Stacking the Deck (Redemption Club Book 1)

by Anne Marie Becker

  He murmured their Latin credo, then turned to Ryan. “She embodies our belief, doesn’t she?”

  “Live fearlessly and play ferociously.” Ryan grinned. “From what you told me, and what I saw tonight, I believe she’ll fit the bill.” His expression turned calculating. “She’ll go for a lot of money at the Grounds.” The Redemption Club men and women who had unique tastes, who were always looking for a challenge, would pay big money for the privilege of taking down such wild, intelligent game.

  Finn’s grin dissipated. “I don’t want to share.”

  Ryan smirked. “I just bet you don’t, but you owe me big-time, so you don’t really get a say in it, do you?”

  “Or I could reveal your blackmail scheme to your father. He has no clue how you like to fuck up his life.”

  Ryan paled, then shot to his feet and got in Finn’s face, his fickle temper reigniting like a flash fire. “You do that, and you’d lose your fun, too—and your stream of income. Besides, if you want that part in the next blockbuster film Stone Studios is making, you’d better play nice.”

  Finn pushed away from Ryan and stalked to the door. He’d had enough bullshit for the evening. Tristan had reported one of the women was refusing to eat. That wouldn’t do. He had to get there and deal with it in person, as well as make room for Skye. Trapping and keeping her would be a special kind of challenge.

  “She’s mine to do with what I want,” Ryan called after him, rubbing the raw wound. “That’s not your family’s land and the Redemption Club isn’t yours.” It had once been theirs, together, but Finn didn’t point that out. Lately, Ryan’s head had swelled with their success and his ego was taking over.

  Finn paused with his hand on the knob. “You’d be nowhere without me.”

  “And you’d have nothing without me.”

  Angry at the accuracy of that statement, Finn slammed the door. Instead of returning to the party, he went out a back door and headed for the conservatory. Stone had so many things growing there that he wouldn’t miss a few items.

  Years ago, Finn had discovered the man’s stock of plants that could induce psychotropic effects like hallucinations and mimic anything from smoking weed to taking acid. He pulled out the little bags he’d stashed in his pocket and collected seeds, plants and herbs to take to the Grounds. Sometimes the Club members who paid to participate in a hunt partook of substances such as peyote, mescal beans and poppies to enhance the experience. Other times, they enjoyed watching their prey act more wild and animalistic, so Finn always kept some on hand. The Redemption Club aimed to please its members; after all, they’d worked hard for the privilege of membership.

  His phone rang and he nearly dropped the herbs he’d been stashing in a bag in his haste to answer it before anybody heard. Though most of Stone’s security guards knew him by sight, and wouldn’t think twice about seeing him, Stone had to be in a rage after his private study had been invaded. He might look more closely at anyone, even Finn, found in areas that were supposed to be off-limits.

  Then again, the danger heightened the thrill.

  “You have an update?” he asked in a hushed voice. He made his way down the crushed stone path to a side exit, so he wouldn’t emerge near the more populated patio where someone from the party might see him.

  “The ranch is like a graveyard,” Tristan said. “And I haven’t heard or seen any sign of Skye.”

  “I have. She was here, tonight.”

  Tristan whistled. “Did you get her?”

  “Not yet, but I will.” She’d be back. He’d piqued her interest with those torn cards. “I just have to get her alone.”

  “I may have something that will help. I was able to follow the trail of one of the injured men at the ranch.”

  “Who?”

  “I know him as Viper.”

  “Sounds like a tough guy.”

  “Once upon a time, maybe. He’s an asshole who pushes everyone else to their limits, and degrades them when they fail. I may have banged him up a bit more than necessary just for the things he’s said to me.” There was no apology in Tristan’s words, not that Finn expected one. There were no surprise agendas or hidden motives when dealing with Tristan. It was refreshing.

  Finn’s mind spun through a variety of options until he selected his next move. “Where is he now?”

