe.”

  “Remember me saying that Araneae has her company and the institute, Laurel has her research and the institute, and Lorna has everyone?”

  I nodded.

  “I have Ruby and now you. And I have this.” She lifted her chin. “Cards. I’m good at this. I really am. I don’t know why Andros encouraged it. Maybe I was simply nothing more to him than a diversionary tactic for his business, or perhaps I was a trained monkey to entertain his friends.”

  “Madeline…”

  Her smile grew. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him. It’s about me and a sense of accomplishment. Patrick, I will win.”

  My hands were once again around her waist. “I believe you.”

  “This is an unusual tournament for Marion to attend,” she said. “I have to wonder why he signed us both up for it. Obviously, he expected for us to attend as husband and wife.”

  Even hearing those words conjured my ire. “Too fucking bad.”

  Shaking her head, Madeline took a step back. “Yeah, that didn’t happen, yet he paid the entry fee and didn’t ask for a refund.”

  “What do you mean he doesn’t do these types of tournaments? It’s not a lot different than the one at Club Regal.”

  “He was there to get me. But what I mean is that I study my opponents. That was what I was doing on the plane while you three were doing your war council. I have played against most of the players here, but there are a few new names. I not only research their statistics, but I look at which tournaments they attend. Marion usually attends tournaments with individual buy-ins.” Her head shook. “I mean, like at Club Regal he began the tournament with the most money. That gave him an advantage. He can bet bigger from the first hand, more than most of his opponents.”

  She was right.

  “He doesn’t have that advantage at this one,” she said. “So why did he want us here?”

  “You think,” I asked, “that this tournament is a front for something else?”

  Madeline shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I once again reached forward, taking her hands in mine as I scanned her from her shoes to her hair. “You have always been smart and suspicious.”

  She scoffed. “Is that good?”

  “It’s better than good. I’m in awe. And even though we brought other dresses and it’s your choice, I love the symbolism of this white dress.” I peered down at the deep V cut of the bodice. “I don’t like others checking out your tits, but, Maddie girl, you are strong, smart, and ferocious. If this dress makes you feel that way, wear it tonight.”

  She looked toward the bathroom. “I think I will freshen up and then decide.”

  It was a shower or a bath she had in mind. And while she’d taken one right before we left, I wouldn’t stand in her way. I would rather join her, but I wanted to talk to Sparrow and Mason about her theory. Maybe there was something else happening in the city. If there was, Sparrow’s counterpart would know.

  Madeline

  The Boston Club was the oldest private gentlemen’s club in New Orleans and the third oldest in the country. I’d done my research. A person wasn’t considered for membership in this club without at least five generations of familial ties. The club was originally created for the playing of Boston, a card game that was now rarely played. The only reason we were being allowed entrance was because my name was on the tournament’s roster. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe Sterling couldn’t enter or get his men inside if he wanted, but for this weekend, it was my name that would gain us entry.

  Located on Canal Street, the outside of the building was inconspicuously understated. A three-story limestone building, it was complete with Juliet balconies, a large one on the second-story and private ones upon the third level, designed for Mardi Gras viewing. As our car pulled up to the building and I peered upward, I imagined those balconies making ideal locations to toss beads to drunken partygoers on the street.

  Before getting out of the car, Patrick handed me a piece of paper. It was folded.

  Suspiciously, I opened the page. On the surface was a photocopy of an identification card. The card was enlarged and the picture was of me. I sucked in a breath as I read the name.

  MADELINE ALYCIA KELLY

  * * *

  “Is this real?”

  “I wanted you to have it before we left Chicago, but we hadn’t received it yet. Reid did what Reid does. Your death certificate has been revoked. This tournament will be the last fucking time you will ever be addressed as Madeline Miller.”

  Tears prickled the backs of my eyes as I stared down at my own face. For the first time since we were teenagers, my identification contained my actual information: name, date of birth, height, and weight. My gaze met Patrick’s. “I think the weight is a bit off.”

  His head shook. “Mrs. Kelly, this piece of paper won’t stand up in court. You need the real card. Reid has that now. It all arrived this afternoon, including a Social Secu
rity card and passport.”

  “A passport? I guess I can now travel anywhere in the world.”

