Devils: Cutthroat 99 MC

by Evelyn Glass

  “Call, and raise ten-thousand,” Beast said, putting an end to the hand by forcing Nelson to go all in.

  “Call,” Nelson said as his chips clattered into the pile.

  The two men turned their cards for the table to see. “Full House, Sixes over Eights, and a Flush, Nine high. Full House wins,” the dealer said to the table as Beast and Nelson stood, Nelson extending his hand across the table.

  “I hope you go all the way, you asshole,” Nelson said with a grin as they shook. “I won’t feel so bad losing my ass to you then.”

  Beast chuckled in return. “From your lips to God’s ears.” He sat back down and as the dealer collected the cards he began to quickly sort the chips from the pile into neat stacks of twenty.

  ***

  “Can I get you anything?” Shayna asked as the room began to clear after the bell.

  Beast continued to count chips into a bag under the supervision of one of the organizers, then signed a slip. He slid the rest of his chips into another bag that he slung around his wrist before he rose and faced Shayna.

  “Water with a lemon twist, thanks.”

  Shayna nodded and moved off to fetch his drink. She didn’t even understand why they had a bar. A cooler full of water and pops was all they needed because nobody was drinking. Not that she blamed them. If she had fifty grand on the line, she’d want to be stone cold sober, too. Beast was there when she turned, so she handed him his drink. “Looks like you’re doing okay.”

  “Not bad. But these are the fish. I haven’t come up against a good player yet.”

  “So were you straight with me last night? You’re an amateur?”

  He crisscrossed his chest with a finger then held his hand up as if taking an oath. “Swear to God.”

  “So if you’re not a professional poker player, what do you do?”

  “I run a security firm. DR Security.”

  “Really? That sounds interesting. Guard any big stars?”

  “No, not really. They typically have their own security. We may help them out with logistics, but we tend to specialize in people who fly into Vegas from out of the country. We…provide additional services in addition to security.”

  “Like what?” They were alone in the room with the exception of couple of dealers and the casino security man at the door, so they had time to talk. It was her job to be nice to the guests, but it didn’t hurt if the guest gave her the low level hots.

  “It’s Vegas, baby,” he said with a grin. “We set up shows, high-stakes games, escorts, that sort of thing.”

  She grunted as her suspicion was confirmed. DR Security my ass. He’s nothing but a pimp. “What does DR stand for?”

  “Desert Reapers.”

  She frowned as the name tickled her memory. “Desert Reapers. Where have I heard that name before?”

  Beast smiled. Here it comes. “Desert Reapers is the name of my club. We…”

  She snapped her fingers. “It’s a motorcycle club, right? I remember hearing stories. You ran drugs or something, right, but then went legit?”

  He looked at her impressed. “Guns, not drugs. My father started taking the club out of the gun trade about fifteen years ago. We’re a respected member of the business community now. I’m surprised you knew that.”

  Shayna smiled. “Yeah. My best friend did her high school English paper on organized crime in Vegas. The Reapers were, uh…”

  “Bastards?” he suggested.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would,” he said firmly. “My grandfather founded the Reapers in the late fifties and he was a total dick. When he turned the reins over to my dad, and Dad started easing the club out of the gun business, they had some god-awful fights. Granddad couldn’t let it go, but the club is making more money now than ever, and we don’t have the law breathing down our necks all the time.”

  “So your club runs a security firm for real?”

  “Yeah. And Dirty Reaper Tattoos. We’re franchising that.”

  Shaya nodded. She’d seen several of those around town. “Huh. I would have never pegged you for a biker.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She fretted a moment, trying to figure out how to get out of this without being insulting. She’d always imagined bikers as fat, greasy haired, slobs. He looked more like ex-military if anything. “I don’t know. You just don’t look the type.”

  “What type is that? Come on, I want to know.”

  “Long hair and beard, for one thing.”

  Beast grinned. “We have our share of members who look like that. But those of us who work with the clients on security, we have to look the part.”

  “What part is that?”

  “Well-groomed and competent, for one thing. We have to blend in. If I were running security in my colors I would stand out like rat shit in a sugar bowl.”

