Dare Me (A MFM Ménage Romance)

by Vivian Ward

  He sure silences calls an awful lot.

  I look around the dimly lit street. I can see a bum sitting about a block and a half away, and I can hear him playing his harmonica. He’s panhandling. They do it on almost every corner it seems like. This neighborhood is much different than my home back in Chesterfield.

  In Chesterfield, the streets are well lit, there are plenty of subdivisions, and businesses close at a decent hour which means you don’t see people on the streets. You might see a person here and there driving in their car, but never out just walking in the dark.

  I don’t feel too safe here. Dressed how I am, anyone could easily mistake me for a prostitute, drag me into their car and rape me or kidnap me. My palms start to get sweaty just thinking about all of the possibilities of how my night could end. And I’m not sure which is worse: the Rigozzi’s or the evil lurking the streets.

  “How will I get back in the car? To wait for you?”

  “Ah, glad you asked. Here,” he hands me a key to his car. It’s a single, spare key. “Put this in your bra, or your purse; whatever is most comfortable for you. When you leave, you can let yourself back into my car and wait for me.” He pauses, sensing the fear within me. “Don’t worry, babe, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  It’s funny how both of the Richardson brothers keep making me the exact same promise. It’s like deja-vu.

  Maybe it’s some sort of forewarning, or maybe it’s a sign of something more.

  Slipping the key into my bra, I smile. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

  “Good, just work some of that black magic shit you whipped up before and we’ll be good to go.”

  Chapter 11

  Walking up to the back door of Rigozzi’s, I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my dress. My heartbeat is thumping in my ears, and it feels like someone is watching me.

  Maybe it’s because I’m so paranoid about getting caught. If fear had a scent, I’m sure I must reek of it.

  There’s a man standing near the back door of the restaurant. An extremely large man, solidly built and wearing a gray pin-striped suit.

  As I walk closer toward him, he puffs out his chest and stands tall and stiff. I swallow, afraid that he’s going to do something to me if I get too close to him. He looks like he’s killed before and his tight jaw tells me that he’s not the door greeter.

  “Um, Hi, I’m uh,” I look around to make sure nobody is around before I say my next words.

  “I remember you!” He cracks a smile. His mean, glacier eyes turn into sparkling happy ones. “What’s your name gorgeous? You were here last night, but I didn’t catch your name.”

  His Italian accent is thick, and he sounds so sexy.

  “Joline,” I feel myself blush. “And you are?”

  “Tony! Tony the Tiger,” he winks at me.

  “Oh,” I giggle. “Well, Tony, I’d love to chat, but what I’d really like to do is get in there and hopefully win a few bucks, or at least not lose too many.”

  “Certainly,” he opens the door for me. “After you, darling.”

  “Thank you.”

  That was much easier than I thought it was going to be, but I’m still nervous about everything. Walking down the stairs away from the busy kitchen where I hear the chef yelling at his assistants, I begin to wonder if I’m going in the right direction. All I can hear is silence. No music, no laughing, no talking. Nothing.

  The door at the bottom of the steps swings open and an attractive Asian woman is walking out, counting her money as she brushes past me on the stairwell.

  “Good night tonight!” she flashes her cash at me.

  “Thanks, good to know.”

  There’s no question that I’m going in the right direction now. I continue making my way to the bottom of the steps and let myself into the mini casino that’s below the restaurant. It is amazing how close it resembles a real casino. There are table games as far as the eye can see. I walk past a craps and roulette table before I spot the words “Poker Room” which happens to be right next to the blackjack tables where I’ll be spending my time tonight.

  I wonder who is in charge. Who hires the employees and pays them? How do they get paid?

  I imagine that the owner of the restaurant probably runs it, but I’m not certain. The Italians have always had their hands into illegal activity so it wouldn’t surprise me. I bet the old man, Vincent Rigozzi, probably has them listed as employees on his payroll and pretends they are cooks and servers.

  It makes perfect sense.

  Walking around, I spot a couple of familiar faces, but I’m not sure why they’re so familiar. I don’t know any of these people. Hell, I didn’t even know that this…this, underground casino even existed until Zack told me about it.

  Then it hits me, and I know why they look familiar! We all worked together last night. They must be the other spotters that Zack and I talked about on the way over.

  There’s Kevin who’s a medium-skinned brother with a fade hairstyle. He makes eye contact with me and gives a slight nod. Just as Zack described him, he’s wearing a polo shirt with khaki pants and brown work boots.

  Glancing around the other tables, I spot Jesus, or whatever his name is. There’s no mistaking him because he’s the only man in here who looks remotely close to Jesus.

  I make my way over to a small booth where an older oriental woman is and exchange the cash that Zack gave me for poker chips and make my way back to the tables.

  Sitting opposite of Kevin and Jesus, I nestle myself into a cozy spot next to a middle-aged man and his much too young girlfriend who is standing beside him. I swear this girl is young enough to be his daughter. She’s wearing a skin tight dress with her boobs practically popping out of the top of it while she bounces around in her 8-inch heels.

  I turn my attention to the dealer and offer a nervous smile as I push some of my chips toward him.

