Four Seconds to Lose ttb-3

by K. A. Tucker

  And now I’m twenty-one-year-old Katie Ford from Ohio. I have a golden-brown chin-length bob, violet eyes, and I wear only light makeup. I have an ordinary family back home who is proud of me for graduating with a Humanities degree from Ohio State and who fully supports me while I experience life in the South. And I had my wallet stolen. That’s why I have no social security number or other identification. Temporarily, of course.

  I even went to church with Berta last Sunday morning.

  I’m a new person. A good person who does good things.

  Who hides her silent agony well.

  “Here’s your Philly steak sandwich, Stanley. Careful, it’s hot.” I set the plate down on the table in front of the regular—a forty-something-year-old hog farmer with orange hair and green suspenders who comes in at six forty-five every night and orders the exact same thing. I think he has a thing for Berta.

  A lot of the customers here are regulars. It’s nice. They make a point of saying hello, and that makes me feel not quite so alone.

  “Hey, Katie!”

  I turn around to find Will, Berta’s nephew, hovering behind me with that goofy grin of his. “What are you doing after work tonight?”

  “Oh, probably just heading home. I’m tired.” I fake a yawn, knowing I can’t make up an elaborate story with Berta on guard. She’s hopeful that we’ll start dating, promising that he may act like a hooligan but he’s a good boy who could use a girl like me in his life, instead of those “floozies” he keeps bringing in here.

  There’s nothing wrong with him, honestly.

  Other than the fact that he’s not him.

  Just the thought now brings a painful lump to my throat.

  “All right. Well, if you change your mind, my friend is having a party tonight out on Copper Mill Road. Live band . . . kegs . . . You should come.” His eyes shift down to my chest—only accentuated by the fitted “Becker’s” T-shirt—before meeting my gaze and knowing he got caught. At least he has the decency to blush.

  “Thanks, Will. I’ll keep that in mind.” I watch him as he makes his way over to join a group of his college friends at a booth. And it reminds me that I’m supposed to be in New York right now, attending Tisch, living my dream. Not serving burgers and sodas at a diner in Alabama.

  Pining over a man I unintentionally fell in love with.

  With a deep, calming exhale, I begin clearing a table of its dishes. Katie Ford from Ohio never enrolled at Tisch. She never stripped for a living. She never met a man named Cain.

  And she also never dealt drugs, nor will she ever. I can’t let that silver lining disappear within the suffocating black cloud.

  A round of laughter erupts from Will’s table as one of the girls playfully flicks his ear, the movement revealing a purple streak on the underside of her hair.

  I smile at the bittersweet memory it triggers.

  I wonder how Ginger’s doing. I wonder if Katie Ford has any hope of ever making a friend like her. I’ve already reconciled myself to the fact that she’ll never find a man like Cain.

  I wonder what he’s doing at this very moment. If he’s out in the club or hidden in his office.

  If he’s thinking about me.

  If he misses me.

  Or if he has already moved on.

  chapter forty-five

  * * *

  CAIN

  It took Sam Arnoni exactly twenty-five days to find me.

  “He’s asking for you,” Nate announces from my office entrance as John and I watch the tall man in a charcoal-colored suit over the monitor. I knew it was him the second I laid eyes on him. Dan left his files for me with the requirement that they stay locked in my safe at all times. I gladly followed instruction, except for that one picture of Charlie, of course. That one, I folded up and tucked into my pocket, to pull out whenever I felt the need.

  Turns out I feel the need at least forty times a day.

  I memorized every detail about the man who turned his own stepdaughter into a drug trafficker. I know all about his many businesses. I know his approximate weight, height, birth city. I could describe the family crest tattooed to his chest if I had to.

  Yes, Sam Arnoni is my enemy and I like to know everything about my enemy.

  “Okay, I’m on my way,” I tell Nate, adding, “Keep the girls away from him.” I turn to John, who decided to extend his stay in Miami and turn it into a vacation. Apparently his vacation means watching from the shadows to see if anyone’s tailing me.