  Shayna smiled and nodded in agreement. “That you would. So you run the business or do you actually provide the protection?”

  “Both. I would go crazy sitting behind a desk all the time. My VP is good at that, so he does most of the day-to-day operation stuff.”

  Shayna found Beast fascinating, standing perfectly at ease with one foot in his club and the world of bikers, the other in the world of dignitary security. “You any good?” she teased.

  He grinned at her. “Haven’t lost anyone yet.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “At the tournament? I’m looking to make a change, plus I want to see what I’m made of. To find out if you’re the best, you have to face the best. The best are here.”

  “What change is that?” she asked. He seemed to have it all, why would he want to change anything?

  “To be honest, I don’t know. I just feel like I’m missing something, something important, in my life. This is the first step on the road to find out what it is.”

  She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “That sounds suspiciously like some kind of pickup line. Are you going to tell me I’m the one you’ve been looking for, the thing that’s missing in your life?”

  Beast burst into laughter. “I think I’m looking for something other than a woman, so no. No pickup line.” His smile turned sly. “Would it have worked?”

  This time Shayna laughed. “No!”

  “I figured. You won’t even give me your name, so I doubt some cheesy line would soften you up that easily. You strike me as a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid of going after it.”

  She bobbed her head and smiled, liking his assessment of her. “I think you can say that.”

  “See? I’m not such a bad guy. You can trust me.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Enough to give me your name?” he asked.

  She thought about it a moment. “Shayna.”

  “Nice to meet you, Shayna,” he said sticking out his hand. When she took it he gripped it firmly, but not too tight, and gave it a quick pump. “Do you have a last name?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled and released her hand. “Okay. I get it. But it’s nice to meet you anyway.” The five-minute bell chimed, causing him take a gulp of water then put his glass down. “Have to go take care of some business before the next round. Be seeing you around.”

  Shayna watched Beast as he left the room, liking how he walked. His movements reminded her of a cat’s: smooth, graceful, and with barely contained explosive power.

  ***

  Beast rolled his cards over, showing his Straight, his heart sinking as the other player displayed his cards. “Two Straights, Jack high and Eight high, Jack high wins,” the dealer said as the other player raked in the pile of chips.

  Shit, Beast muttered to himself. That hand just cost him two hundred fifty thousand dollars, his biggest loss of the night. I thought I had him! This guy is going to be tough.

  Shayna watched as the other man raked in a mountain of chips, his face split into a wide grin. She didn’t know how much money was in the pot, but it could have been as much as a
half-million by her guess. She shook her head in wonderment. Beast had just bet most of the chips in front of him, lost, and yet looked as cool and relaxed as if he were sitting by a pool sipping a drink. He motioned one of the organizers over and after a moment of discussion, the man left then returned with another large pile of chips. Beast grinned, nodded in thanks, and returned his attention to the table. After a moment he looked up and waved her over.

  “Water with a lemon twist?” she asked.

  He grinned. “After that hand, better make it two lemon twists.”

  “Anyone else?” she asked as the table chuckled. When everyone declined, she hurried away, returning a moment later with Beast’s drink.

  “Water with two lemon twists,” she said as she set the drink in the table’s built-in holder.

  “How about a knock for luck?” Beast asked.

  “Knock?”

  “Right here,” he said tapping the table in front of him.

  Shayna looked at the dealer, not sure what to do. The woman met her eyes and, as there were no cards on the table, gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Okay,” she said before giving the table two quick raps right in front of him with the first two fingers of her right hand.

  “If he wins the next hand, you have to come over here and do the same,” another player kidded her.

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said with a smile. Anything to break up the just standing around.

  ***

  Shayna hoped Beast would come talk to her again during the break, but he stepped out of the room immediately after the bell. She’d rapped at every position of the table since Beast had asked her, but all the luck appeared to run to Beast. By the time the bell had sounded, the only player left at the table was the man who beaten him earlier, and even his pile of chips was considerably diminished.

  This was the last break before the tournament would close for the evening. There were only two tables left, fifteen men left playing. Tomorrow she’d be in one of the big rooms, and she was pretty sure Beast was going to be there, as well.