  “I have him in a shed outside my trailer, away from civilization. Thought we might need him as insurance.”

  “Can he identify you as the person who attacked him?” Not that it mattered. Tristan Floyd’s full name had been on the cards he’d left for Skye to find, and he was betting at least Skye, and maybe Bennigan, had seen it. He felt a twinge of regret and guilt that he’d had to do that to his friend, but Tristan could take care of himself, and he was currently flying under the radar. Once they took care of Skye and Bennigan, there’d be no threat. And Finn would make it up to him. If the guy ever found out, that is.

  “I don’t think so. I keep the mask on when I’m around him, and the guy’s been in and out of consciousness, running a fever. He’d bled out quite a bit before I found him. It was just like following the trail of a wounded animal.” Excitement, pride and pleasure laced Tristan’s words.

  “You wore your hunting mask?” A stupid move, but Finn supposed it was better than if Tristan had revealed his true identity to a man who knew him.

  “He probably thought he was hallucinating. He was already wounded and dehydrated when I tracked him. Still, he’s a tough old bird and tried to fight me off. A few well-placed cuts with my knife put him over the edge.” Satisfaction filled Tristan’s voice.

  “Remind me never to make you angry.”

  Tristan chuckled. “Never make me angry.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Finn found a small box and dumped the baggies he’d filled into it, wondering what it would be like to be under the influence while hunted by Tristan. “For your next move, you’re going to get Viper to the hospital.”

  “The hospital?”

  “You don’t have to go in with him. Dump the guy there. Word will get out soon enough.” Viper would be the perfect bait.

  Skye had scraped her bare knees as she’d fled, practically flinging herself at the wall that bordered the estate to haul herself over the stucco surface before Jared could catch up to her. The abrasions stung as her legs pumped, carrying her through the night to her clunker. At least she could move faster in bare feet than in heels, and she had a pair of athletic shoes in the car.

  She hated running away, but it was better to be safe than sorry, and Stone’s party wasn’t the place to linger when she was uncertain. She’d almost succumbed to the plea—and the heat—in Jared’s eyes. And she still didn’t know who Chelsea was. But she was alone and had to be extra cautious as she decided whom to trust.

  Uncle Tom hadn’t replied to the voicemail she’d left for him that afternoon, after arriving in Vegas and charging the phone at a motel. Maybe he was still angry she’d brought hell down on the ranch. Or maybe he didn’t want to hear from her. Perhaps it was best he kept his distance. Stone would likely come at her harder after learning she’d been in his study. Let him come. She had no other family or friends for Stone to attack. She liked it better this way, defending only herself. At least, that’s what she told herself.

  But she’d sure like to know that the other dead body found at the ranch wasn’t Tom.

  As she stuck her key in the ignition, she saw movement down the street. A dark shadow that could be a person. Otherwise, it was a blessedly dark and quiet neighborhood, and the houses were on expansive private lots that kept their owners from seeing the street. She started the engine and did a U-turn away from the dark form. Likely, it was Jared or one of his security team. Would Jared lead the hungry pack once Stone set his guards after her?

  She drove without direction, simply eager to put distance between her and Stone. Still, she’d gained something from this evening. Finding out Tristan Floyd worked for Stone had
been a shock. If she knew how to reach them, she’d confront Tristan and warn her fellow ranch residents. She left Uncle Tom another quick message, telling him to beware of Tristan Floyd, just in case he ran into the man.

  After several minutes of driving, she realized her subconscious had steered her toward the past and what had once been home. Not home, a house. The place where she’d spent her early formative years had never been a home. A home was made with love.

  Ten minutes later she pulled off the freeway and down a street with houses on either side. At one time it had been dirt road through an open field. Now it was subdivided into lots, with trailers or manufactured homes indicating life had gone on here after the night that had changed her life forever.

