by Cat Miller
* * *
Luc stared at her signature on the contract. She actually signed it. He couldn’t believe it.
“What game will we be playing?” she asked the side of his bewildered head.
He’d written the damn thing so she wouldn’t benefit at all from the wager. She wouldn’t get a fucking penny if she won. Her brother got it all. If she lost, not only did she not get a dime, but he would own her for an entire month. He could use her anyway he liked.
Luc was rereading the contract to be sure he hadn’t made an error. No, it was all there. He’d even wrote in a requirement that she have a physical, and their time together not begin until after she had a clean bill of health and birth control, because he didn’t like wearing condoms. It was total bullshit. He’d never fucked without a condom in his life. She was supposed to balk. She was supposed to tear it up and throw it in his face. He wanted to prove to the little Fury that she wasn’t some fucking avenging angel here to scold the devil. She’d come to his house and made him feel like a thief.
There was a limit to what a person would do for others, especially others who had done them wrong, like her father. He wanted to find her line and cross it. He wanted to show her that she wasn’t any better than him or anyone who worked for him. He gave her the chance to make it all better at a great expense to herself with no personal gain if she lost. He stood back and waited for her to prove him right. But that wasn’t how it happened. She had agreed to a wager that wouldn’t benefit her in any way, whether she won or lost. Who the fuck does that? He glared at her.
“What game are we playing, Mr. Christianson?” That’s exactly what he wanted to know. What was her game?
“You probably should have specified that before you signed, but I’m a gentleman. So I’ll let you choose the game.”
She nodded. “Can I have a moment to decide?”
“Take all the time you need. Are you sure you want to play tonight? It’s been a long day for you.” There he went back to being a fucking gentleman again. Why did he care if she was tired? If she wasn’t ready and lost the game, it only benefited him. It would be nice to have a woman at his disposal that he didn’t have to entertain for a month. God knew he deserved it after dealing with her. Maybe he’d be better off if she lost. He’d have to keep an eye on her if she stuck around.
“I’m fine. I just a need a few moments to decide.” She crossed the room and stepped out into the hall.
Luc beckoned Rourke to the desk. “Sign that as a witness and send it to Dolce. I want it legalized before we play.”
“You do realize that you can’t legally make her stay with you for a month?” Rourke signed the paper and shot off a text for a runner to retrieve it and deliver it to Dolce.
“I do. She does too, I think. That must be her game. She knows she’ll be able to renege if she loses. Well I have surprise for her. I won’t give her brother shit if she doesn’t hold up her end.” That had to be it. He was being so fucking gallant by not just killing her like any other bookie would, putting up with her mouth, letting her pick the game. She must think he’ll let her go if he wins.
Rourke was watching at him with a confused expression.
“What?” Luc asked.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Rourke seemed more perplexed than Luc was.
“Oh, I get it. She looks all sweet and innocent but she’s a fucking Fury here to plague me for my evil ways. I’m not sure what game she’s playing yet, but she’s up to something. I want you to keep an eye on her if she loses. There’s more to this. Nobody would wager so much when there’s nothing in it for them. Maybe she thinks she can gather information for the cops. That’s something an avenging Fury would do.”
Rourke’s mouth fell open. “I think you’ve been in the club for too long, Luc. After this, why don’t you take a nice long vacation, huh?” He shook his head and walked to the door. “Where the fuck is that messenger?” Rourke went out into the hall for a moment and came back without the contract and looking more somber than usual. “The kid was talking to Ms. Parker in the hall. He was helping her pick a game. I’ll have to correct him later. I’ll just go now and be sure there’s a table ready for you.”
Luc nodded his approval. He wanted this business over.
FOUR
Everly was led to the pit of Hell by a stony-faced Rourke. Wasn’t that apropos? She felt like a sinner in the making. Not that she was a saint, but she wasn’t the kind of woman you’d ever find in a place like this. Lucifer –yes, the king of hell was actually named Lucifer– had directed Rourke to take the long way to the pit. Rourke’s tight jaw told her he might disagree with the order, but he would do as he was directed.