  “You want me to call Dan?”

  “No,” I answer quickly. Not until I decide what to do. “I need to know where I can find this guy at all times.”

  “I’m on it.” Wheeling up the extra chair to the computer, he pans to the video feeds from the parking lot and begins rewinding. I assume it’s to locate Sam’s car. “You go wine and dine that scumbag.”

  “Thanks, John. And be careful.”

  “You too, Cain.” There’s a hint of something in John’s voice now that I can’t decipher. I wonder if he’s thinking about the last time he got involved in one of these situations with me. He must be wondering what I’m planning now. How far I’m willing to go to protect Charlie.

  I’m wondering the same thing.

  I take my time, strolling out of my office with a glass in hand. Let the fucker stew. I know that Sam’s not armed and I’m not worried about him physically overtaking me. I’m not afraid of him, period. Most people would have been waiting with trepidation for this moment. I’m actually quite happy that he finally found me. Now I just have to keep from killing him in my own club.

  His large frame fills the wing chair at his table. I don’t know who sat him in the V.I.P. section. If I had my way, the fifty-eight-year-old would be in the back corner, near the can. I watch as Mercy strolls by, her wide blue eyes flashing at the sight of him, but Nate quickly moves in to redirect her. I guess I can understand the appeal. The guy reeks of money and, with his natural gray streaks running through his dark hair, most women would consider him distinguished. Attractive, even.

  All I see is a hungry snake among mice.

  Intent on watching Cherry’s performance, he doesn’t notice my arrival. Or he wants me to think that he doesn’t.

  “You were asking for me?”

  Steely eyes turn to settle on me. When he smiles, the mirth doesn’t touch them. “Hello, Cain.” I can hear the New York accent roll off his tongue with those two words. He sticks his hand out and I take it. I take it and I fight the urge to break the bones within it.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  Sam’s smirk puts me further on guard. He looks like the type who would investigate his enemies, too. I wonder how much he’s managed to dig up on me. “Please, join me.” He gestures at the empty chair and I can’t help but chuckle. He’s coming into my club, and inviting me to sit with him. Corking my annoyance, I accept the offer with a sneer. We sit in silence as Cherry finishes her act and Terry announces Levi as the next performer. Despite the situation, a blip of disappointment stirs in me, remembering that this used to be Charlie’s slot.

  It’s the first time that I’m actually glad she’s not here.

  “I believe my daughter worked for you up until a few weeks ago,” he starts, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Her name is Charlie.”

  “Your daughter, Charlie.”

  “Yes. Blond hair? Pretty girl.” He takes another sip. “I believe you got to know her well.”

  I wonder if it bothers Sam that I was fucking his stepdaughter. If the monster in him is capable of being bothered.

  I wonder if he ever touched her.

  I beat that thought out of my head because I know nothing good will come of pondering it right here, right now, with his throat within reach.

  I let my eyes roam over the club—spying Nate watching us without attempting to hide it. He’s a good distance back, but he could climb over the railing in a split second if the need arose. “Yes, I did.” I’m the master of holding my cards close
to my chest. Now, though, I struggle. I’d love to verbally assault Sam with all that I know. But it wouldn’t be advantageous, and so I keep my answers to a minimum.

  “She’s gone missing. I haven’t been able to find her in weeks.” His brow knits tightly together. “I’m very worried about her.”

  I’m sure you are. I sip my drink, forcing it back between bared teeth. “She left me a few weeks ago. I have no idea where she went.” I can feel his careful gaze dissecting me. I let him do it. He’ll find nothing but the truth.

  She did leave me. It was a few weeks ago. And I have no fucking clue where she went.

  “Did she say why?”

  I lock eyes with him now. “No, she didn’t. She didn’t tell me a damn thing.”

  Sam shifts his attention back to the floor. “You know, you were dating her and then she just up and vanished. If I were to report her missing, you’d become a suspect very quickly. Things could become . . . difficult for you.”