  “Sure hope you’re my lucky dealer tonight. I could use a break.”

  “Minimum bet?” he asks.

  “Yeah, figure I better start slow,” I lie.

  I’ll bet the table minimum all night. My job is to count the cards. Every card has a value; if it’s a high card, then it’s minus one, if it’s a low card then it’s plus one and the rest are all worth zero. When the deck gets hot, I signal either Zack or Angie over, tell them the count with the code words that have already been established and then they play until the deck cools and get out with winning as much as possible.

  As I’m beginning to warm up, I look around the room and take note of their security. Their pit bosses look even meaner than the ones we used at the casino. This one guy, he must be every bit of 300 pounds of solid muscle and damn near seven feet tall. He walks around for a bit before settling into a corner with another man, who’s almost of equal size but he’s closer to six foot and slightly less muscular.

  I sure hope Zack knows what he’s doing.

  Judging by the looks of these guys, they could take out a small army with very few movements. And these guys, these pit bosses, they’re not afraid to hurt women, so I know that I’m not immune. Shivers run down my spine as I think about them doing something horrendous like pulling my fingernails out of the tips of my fingers with a pair of pliers.

  Checking out the other spotters, I notice that Jesus signals that the deck is hot and watch Zack make his way over to his table. He looks so cocky and confident, not a care in the world. I’m sure that I appear that way too, but I’m dying on the inside. I’m so scared of getting caught but I know I have to keep my cool or I could blow everything.

  Queen. Minus one. Deuce. Plus one.

  The count is zero.

  The dealer deals out the next hand. I watch and count.

  A three of spades pops up. Plus one. Another deuce. Plus one. The deck count is now two. A king. Minus one.

  I’m trying to keep count while making casual conversation with the dealer and the middle-aged man with the bubbly blonde girlfriend. Counting cards is harder than
I thought. I don’t know how these people do it.

  Practice. Lots of practice.

  I have no clue how I did this drunk. Paying close attention to the count, I spot Angie. She’s waiting for her signal, but the cards aren’t hot enough yet. I keep counting.

  After several more hands, the middle-aged man and his bimbo leave once he’s lost most of his money.

  “Hope you have better luck than I did,” he pats my arm.

  Squirming from his touch, I politely say, “Thanks.”

  “You’re not doing too bad,” the dealer says to me.

  “No, not really.”

  “I notice you seem to be playing it safe. Is this your first time here?”

  “Eh, I might have been here before. I’m just here to have some fun and maybe win a few bucks.” I try not to give away too much information about myself. The less these people know about me, the better off I am. My mind begins to wander and think about Trent.

  Two men walk up and sit beside me, betting large sums on their hands. They’re friendly but quiet, which I’m grateful for after having to listen to Ms. Bimbo laugh and giggle at every stupid thing her boyfriend said to her.

  I feel horrible for being here with his brother, but I promised Zack I’d help him out and I need the money. The last thing I want to do is take money from Trent. That’s one of the main reasons why women are so attracted to him, besides his looks. And I don’t want him to get the impression that’s the reason I’m with him.

  I think he’d find it awfully convenient that I would never date him prior to all these years but now that I’m broke, I can suddenly date him? No, that’s not the impression that I want him to have.

  Sure, we go way back, but people change. I don’t want everyone around St. Louis talking, saying things like, “Joline only got with him after she lost her job and didn’t have any money when she came back from Vegas.” I’ve never been that type of person and never will be.

  Chapter 12

  We decide to go to his apartment after playing tonight. Our winnings were phenomenal, and he’s talked me into stopping for a nightcap before going home.

  He lives in a skyrise luxury apartment building, one of the most sought after places for wealthy singles and well-to-do younger married couples. The building is tall and sleek, but dull in appearance. Its silver tone reflects coldly against the moonlight in the night sky and almost gives off a spooky vibe.

  At first, I was uncomfortable with the idea of coming back to his place when he suggested we come here, but I figured it isn't any different than spending time together with him parked in dark, strange alleys behind dimly lit restaurants.

  And it’s not like he’s a random person. I’ve known him practically all my life.

  “You did amazing tonight,” Zack tells me as we ride the elevator to the 17th floor where his apartment is located.

  “Thanks but I feel so dirty. It’s just…well, it’s weird.”

  “Dirty? Weird? Those aren’t words that I use.”

  He sticks his key in the door of his apartment and swings the door open, bowing.

  “Ladies first.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Upon the first inspection of walking inside, his apartment looks empty. Almost vacant. The theme of his apartment closely matches the outside appearance of the building when we first arrived.

  Dull and steely.

  If it weren’t for the chestnut hardwood flooring, there would be almost no color at all. The place is naked. No photos, posters, or pictures.

  Not a single hint to give away the identity of who lives here or what their interests might be. A strange might walk in and assume the apartment is vacant. Just a furnished, empty apartment.

  It’s what I’d assume, anyway.

  “Do you ever do anything here? Besides sleep?”

  “Not really. I figure what’s the point. It’s a place to crash at night; that’s all I need. I don’t do much entertaining.”