  She slowed to a stop in front of one of the lots. Flashes of memory haunted her as she spied the tree she’d hidden in when the house exploded. It, too, had gone on with life, stretching taller and wider than Skye remembered. The blast had nearly knocked her off the ten-foot-high branch where she’d been clinging. The branch was still there, thicker and longer than ever. A mobile home squatted farther back on the lot. The red dirt that tried to swallow up everything in these parts coated the bottom third of its metal sides. A sagging porch was a deterrent to visitors, not that Skye was tempted to stay.

  She drove a quarter mile farther, to what had been one of her favorite parts of the property, and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized nobody had taken over or stripped down her favorite grouping of red-and-gold striated rocks. She left her car at the side of the road and, ignoring the scrape of rock against her already-raw palms and knees, scaled the rocks as if she were still six years old and looking for an adventure. Thirty feet above the ground, she sat in her ridiculous party dress, her hair now loose from its confines and tangling in the wind, the lights of Vegas beyond and the darkness of the desert at her back, and contemplated her next move.

  She could continue retracing Loretta’s credit card trail. But the time she’d spent today doing just that had been fruitless.

  She could confront Stone about what she’d found. But the guy was careful, and had resources. Besides, she doubted he’d confess his sins.

  She could wait for Uncle Tom to reply to her. But it might be a long time before hell froze over.

  It seemed the only person who’d consistently wanted to work with her, or professed to, was Jared.

  When the answer came, she wasn’t surprised. Part of her, the primal instincts that lived in her gut, had already known what she was going to do next. After all, if one had to take a gamble, where better than Las Vegas?

  Chelsea had made a lot of bad decisions in her life, but none so poor as trusting the smooth-talking actor who’d seen her dance in a burlesque show at the Legacy Lounge, then hired her to dance at his friend’s party a couple weeks later. The promise of financial security and the allure of a bad-boy grin were her two greatest weaknesses. Unfortunately, Finn Tucker had turned out to be her worst nightmare, and the past several weeks had taught her there was no waking from it.

  Pride goeth before the fall.

  Her mother had always said that, referring to her dancing. Chelsea had been twelve the last time she’d heard her mother give any advice, but she’d hung on every word the legendary dancer Phoebe Bennigan had said. Her mother’s lifestyle had shaped much of Chelsea’s life, but she’d be damned if she’d die the same way her mother had—at the hands of a man.

  A whimper and a moan from the corner of the dirt-floor cabin indicated the girl Finn brought in a few days ago was finally coming around. Though it would be better, for the girl’s sake, if she stayed unconscious.

  Chelsea hurried to her side, bringing a bottle of water from the case Finn had dropped off along with some protein bars and the girl. She cradled the woman’s head in one hand as she lifted the mouth of the bottle toward her lips.

  “That could be drugged,” said Loretta, the other woman in the cabin. When Loretta had been dumped here two weeks ago, she’d been wearing heels and a dress, her face made up as if she were prepared for an interview. Now, like Chelsea’s, Loretta’s nails were jagged from clawing at the dirt floor around the walls or the caulking around the window, looking for an escape. Her mascara was faded to gray circles around her eyes.

  Chelsea was sure she must look the same way. Where it wasn’t matted with dirt, her blonde hair hung limply. Her skin was sallow, her lips chapped and sore from dehydration and gnawing them.

  Finn had turned them into animals. No, animals at least had a fighting chance. They were caged pets, at his mercy.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Chelsea said as the new woman hesitated to drink, her wild eyes darting between them. “Besides, he wants us strong before we run.”

  The stranger’s eyes widened but she took a sip of water. Whether she was hoping it would bring her renewed strength or more blessed numbness was unclear. Bear—Finn’s cohort in a bear mask, who seemed to be their primary keeper—had been drugging her for the past couple days.

  “What’s your name, honey?” Chelsea asked.

  “Erica.” Her name was a rasp against her throat. Erica was somewhere around Chelsea’s age, closer to twenty-four than Loretta’s seventeen. But Loretta had been blessed with Marilyn Monroe curves that made her appear more mature.