  “Please do.” I can’t keep that smirk off my face. “I have nothing to hide.” He’s not going to report her missing and we both know it.

  “No?” He tips his head back to finish his drink, an amused smile on his face. “It looks to me like Cain Ford might have a lot to hide. Especially from a girl like Charlie.”

  He’s letting me know that he had me investigated. He’s trying to throw me off. Rattle me. Good fucking luck. “Charlie knows everything there is to know about me.” Almost everything.

  “Oh?” He’s trying to sound light, but I caught the slight crack in his voice. “What about all of these people here? What would they think of their righteous boss?”

  “I honestly don’t care,” I throw out without hesitation, though it’s a lie. If my dirty laundry needs to get aired, I’m the one who’s going to hang it out. I can tell by his tactics that Sam is used to threatening people and getting his way. It may have worked on his teenage stepdaughter, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to get his way with me.

  His body shifts until he’s leaning over the table. “You don’t care that they know you’re a killer?”

  “Anyone climbing into that ring knew the risks,” I shoot back, though my blood has turned cold. Is he talking about Jones? Or . . .

  “Who said I was talking about inside the ring?”

  Fuck.

  How did he find out?

  I hide behind my glass, never taking my eyes off him as he weighs my reaction. When I give him nothing, he continues. “Seems odd, doesn’t it? That the two men suspected of murdering your family turn up dead six months later? Beaten to death?” Cold eyes glance down at my hands. “Rumor has it you were quite the fighter. Unparalleled in the underground world.”

  I struggle to school the panic in my eyes from showing. How the hell does he know about my family’s killers? What kind of connections does he have? Who else knows? Surely he’s not being fed this by the cops. Never once did they appear on my doorstep to so much as question me. If they had, I would have come clean. I would have told them how those two followed me through an abandoned warehouse one night after a fight.

  How they threatened me. How they aimed a gun at my head. At Nate’s head.

  John was right. They came looking for the money that my dad rightfully accused me of stealing while trying in vain to save himself. Apparently they had been waiting in the shadows, knowing they could demand an exorbitant interest rate if they let me live to win a few fights first.

  I wasn’t going to give those assholes a dime, so I truly had only two choices in that moment: fight or die.

  Nate knew . . . as soon as he saw my hands flex by my sides, he knew to dive for cover.

  They might have had a chance of surviving, had I not seen the bloody crime scene photos, read the graphic reports.

  Had I not known what they did to Lizzy.

  I called John right away. He instructed me to go home, shut my mouth, and he’d take care of it. I guess he did, because he never uttered a word to me about it again.

  “I guess someone finally fought back,” I answer, the hoarseness in my voice impossible to smooth.

  “Yes . . . someone did.” He scratches his chin as if pondering his next words, though I know damn well he already had this conversation planned out. “I heard they closed that case. Maybe, with the right anonymous tip, they’d reopen it?”

  Dan said Sam was a smart guy. I see the evidence of that now. He may not know definitively what happened, but it’s not hard to paint a picture with my face at the center of it.

  “It’d be a shame to lose everything you’ve worked so hard to build here.”

  I want to reach out and choke the life out of this manipulative asshole. “What do you want?” I snap.

  “I want my daughter back and I think you know where she is.” All fluffiness in his voice has vanished.

  “Well, I don’t, so I’m of no use to you.” Dumping the last of my drink in my mouth, I stand. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He jumps to his feet, and I can tell he’s struggling to keep his composure. I know this kind of guy. He’s not used to having people walk away without his dismissal. “You have a good club here. A lot of nice-looking girls,” he muses, his eyes roaming the floor. To Cherry . . . to Hannah . . . to Mercy . . . to half a dozen other dancers. “I hear you like to keep them safe.” Holding out a card with a phone number on it, he asks, “If you hear from Charlie, I’d suggest you call this number. And very soon.”