On the way up to Mr. Christianson’s office, Everly had been led through a maze of elegantly decorated, dimly lit hallways that didn’t seem to lead to anything but the elevator, which was a private elevator that required a security code to access. Once her meeting was over, they rode back down the elevator and turned in the opposite direction they’d come on the way in. Everly was trying to memorize the path.
They approached a heavy black door that was guarded by a Rourke lookalike in an equally severe¸ dark suit and scowl. He stepped aside and allowed Rourke to pass without question. When Everly stepped through the door, the man gave her a thorough once over and grinned.
“You a new girl? I could show you around. I know all the best hiding places.” His leer was unsettling.
It dawned on Everly that he believed her to be a prostitute. She spun around to tell him she’d never be “hiding” anywhere with him, but Rourke beat him to it.
“Jones, let me introduce you to Mr. Christianson’s guest, Ms. Parker. I’ll be sure to inform Mr. Christianson that you paid special attention to his lady friend.” Rourke sounded calm and very polite but the threat was there, and it was a powerful threat judging by how quickly the color drained from Jones’ face.
“That won’t be necessary, Rourke. I was only trying to be sure the lady had a pleasant stay. You know, so she didn’t get lost or anything.” Jones swallowed hard. He clearly didn’t want his misstep reported to the owner. Rourke’s eyes remained glued to the man until Jones turned to speak to Everly.
“I apologize, ma’am. I meant no disrespect.” Color stained his cheeks when he turned back to his post at the door.
“Let’s go. Stay close to me and keep moving,” Rourke said quietly.
He lightly grasped her upper arm and pulled her further into the darkened room. It seemed to be a lounge of some sort with rhythmic music playing and a bar. There were tall booths around the edge of the room and a dance floor in the middle. A few couples swayed to the music on the smoky dance floor as Rourke led her around the edge by the bar.
She was just thinking it wasn’t so bad, and she wouldn’t mind having a drink there herself, when the bartender came into view. She was a beautiful woman with long golden hair pulled back in a ponytail. And she was completely naked, all the way to her toes. There was nothing to hide her charms from the men leaning over the bar to watch her body jiggle as she shook a drink and poured it into a martini glass.
Everly knew her mouth was hanging open. That could not be legal. It surely couldn’t be sanitary. She peered more closely through the haze of the artificial club smoke and slowly spinning lights. She’d been wrong about the booths. They were very high-backed for privacy and semi-circular with only a small opening to enter, but they weren’t tables. No, they were low, round, padded bed-type structures. There were big pillows and plenty of room in each one. There were also people in various stages of undress in several of them.
As they passed one, a man sat with his pants open and his cock in hand, working it up and down at a furious pace. A naked woman was spread out on the round bed, pleasuring herself while he watched. Everly gasped and turned her head away quickly only to see a woman in a corset and nothing else in another booth. She stood on the bed with one hand clutching a strap that hung from the ceiling for support, her other
tangled in a man’s hair. His face was buried in her crotch, and he was lapping and nuzzling her pussy. This was one of the clubs her father had so desperately wanted to gain entrance to. It was a sex club.
Everly was in shock. There was no other way to explain her calm acceptance of the scene before her. Rourke pulled her through another guarded, black door to a far more brightly-lit room. This was a card room, where drinks were served by women in little red boy shorts and pasties over their nipples.
Several games stalled as Rourke dragged her through to the next door that led to a much larger bar. By comparison, it was tame. There were some slot machines around the room and standard game tables. The waitresses wore tiny red dresses and the music was faster paced club music. Oddly, several of the waitresses were on the dance floor with patrons. There was a decidedly uneven male to female ratio here. Who else would a man dance with if not one of the scantily dressed employees?