  Sinking into his overstuffed brown leather couch, I observe him walk over to the kitchen area of his apartment. It’s a modest kitchenette with a small breakfast nook, some cabinets, and the standard appliances.

  He reaches into a small glass cabinet area on top of the cabinets and takes down a bottle of liquor, pouring us a couple of drinks.

  “About this weird and dirty talk,” he hands me a glass. “I want you to tell me how you feel after this.”

  “After what?”

  “A hundred thousand,” he hands me a stack of cash that was neatly tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket.

  “A hundred thousand?”

  “Tonight was a light night. It’s only Tuesday, and the big players usually come out on the weekends. Friday and Saturday nights, when they don’t have to get up for business meetings and the likes.”

  I’m still trying to wrap my head around the hundred grand that’s weighing down the palm of my hand. I thought we might be good for around 10-15 thousand a night, not a hundred grand!

  “Hey,” he rests his fingers beneath my jaw. Up until this point, I wasn’t aware that my mouth was gaping open. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just can’t believe we made this much.”

  “What?” he laughs. “Are you kidding me? This is chump change compared to some of our earnings.” He takes a drink. “If you stick around—and I hope that you will—we’ll make a lot more. You’re magnificent at what you do, and the team likes working with you. I’m telling you, I think you’re into witchcraft or something. It’s like you never lose.”

  His phone rings, interrupting our conversation before I have a chance to respond. I’m not sure if I want to keep doing this or not.

  On the one hand, this is a lot of money so I could easily buy a car, pay off my credit card bills and help my dad out, but like I said, this is a lot of money. I could potentially buy a huge house and maybe start my own business.

  I’ve always dreamed of opening my own business and owning a salon. A full-service salon complete with hairdressers, nail techs, makeup artists, and masseuses. This could be an easy way to the top. Get enough capital that I need to start up, buy all of my inventory, and find the right people to staff it all.

  But it’ll take more than a hundred grand. Easily.

  I could have some real opportunity here.

  “Want some more?” I ask, holding up our glasses.

  He nods, handing me his half-empty glass and mouths the word ‘please’ before turning his body away from me, cupping the phone with his hand. While I’m in the kitchen, I overhear part of his conversation.

  “No? There’s nobody here, I don’t know what you heard.”

  Nobody here? Who is he talking to?

  Still listening, he says, “No, Jenny, that’s not happening. Not tonight.” There’s a brief pause before he finally tells Jenny goodnight and hangs up.

  Walking back into the living room, I hand him his drink.

  “Jenny, huh? I haven’t heard about her yet.”

  Part of me is jealous that he’s talking to another woman, though I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s so good looking and has never had a problem getting women, but I can’t help myself. The other part of me knows that I have no right being jealous.

  “Yep. Good old Jenny.”

  His eyes scan my face.

  “We’re not anything official. We just hook up on a casual basis. Nothing serious.”

  “Really? Nothing official, huh?”

  It sure sounded and looked like it was a little more than nothing while he was on the phone with her.

  I don’t believe him for one minute.

  “I promise.” He knows I’m not buying it. “Look, Jenny’s cool and knows she’s a beautiful girl.” He fumbles with one of the buttons on his shirt. “Besides, she probably knows that she could do much better than me.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” The words fly out of my mouth faster than I ever intended. “I mean, have you seen yourself? I bet if you chose the right girl to settl
e down with, you’d be much happier.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He takes the last swig from his glass and eyes the bare bottom of his glass as if he’s pondering life’s most complex topics.

  “I’ve never gotten anything I’ve gone after. Not like my brother.”

  Ouch.

  That last part stings a bit. I know exactly what he’s talking about: Me.

  “Oh, Zack—,” he cuts me off.

  “No, listen,” he puts his thumb over my plump bottom lip, rubbing it. “My brother has always been better than me. Even when we were younger, he was always dad’s favorite.”

  I can’t believe he’s telling me this. It’s so unlike him to open up. Never in all my life has he ever opened up like this. I can tell it’s something he needs to do, something he wants to do so I let him.

  “Anytime dad ever came back from a long business trip, it was Trent that he always took out for a special father-son day. Not me. I was always left behind.” He shakes his head. “But mom, she always tried to make me feel better about it, you know?”

  I shake my head, “What did she do?”

  “She always tried to make up for dad’s behavior any way she could. We’d bake cakes or special cookies. Sometimes she would sit down with me, and we’d put together those giant puzzles.”

  I remember the giant puzzles, but I never knew that he and his mom put them together. I’d always assumed they were hers.

  When you walked into the front parlor of their house, there were large glued puzzles occupying the walls. I thought it was odd that she had an obsession with boats and cars, but now it all makes sense.

  She did them with him to make him happy, to bring a little joy to his life.

  “I’m sorry your dad was like that. I had no idea, but you still deserve happiness in your life. You’ll find someone who’s right for you.”

  “Maybe. Want another drink?” he holds up his empty glass.

  I hadn’t realized I’d guzzled my drink down, too.

  “Sure. What else do you have in there? To drink?”

  “Um, let me see.”