  I glare at it, silently willing it to burst into flames, but don’t take it.

  Finally, he places it on the table and I watch him stroll out.

  I’m not stupid. I know what that offhand comment was.

  It was a threat.

  The rage fires through my body like nerve synapses, making my decision for me.

  * * *

  “You sure you want to do this?” Nate asks from beside me as we head toward the flashing neon lights, a beacon for the city’s perverts.

  I heave a sigh. “No, but I don’t see any other choice.”

  “He’s not going to like us showing up here,” Nate mutters, but then his face splits into a grin. I have a feeling Nate wouldn’t mind getting into a fight tonight. All this mess with Charlie has made me miserable, which in turn has made him irritable.

  Sin City is almost double the size of Penny’s. It’s full of naked women, flat screens, and more private rooms than some motels. Each table comes equipped with a small monitor, where you can watch intro videos of each dancer. All in all, Rick does well for himself.

  We skip the line and walk straight to the door. A big bouncer with a goatee removes the black rope and lets us pass with a wary expression. He knows exactly who we are. He came to Penny’s, looking for a job, four years ago. I almost hired him, until John found out that he has ties to a known drug dealer, who in turn has ties to the cartel. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’d be inviting the cartel into Penny’s by hiring him. It’s also not surprising that he’s now the head bouncer at Sin City and that members of the cartel are known to frequent here on occasion.

  Thanks to a few tips from my connections, I know that the man I want to talk to is here tonight.

  While the bouncer may have let us in, he also made sure to flag us to Rick immediately. The hairy fuck is waiting for us as we step into the club, his arms folded over his chest. Even when the guy makes an effort to look presentable, he doesn’t. His dress shirt is wrinkled and hanging out over a pair of ill-fitting pants, which have a prominent yellow stain on the lap.

  “Coming for some real ass?” He smirks. “Or to steal more of my talent?” He’s obviously still bitter about losing China to me. If he knew that I let her go, I don’t doubt he’d try to pull her in again.

  “Rick,” is all I can manage in greeting.

  He sneers at me but keeps his distance. After the last time we met—in my club, when he called me a pimp and I broke his nose and knocked four of his teeth out—he knows better than to get too close.


  Nate leans over to murmur, “I don’t see him out here.”

  Dammit . . . that means I have to ask for help from Rick the Prick. “I need to see Mendez.”

  A scowl hits Rick’s face and I can’t help but think it’s an improvement. “He’s not here.”

  I don’t have time for this. “Yeah, he is. So is it the champagne room or one of the private rooms?” Rick’s mouth tightens but he remains silent. “Or do I make sure the cops crawl so far up your ass that you can’t walk straight for a month?” The club was raided once before, but Rick has enough money and sense to hire good lawyers. Somehow, they couldn’t find any really damning evidence to shut him down permanently, which makes me think he’s not as stupid as he looks.

  Swallowing hard, he mutters, “What do you need with him?”

  “He’s cute. I thought we could date,” I throw back. Rick is the last person I’d ever trust with the truth.

  After a long pause, Rick turns and, with a reluctant wave, leads us into Sin City’s champagne room—a large suite decorated in floor-to-ceiling black. Black walls, black leather couches, black carpet. The only hint of color is the silver molding along the walls and trim on the couch cushions, and a few metal statues lining a bookshelf.

  Three men sit around the oversized sectional couch, paired with girls in various states of undress, all of whom could stand to gain ten pounds. Off to one corner, a blond is on her knees, “earning her money” with a fourth guy.

  I’m seconds away from knocking Rick’s false teeth out for allowing that. But doing so won’t help my cause so I remain still, fists glued to my sides, as he lumbers over to a Hispanic man with short, dark hair and pockmarks over his cheeks. The voluptuous and naked Asian girl on his lap—who can’t possibly be legal and whose eyes are glazed over in that doped-up way—doesn’t even slow her grind as Rick leans in to whisper what I’d assume are introductions. My stomach instinctively tightens.