  “Only with me.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  Patrick cupped my cheek and brushed his strong lips against mine. “He also has the paperwork for me to claim paternity.”

  “What do you have to do?”

  “I would like her to agree. If she does, it’s a matter of filing an affidavit of paternity. We have the tests to prove it. Once that’s done, we can change her name to Kelly.”

  My smile returned. “I’ve always wanted that.”

  He tipped his chin toward the door. “Go get them, Mrs. Kelly.”

  “I will.” Outside our car, Sterling and Mason were waiting. “Will you stay close?”

  “Soldered together, Maddie girl.”

  A smile came to my lips as I peered down at my hand.

  Yes,

  I could do this.

  “Madeline Miller,” I heard Sterling say to the man at the entrance.

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting you,” the doorman said, opening the gate and gesturing us inside.

  Another thing I’d learned while researching this tournament was that Boston Club had strict rules about secrecy. It was even joked that Fight Club’s rules were first established here. To that end, there were no pictures of the interior of Boston Club online.

  Walking beside Patrick, we entered.

  The entry was one large room filled with men and women all dressed to perfection. Above us shone a Louis XV chandelier.

  “There is a bar in the back,” the doorman said. “And the tournament will be held upstairs.”

  I smiled at the men and women as we moved deeper into the room. The atmosphere was very similar to Club Regal and other venues that favored the old-school charm of dark paneling, old fashioned lighting, and blood red carpets. My steps stalled as a painting upon the wall caught my attention. Gilded in heavy gold frames and spotlighted, the painting was an erotic piece. The woman appeared to be positioned for pleasure. By the look upon her face, she was in the throes of an orgasmic state.

  As we walked, the paintings continued, each with women in a variety of poses.

  Patrick’s eyes met mine, widening as he grinned.

  “Yes, I noticed them,” I wanted to say.

  Holy shit.

  The farther we moved into the building, the more risqué the paintings became. The artist or collector was a fan of a BDSM theme.

  “I guess they take the gentlemen’s club title seriously,” Mason said as we all climbed the red-carpeted winding staircase.

  “Welcome to Boston Club,” a woman greeted at the top of the stairs. “I’m Elizabeth, and my ladies are here to make your visit memorable.”

  Sterling’s neck straightened as did Mason’s.

  “We’re here for the poker tournament,” Sterling replied.

  “Of course. We’re here if you change your mind.” She gestured down a hallway. “The tournament is in the room on the right. Good luck, sir.”

  Sterling turned back to us. “Actually, my sister is the poker player.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth said. “Then good luck to you, miss. This is highly unusual at our establishment. And I’m rooting for you.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  “I hope to see you all tomorrow and Saturday.”

  I nodded. “It is our plan.”

  With each step along the hallway, I gripped tighter and tighter to Patrick’s hand. My trepidation wasn’t over the other thirteen players I would encounter. It was the older man with blue eyes and the belief that he’d purchased me who I wasn’t anxious to see again.

  “Madeline Miller,” Sterling said to the man guarding the door. “Plus three.”

  With a nod, the gentleman wearing a similar uniform to the man downstairs opened one side of the double doors. My breathing caught as I took in the room. There were three tables, each with five seats, set up in the center of the room. Around the walls were chairs for spectators. All fifteen of the seats were empty and would be until our names were drawn.

  Patrick squeezed my hand and tilted his head toward Marion.

  With a cowboy hat in place, his cowboy boots, and bolo tie, Marion looked the part of Texas oilman.

  “Madeline,” a deep voice called.

  Turning, I saw Julius Dunn, the poker tournament circuit’s resident playboy. He’d been in the Chicago tournament. “Julius,” I replied.

  He came to a stop before Patrick and me as he eyed Patrick up and down. “Don’t I remember you from Club Regal?”

  Patrick offered his hand. “Patrick Kelly, Madeline’s husband, and yes.”

  Julius’s eyes widened. “Husband.” His features contorted. “I thought I heard...” He turned toward Marion and back.

  “You heard incorrectly,” I said with a smile. “Patrick and I have been married for a long time. Good luck, Julius. You’ll need it.”

  “Well,” he said with a nod. “Congratulations.” He turned his attention back on me. “This is one of my favorite tournaments. I don’t recall seeing you here before?”

