Take Me, Sir: Billionaire's Sub Book 3

by M. S. Parker

  I sighed, the sound lost in the murmurs of arousal and excitement that were building throughout the club. Both Miranda and Jason were approaching climax, and the energy in the air was palpable. As soon as they were done, the music would come back up, and dancing would resume, most couples moving with more deliberation, working toward their own eventual release.

  I stood, but it wasn't to return downstairs and find a partner. There were plenty of Subs down there who I was sure would want to join me for whatever I wanted to do, but I wasn't into it, and I didn't go into an encounter without being fully committed to it.

  I wasn't into relationships, but that didn't mean I was a complete bastard.

  Chapter Five

  Kyndall

  I'd paid an obscene amount of money to have my belongings shipped across the country within a week, but it'd been worth it yesterday when I'd been able to move my things into my new place. Granted, they hadn't taken up much room since my previous apartment could've fit into my new one three times over, but they made it feel more like home.

  And that's what I was looking for here. A home. A place of my own, where I could be in charge of my own life, without having to worry about all of the expectations that came with being a part of my family. I loved them, and I was proud of the people my brother and sister had become, but I wanted to be me. I wanted this to be the place where my family came to visit me and acknowledged it as mine, to decorate and furnish as I liked.

  They'd have questions, I knew, about how I could afford a place like this. Dalton had already started asking, and it was clear he didn't believe me about having saved money while I worked through college. I didn't blame him. The sort of money I would've needed to make to be able to afford a place like this was well beyond what a graduate student could've earned.

  My plan for keeping up the subterfuge was actually a simple one. Let Juliette keep Dalton out of my business for a month or two so he could see that I really was financially secure, and I'd let it slip that I found an excellent job that paid well. A statistician for a wealthy start-up company that'd given me a hefty signing bonus. I was counting on my family thinking that the sort of work I did was boring enough that they'd never ask more than the basics once they knew I could take care of myself. Probably six months to a year of constantly reassuring them that I didn't need their help, and I'd be set.

  As I looked around the spacious layout of my new apartment, I smiled with pride. My means might've been unconventional, but I'd accomplished all of this on my own. It was slightly annoying to have to keep all of it to myself, but I knew my family would never understand. Hell, they'd most likely go beyond not understanding to straight-up scolding and condemnation. We didn't do the sort of unseemly things I made a living doing.

  Because my parents had both inherited a sizable chunk of land, they were considered pillars of the community, the sort of people who'd always had eyes on them. Lia's teenage pregnancy had been scandal enough, but the area was liberal enough that the fact she graduated rather than dropping out had been more than enough to make things right again. What I was doing, well, I doubted I'd get the same leniency.

  I gave myself a critical once-over in the mirror. I needed to look good enough to show that I belonged, but not so decked out that I drew unwanted attention. I wasn't going tonight to be eye candy, or to find a high roller to hang onto. I had a nice nest egg, but I wanted to make sure I was even more secure before I took too much of a break.

  Besides, I needed the distraction, and this was better than sex since I was willing to bet that I wouldn't find anyone as good in bed as Dean had been.

  It was too hot for pants, so I'd gone with my favorite dress. Too slinky to be considered a sundress, but not so tight or revealing that I looked like I was going to a club. A low enough neckline to show a bit of cleavage, but still respectable. Long enough that I could sit comfortably, but short enough to take advantage of the distraction my legs could offer. It was definitely an asset.

  If I'd been a superstitious person, I might've called it my lucky dress, but I believed in things I could see, count, touch. While there was an element of chance in what I did, for the most part, it required skill, not some fickle, mystical energy that came and went without rhyme or reason.

  I checked the bills I'd tucked into the small pocket at my waist – another reason this was my favorite dress – and then double-checked the directions to the address Jan had given me. Jan Denman had gone to MIT with me but dropped out to pursue an acting career. When I arrived in LA, I looked her up, but not because I wanted us to hang out. We'd been acquaintances more than friends in school, but she'd always been friendly enough, and the sort of person who always knew what was going on, and that hadn't changed.

  Thanks to Jan's boyfriend, Teddy, I was on my way to my first poker game on the West Coast. My nerves were steady as I made my way downstairs to where I had a car waiting. I'd sold the one I used for school and hadn't yet bought one here, so I'd be using a car service for the foreseeable future. I didn't mind though. While I liked the independence having my own car brought, finding a reliable service in LA wasn't difficult, and it gave me the opportunity to focus on the night ahead.

  I allowed the familiar thrill to run through me, let my adrenaline have free reign. Once I arrived and got into the groove of playing, the excitement would keep me going, but I needed the edge to start. That wasn't why I did it though.

  Sure, I enjoyed the rush of doing something illegal, but that wasn't the main attraction. And it wasn't an addiction. When I took a break, I didn't get the sort of itch that came with needing a fix. For me, it was a job. A means to an end. A way of proving that I could use the skills I had to take care of myself. The fact that I could be a little rebellious while doing it was just a bonus, even though it wasn't exactly the sort of rebellion I planned on anyone else knowing about. It was more of a...private thing.