It seemed to Everly the waitresses wore different uniforms depending on exactly what was on the menu for each room. Ladies serving drinks and food only were mostly covered. Those with a wider list of services were easily spotted. They wore next to nothing.
Their path led them through several more card rooms before Rourke was dragging her down a long, dark hall. “We’re almost there,” he told her. She just nodded.
The hall they were traversing wasn’t just a hall though. She noticed dark alcoves lining one side as they swiftly passed. They seemed to be little viewing areas for the room beyond the glass wall. Inside the room was a couple having sex. It wasn’t really sex, not yet anyway. The man wore black leather pants and black mask that covered his head and zipped up the back. The woman wore nothing. She was spread eagle over a bench in the center of the room. The man was talking to her calmly as he spanked her with a flogger.
Everly’s skin flushed. Was this what men really wanted? This was what they paid ridiculous membership fees and gambled their fortunes away for? Her life in rural Colorado hadn’t prepared her for everything she’d seen. Neither had her drunken father’s description of what he’d heard was on the menu at Hell. She wasn’t a prude or any stranger to men. She had friends, and they frequently went into town for a night out or drove into the city for a real night on the town. She’d been to any number of bars and clubs and she’d been to Vegas several times. When you’re walking the Strip and hopping bars with sticky floors and obnoxious light-up drinks, you never even dream that places like this one exist. It was high class and seedy. Who knew the two could coexist?
By the time they reached the final door, Everly was shaken to her soul. She’d been propositioned more times than she could count. There were very sophisticated lounges with beautiful women in elaborate costumes performing on stage. There were classy, high stakes card rooms filled with cigar smoke and top shelf libations. Then, there were rooms of sorted behavior and loud music with nude women. It seemed Mr. Christianson had whatever kind of entertainment his patrons could wish for in a gaming club.
Rourke put a hand on her shoulder and asked, “Are you alright? Do you need a few moments?” He was trying not to show his concern and failing. Everly realized then that Mr. Christianson had done this on purpose. He’d directed Rourke to take her the scenic route just to upset her. He really was an evil man. Even if he had given her the means to save her family’s ranch, he was still a prick.
“I’m good. I was just . . . ” What was she? Stunned, sickened, afraid? Yes, all of that. “Surprised. I was very surprised.” She nodded. What else could she say?
“Good. Take a deep breath. It’s time to put on your poker face,” he instructed.
“I don’t have a poker face.”
“I know.” He grinned. “How about we find you one? Pretend you’re dealing with a small child. It’s a very observant child. You have to be strong, so the child isn’t frightened. If you show them any emotion at all, they will respond to it. Don’t let them see if you’re excited, or frightened, or nervous. Maintain the same bored expression no matter what cards you’re dealt. Do you understand?”
“So I need to stay blank and not show what I’m thinking. I can do that.” Maybe she could, if her hands would stop shaking.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, I just want this over.”
His expression went stony again when he opened the door. It was the best example of a poker face he could have given her. Everly followed him doing the best Rourke impression she could manage. Her face was flat and completely without emotion. She pretended nothing in the room was worthy of her notice, but she noticed everything, much like she was sure Rourke did as he crossed the room just ahead of her.
This was the pit of Hell where the general population spent their time. The hum of conversations, clinking of glasses, and shuffling of cards filled the air. The dealers were tidily dressed in tuxedo shirts and black pants or skirts. The waitresses were a little more scandalous in tiny red skirts that didn’t cover their bottoms and plunging bikini tops. The overall atmosphere was that of a relaxed gentleman’s club. It wasn’t flashy like The Inferno Casino or any of the others she’d visited on the Strip. It was warm with a backlit red glow.
Due to the lower volume of patrons, the ladies walking around with trays of drinks weren’t too busy to cater to the men’s every need. There were women gamblers in the room too, but they were few and far between. Everly felt like the bumpkin she was in her low cut jeans and tank top. Everyone there was impeccably dressed. She made a salary for her work on the ranch, but it wasn’t much. Every penny they made went right back into growing the business. Even if she’d brought her best outfit, she would have stuck out like a homeless person in Beverly Hills in this crowd. She self-consciously tugged at her tank top, but it didn’t help. Why hadn’t she noticed how short it was before now?