  I shook my head.

  “The post-tournament entertainment is…” He took a deep breath. “Probably not for ladies, if you don’t mind my warning.”

  “Interesting. I have no desire to stay after I collect my winnings.”

  Julius flashed his all-too-white smile. “Best of luck to you, Madeline.”

  I turned to Patrick with a questioning look. “Entertainment?”

  He shook his head. “We’re out of here.”

  Sterling and Mason had made their way through the growing crowd to a small bar at the side of the room. Despite the increase in people, I was able to pick Sterling and Mason out by their height. “Are you going over to them?” I asked Patrick.

  “I’m not leaving you until you’re seated.”

  Like daggers piercing my exposed skin, I looked up to see Marion’s stare focused our direction.

  “We can leave,” Patrick said.

  I took a deep breath, seeing the white of my dress. “No. I need this. I won’t live in fear of that man or any.”

  “You’re safe as long as we’re here.”

  A few minutes later, the woman from the top of the stairs appeared. Stepping upon a riser in the back of the room and speaking with a microphone, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen.” She smiled my direction. “I am Elizabeth, and it is with great pleasure we welcome you to Boston Club’s annual poker tournament.”

  While in other situations, her announcement may be met with applause, tonight there were smiles, murmurs, and raised glasses.

  Elizabeth spent a few minutes reminding the players of the club’s rules. They were standard playing rules, yet it was all part of the show. Next, she began the seating draw. The second name called was Marion Elliott. Tipping his hat, he made his way to his seat.

  I held my breath at the next name.

  It wasn’t mine.

  It wasn’t until his table was filled that I finally released the air burning hotter by the second within my lungs. Patrick squeezed my hand.

  “He may live to see another day,” he whispered.

  The second table had three players when Julius’s name was called. The last seat was assigned to me, Madeline Miller.

  With a parting squeeze of my hand, I stepped away from Patrick and made my way to the chair beside Julius. While I’d never been a fan of his and rightfully told Ruby that he could be a jerk, I was pleased to be seated next to a familiar face.

  “We meet again,” Julius said with a grin as I took my seat.

  Once we were all seated, the remaining viewers made their way to the spectators’ chairs. Patrick and his friends were as near to me as the seating would allow.

  “Gentlemen…and lady,” Elizabeth’s voice came through the speaker. “Play will now begin.”

  Club workers appeared with trays of chips, each representing a million dollars. Each player was presented with a tray and time to arr
ange our chips as we wished.

  I looked up as our dealer appeared. Surprisingly or not, she was a scantily dressed woman.

  If it was a distraction technique, it was lost on me.

  Mostly, I hoped she wasn’t cold.

  “Good evening,” she said with a bright smile. “Shall we begin?”

  The ceremonial cutting of the deck was followed by the first deal.

  For a roomful of people, the noise level diminished.

  Over time, the pot before me dwindled and grew. I was up for the evening. My big break came as the man at the far end from me, Dr. Lindsey Bolton, decided to risk half a million on what he undoubtedly felt was a winning hand.

  Full house, jack high.

  It was a nice hand and up until my last card, it would have won.

  Four of a kind, fives.

  Thankfully, the face value of the card didn’t matter. It was the quantity.

  I’d been the only one to see his raise.

  That win refurbished my pot. This wasn’t a tournament I planned to start slow. My goal was winning it all and with such a small field, I had no incentive to hold back.

  Time passed.

  Dr. Bolton was eliminated.

  The final hand was dealt.

  With four remaining players at our table, the opening bid was $25,000. It would be another twenty-five to see the game through. No one was in a hurry to raise. I certainly wasn’t as an ace-high hand was staring back at me.

  Julius folded as did the man to his right.

  The remaining gentleman narrowed his gaze.

  I’d been watching. That was what he did before folding.

  The pot would be mine.

  My intuition was incorrect. The gentleman called the $25,000.

  Hmm.

  Was he considering a fold?

  “Ms. Miller, you have been called.”

  I’d been the one to make the initial bid. That meant I had to show my cards. If there’d been a raise, I planned on folding. I flipped my hand. A, K, J, 10 and 5. Basically, I had nothing.