  Still, in the back of my mind, a part of me wondered if I'd chosen this particular route because I never intended for anyone to know about it because I was ashamed of the choices I'd made with my life.

  I told myself to shake it off and smiled at the driver who opened the door for me. I needed to get my head in the game.

  The driver looked surprised when I gave him the address, but thankfully, didn't make any comments. I knew he assumed I was going to the game as entertainment, not a player, but as long as he kept his opinions to himself, I didn't particularly care what he thought.

  The man at the door glowered down at me, but Jan had sent me a picture of Teddy, so I didn't even hesitate as I walked right up to him.

  “I'm Kyndall.” I smiled, but it wasn't the same sort of smile I would've given to a bouncer at a club. Those sort of guys, I'd flirt with to get inside without a cover charge. Here, I had to show that I was only here for business, and not the sort of business that most women would be here for.

  Teddy frowned at me. “Kyndall?”

  “Jan said you put me on the list for the game.” I tried to look like I wasn't about to melt in all this heat. “She and I went to school together.”

  “Right!” The lightbulb went on. “Mr. Maverick said to make sure you had your buy in.”

  I pulled out the bills I'd tucked away. “Fifty grand, right?”

  Teddy nodded and opened the door. “Straight down the hall, second door on the right. You don't got no weapons, right?”

  I shook my head and started past.

  “They're probably gonna pat you down anyway,” he called after me.

  I'd long since gotten past any issues with groping disguised as a pat-down for weapons. As long as they kept their hands over my clothes and didn't linger longer than a couple extra seconds, I didn't complain. Well, technically, I didn't complain either way, but I had ways of making my displeasure known.

  I thought back to the first high-stakes game I'd gotten into.

  “Honey, my girls wear a hell of a lot less than that. You want to work one of my games, lose the dress.”

  I
glared at the cocky son of a bitch running the game. “I'm here to play, asshole.”

  “Sure you are, sweetheart.”

  I took another step inside. “I got the buy-in. You want the money or not?” I didn't like the grin I got in return, but I didn't move.

  “Check her for weapons.”

  The bodyguard didn't even pretend that he wasn't leering at me, but I held up my hands and stayed still as he ran his hand over me. He squeezed and pinched, lingering longer than he needed to, but I put up with it. When his hand brushed the inside of my thigh, I gritted my teeth.

  “You go any higher,” I said, “and I'm going to twist your nuts so hard that you won't be able to get it up for a week.”

  The hand on my leg paused.

  “Just thought you'd want to be treated like one of the guys, since you're here to play,” the asshole said with a smirk.

  “If this prick grabs those men's crotches like he's grabbing at mine, you might want to consider letting us charge him.”

  The wandering hand went straight up to my panties, and I grabbed him before he could react. One quick twist and he was cursing.

  But his hand was no longer between my legs, so I was taking it as a win.

  The pat down in the room took place just inside the door, but there was no funny business. When I stepped past the bodyguard, I took a moment to look at each of the other players, including the man who was clearly in charge.

  Early forties. Blond, with cold green eyes. Jan said the guy's name was Stanley Maverick, like I was supposed to know who that was. I hadn't asked for details though. That was a surefire way to make everyone think I didn't belong.

  I didn't mind letting people make assumptions regarding my intelligence based on my age and appearance, but I didn't do the whole 'play dumb' thing. I already put up with enough dumb blonde jokes that I didn't need to add any fuel to the fire. If they couldn't tell by the way I spoke that I was smarter than them, that was their own fault. I wouldn't be blamed for them not taking me seriously.

  Some people might've thought that was arrogant, but it wasn't arrogance if it was a fact. I'd been the smartest person in any room since I was a kid.

  I walked toward the table and tried not to scowl at the way Stanley's eyes crawled all over me. I'd been dealing with creeps like him for years, and I wasn't about to let it throw me off the game now.

  “You sure you're in the right place?” Stanley asked as his gaze landed on my chest. “My boy tells me you're here to play, but you look more like entertainment.”

  He patted the ass of a scantily-clad waitress as she walked by. The expression on her face didn't change, telling me that she'd gotten used to Stanley's touch and that his hands probably did a lot more wandering than that.

  It pissed me off, knowing that more people would have a problem with me gambling than they would with me working as a waitress at a place like this. It was one of the reasons I'd chosen poker over other forms of employment. It pissed me off that, often, the only way women could make as much money as a man playing poker was to take off her clothes or put up with unwanted attentions.

  “I have the buy-in.” I dropped the money on the table and waited to be told to take the empty seat.

  It was a fine line to walk, that balance between giving respect and not letting the men walk over me. One of the things I'd learned quickly was to ignore ninety percent of the sexist remarks that came out of their mouths, especially at the beginning.

  Stanley counted it, then gestured to the seat. “We aren't going to go easy on you just because you got a nice set of tits.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn't want you to.”