Rourke stopped at a table near the center of the room and pulled out a chair for her. This seemed to get the attention of the surrounding tables. A murmur went across the room. Everly tried to pretend she didn’t notice that half the room was now eyeing her and speculating on her reason for being there in their midst.
Rourke called a waitress to come attend to Everly. A stiff drink was starting to feel like a good idea. Remaining calm and stony under this much stress was harder than it looked. She was about to play cards for her family’s future. That brought her father to mind, and she looked around the room. How had he ever fit in among these people? It seemed there were a lot of things she didn’t know about her father. He had sat at one of these tables, possibly the very table she was seated at, and signed away everything the Parkers had worked so hard for over the last four generations. It broke her heart. She ordered a Jack and ginger from the waitress just to give herself something to do.
The door she and Rourke had entered through opened, and the king glided in with an Amazonian goddess on his arm. The woman was stunning in her beauty and grace as she floated along beside Mr. Christianson. Her brow was wrinkled as she spoke quietly and earnestly to him. He was patting her arm in a comforting gesture that was completely out of step with what Everly knew of him so far. Everly tried not to watch while they spoke with their heads together like lovers. Her cheeks flushed. What if she was his lover, or even his wife? Would she veto their bet? Everly hadn’t seen a ring on his hand. She was ashamed to admit to herself that she had looked for one.
No wonder she was so easily dismissed if he had a woman like that in his life. She was a dark-eyed, brunette dream come true with those long legs made even longer by her spiked heels. Everly glanced down at her stubby legs encased in ripped denim and the beat-up boots on her feet, and she groaned.
“I thought we were maintaining a poker face, Ms. Parker,” Rourke said from behind her.
The waitress delivered her drink and Everly took a big gulp.
“Please, call me Everly. Ms. Parker is so stuffy.”
“Okay. Everly it is,” he agreed with nearly imperceptible nod.
“I was just feeling sorry for my
self. It’s been a rough day, and it isn’t over yet,” she admitted. He gave her a blank stare as a reminder that her mask had slipped already. She relaxed back into her chair and let all traces of the fear and anxiety in her heart melt from her face. She was going for bored and unimpressed.
“Much better,” Rourke said. “Here comes the boss. Keep it up. This will be quick. Even if you lose, don’t let him see you sweat. He’ll crush you under his heels if you let him. It will be a long month.” Rourke faded back against the wall to watch.
Mr. Christianson and his Amazon arrived at the table. The Amazon set a stack of documents in front of Everly and had a seat to her right. Mr. Christianson sat to her left. People at surrounding tables seemed to collectively lean in to hear the goings-on.
“My name is Dolce, and I’m the pit boss here in Hell.” The beauty spoke very quietly with no trace of friendliness. “I need to inform you that the second half of your wager with Mr. Christianson is illegal and unenforceable. You cannot be made to stay here in any capacity if you don’t wish to stay. ”
“Dolce . . .” Mr. Christianson said her name like a warning. Dolce scowled at him.
“As I was saying, the paperwork to give all of Parker Ridge, the property and the business to Mr. Mills Parker is ready for processing, should you win the wager. If you lose . . .” Dolce paused to glare at Mr. Christianson, “the deed to the house and half of the land, as well as half of the livestock, will be held until you complete your end of the bargain. If your time in . . . purgatory isn’t fully completed Mr. Christianson is under no obligation to execute the documents. Do you understand?” Dolce asked.
“Yes, if I win, my family gets everything back. If I lose, we get half, and I will remain here for thirty days,” she repeated quietly.
“You don’t get anything, Ms. Parker. Your brother gets it all,” the asshole king reminded her.