  “Does anyone know you’re missing?” Loretta asked.

  “I don’t know.” Erica choked back a sob. “I ran away to Hollywood a couple months ago, and I still don’t know many people. Only my roommate would notice I’m missing, and I’m not sure she’d care until rent comes due.” Her head whipped around and she found the strength to sit up. “What is this place? What are we doing here?”

  “He—Finn—calls it the Hunting Grounds,” Chelsea said. Though he’d drugged her drink the night she’d come to do her solo burlesque performance for him and a couple of his friends, she remembered that much before passing out. They’d been laughing about taking her there.

  “Finn.” Recognition lit Erica’s eyes. “That bastard.” The rest of Chelsea’s sentence seemed to register. “Hunting Grounds?”

  “Fuck Finn Tucker,” Loretta muttered. “And fuck Tristan.”

  Chelsea scowled at Loretta. Loretta had recognized Bear’s real identity almost immediately, but Chelsea had convinced her to keep the information to herself. If she ever wanted to get out of here, the less she appeared to know about the perpetrators, the better.

  “He promised me a part in a Stone film,” Loretta said. “Instead, I get hell. I’ll claw his eyes out if he gets close enough.”

  “And the other guy?” Erica asked.

  “We call him Bear,” Chelsea said. “He always wears a bear mask, and is in charge of training us.” Seeing that Erica seemed fully alert, Chelsea handed her the water bottle and pushed to her feet. “They want us to fight back, or to run. They get a thrill out of it.” When she’d woken up here nearly a month ago, there’d been two women already here, but they’d been taken out into the night a few hours later, leaving Chelsea in the cabin alone. The howls of the hunters, the echoes of laughter and shouted lewd comments that had filled the night… they had haunted her ever since. She lived in fear of them coming for her.

  “And then what?”

  Chelsea met Loretta’s gaze before turning back to Erica. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re released after the hunters have had their fun.” But she doubted it. Loretta hadn’t been here as many weeks as Chelsea, and hadn’t seen what had happened to the other women. Hell, Chelsea hadn’t seen, either, but she’d heard screams, and shots, and could fill in the blanks. Still, it wouldn’t do to have Erica or Loretta break down now. She needed them all strong. They’d only survive this together.

  She’d learned that the hard way, that her need to be independent of everyone might cost her life. She could hear her brother’s voice in her head, saying that very thing. She could also remember their last words to each other, said in the heat of anger. She’d had plenty of quiet time
for reflection over the past few weeks.

  She’d just come home from Legacy Lounge, where she danced three nights a week. The rest of the time, she took the occasional private dancing gig, when she wasn’t taking day courses in business at the community college. But the dancing was what paid the bills. Jared had offered to help her with tuition, but she’d be damned if she’d become a burden to him, as their mother had. If she were honest with herself, dancing was about more than the money. Dancing was empowering. But Jared had only seen the dangers.

  “Move in with me,” Jared said as she removed her coat and he spied her costume. He couldn’t hide his scowl, or the disappointment that flitted across his face. “You won’t have to dance anymore and you’d have your own room.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Chelsea said. “Besides, I like dancing and you can’t stand that lifestyle.”

  “This isn’t taking care of yourself.”

  “I feel alive when I’m up there on stage. I feel in control.”

  “I’m sure that’s how Mom felt, too. Alive. Until it led to her death. It only takes one instant for everything to change.”

  “Stop trying to be the goddamn hero all the time. I’m not underage anymore and can make my own choices. Besides, you got to go off and join the military while I was stuck here, dealing with Mom’s death. I’m smarter than she was. I know who to trust.”

  Except she hadn’t. She’d trusted Finn, and had been cocky enough to think she could handle a private party on her own with only three men in attendance.

  Deep down, she realized she was angry that Jared had left her, just as her dad and then their mom had, but it felt good to get the words out, to lash out at someone.