  A laugh went around the table as I sat down. That was okay. I'd be the only one laughing at the end of the night. I arranged my chips in front of me as I watched the other players, making note of each little tick and gesture. Some people with a mind like mine would've done straight card counting to win, but I'd always combined my math skills with my observational skills. It tended to help when playing with less scrupulous people who might want to cheat. I'd caught more than one dealer who'd been paid off to deal favorably one way or the other.

  Then the cards went out, and I began to count. It was second nature now to keep numbers running in one part of my mind, so much so that I wasn't sure I could play without doing it automatically.

  I started slow, low bets where I cared more about learning the others' tells and making sure my count was thorough than I did about winning. It also looked good to win a few and lose a few before I got to the big bets. While a casino would kick a person out for counting cards – which I thought was a bunch of bullshit if they weren't using technology to do it – games like this went by a different set of rules. My arms were bare, so it was clear I wasn't hiding cards, and most men wouldn't even consider that someone like me could be smart enough to run a game with only my brains, but if someone did figure it out, I risked more than simply getting kicked out.

  So I purposefully let myself lose a hand or two, never going all in or betting so much that I made anyone suspicious. My usual pattern allowed me to double my money with every game and walk away without anyone being the wiser, but I was having a difficult time keeping my temper tonight. Stanley hadn't shut up since I'd come in, and his comments had gotten more and more vulgar as the night went on. Most of the guys ignored him, but at least two looked uncomfortable as things got worse.

  After nearly three hours of listening to his shit, I'd had enough. I knew better than to physically or verbally attack him here. This was his place, his game.

  So I hit him where it hurt. Disregarding my usual restraint, I began to play more aggressively, placing larger bets and forcing him to match, relying more on my ability to know what cards came next than I typically did. One by one, the other men dropped out, until it was just Stanley and me.

  Despite the air conditioning, a faint sheen of sweat beaded on Stanley's forehead, and I could feel the moisture on my own skin. The room had taken on that musty sort of smell that came with overheated bodies in close proximity to each other, and when Stanley lit a cigar, the smoke only made it harder to breathe.

  Finally, I knew we'd reached the point where I had to make a choice. I knew that if I traded in two cards, I'd have a straight flush, and no matter how many cards Stanley asked for, he wouldn't be able to get any higher than four of a kind. I could go all in and clean him out, or I could fold now and take my winnings. I'd made more than what I brought in, and this was a new game in a new city. That'd be the smart thing to do.

  “Don't feel bad, sweetheart,” Stanley said. “It's nothing personal. It just takes balls to win at this game, and you don't got them. If you'd like, after the game, I'll let you get up close and personal with mine.”

  I gave him a tight smile and slid two cards toward the dealer. “Two.”

  When he called, I bit back a smart remark as I laid my cards on the table. The men around me cursed as I leaned forward to sweep my winnings toward me. Stanley just stared at me, the look on his face unreadable. I wasn't gloating or even celebrating, but I had a feeling Stanley was taking my winning as a personal insult.

  “Let's get you a bag for all that cash,” he said as he stood. “And then I'll get you a ride home, princess. We can talk about your game on the way.”

  Shit.

  Chapter Six

  Dean

  After my night at the club was a bust, I decided to try a completely different form of distraction.

  Friendship. I didn't want to bother Cross and Hanna yet, not with the new baby. Dalton and Juliette, however, had come back from their honeymoon a week ago, so I could pop by for a visit and not feel guilty.

  I stayed for a couple hours while we enjoyed the wine I brought. They told me about their trip, and I told them about mine. It was nice and casual, the sort of thing that should've been perfectly relaxing. Except the question of Kyndall was always there in the back of my mind.

  By the time I said goodnight, I decided that ignoring my p
roblem wasn't making it go away. I needed to face it head on, deal with the fact that Kyndall had made an impression, and that I wasn't going to see her again. If I did see her, I needed to be able to stay cordial. I didn't want either of us having our friendships damaged because I couldn't be mature about the way things were. I'd always managed to have polite interactions with previous one-night stands. Kyndall couldn't be any different.

  The air was thick and heavy as I stepped outside. It felt like we were going to get a rare thunderstorm tonight. While I generally liked the sunny weather, a storm actually sounded appealing. It would remind me of home.

  A car pulled up in front of the building, the back door flying open before the vehicle came to a complete stop. I had a moment to register amazing legs, and then Kyndall was on the sidewalk, face flushed, eyes sparking.

  She was halfway through saying something, her voice raised enough that I could hear it. “...if you don't like losing to a woman, you shouldn't have taken my money.”

  A man came out of the car right behind her. Seedy-looking, with greasy, slicked-back hair. He didn't look angry, but there was something hard about his eyes that made me not like the way he was looking at Kyndall.

  “You didn't say you were some ringer.” He stormed after her, completely ignoring me. “You lied to us.”

  “Did you ask the men how good they were?” She spun toward him, curls flying. “Or does having a dick make a person exempt from that sort of question?”

  The man's hand clamped down around Kyndall's arm, and I snapped. “Get your fucking hands off her!”

  The man turned his head toward me, looking more annoyed than anything else. “Mind your own fucking business, pal.”

  “Let go of me,” Kyndall said.

  “You don't give me orders, bitch.”