  Beast picked up his phone from the concierge just outside the poker room. After flipping through a series of texts, he came across the one he was looking for, the text from Hightower. The Argentines are here. Call. Beast punched his number.

  “Beast,” Hightower’s thick British accent said. “We have a problem.”

  “What problem?” Beast asked, not understanding why Hightower was bothering him with this.

  “There are four of them.”

  “So?”

  “So we only reserved three spots on the Sons of Sin thing.”

  “And?”

  “And, they’re booked solid. I talked to Colt, he said they didn’t have an opening.”

  Beast scrubbed his face. It’s always something! Security is the easy part. “Can’t they take one more?”

  “No. He said they didn’t have quarters for anyone else.”

  “Shit!” Beast hissed. “What do you think about pulling our man out and using his slot?”

  “That’s my thought, but if something goes to shit, it will be your ass, not mine. I wanted to run that by you first.”

  “Have you talked to Colt?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?” Beast asked. If there were one thing he’d change about Hightower, it would be to get him to spill all the details without having to be prompted every time. He was like that on everything. Maybe that was the Brit in him.

  “He seems like a competent bloke. He has an ex-Marine on staff as his Sergeant at Arms and promised nothing would happen.” Hightower chuckled. “He said that if one of the Argentines was killed while under his care, he’d give us our money back and comp us a visit.”

  Beast grinned. He has spoken with Colt McKinnon months ago when the Argentines mentioned they wanted to do the Sons of Sins experience. Colt had struck him as an upstanding guy he could trust. He’d heard about the Death Valley Motorcycle Club, a small club located about halfway between Vegas and Reno, but was surprised to find out they were operating the Sons of Sin Motorcycle Club experience.

  The Reapers had done a little investigation and found that Colt had taken over as President then done good things with the club, taking them from some backwater shit-hole club to what they were now.

  “Okay, I agree. Do it. Just make sure Colt knows what he’s got. I don’t expect trouble, but still.”

  “Already handled,” Hightower said. “I just wanted to put you in the loop. Palmetto is rankled that he isn’t going to get to go, though.”

  Beast grinned. Tony Palmetto had been bragging to every person he could get to listen that he was going to enjoy an all-expense paid trip to paradise, courtesy of the Argentine government. “Serves him right for rubbing everyone’s noses in it.”

  Hightower laughed. “Agreed.”

  “Listen, the bell just chimed. I have to go,” Beast said, trying to get off the phone. “Let me know if you have any other problems.”

  “Wilco. How’s it going?”

  “Haven’t lost my ass yet,” Beast said before ending the call, tossing the phone to the basket, and hurrying back into the room.

  Shayna was watching, wondering if Beast was going to make it back into the room. He did, just. He’d obviously been annoyed by something someone was telling him on the phone, walking in a tight circle as he spoke into the phone. But three steps into the room she saw the aggravation leave him like a fog lifting, and he was once again calm and cool. Fire and ice…

  The organizers split Beast and the other strong player, another amateur named Orson, sitting one at each of the two remaining tables. If they were lucky, they would have a couple of dark horses to enliven the televised tournament next week.

  Beast sat at his indicated position and counted out the chips from his bag. “Hold a moment, please,” he said, waving his hand over the table palm down, then signaled for Shayna.

  “Water with a lemon twist?” she asked.

  “Not this time. Just a knock for luck.”

  When the dealer nodded, she rapped the table in the same manner she had the last time then stepped back. Beast nodded and after the blinds were tossed in, the dealer began to distribute the cards with practiced speed and efficiency.

  She hovered, well back, but between the two tables, watching the play. It was too hard to keep track of all the tables before, but with two, she found she could watch and enjoy the game play, silently cheering with the winners and groaning with the losers.

  After the first hour, she’d started watching only Beast’s table, sparing the other table a glance only to make sure they didn’t need anything. Beast was raking in chips with ease. Every break seemed to go his way, winning some hands big, and just squeaking by with a high card on others. He didn’t win every hand he played, but he won far more than he lost, his growing pile of chips attesting to his skill.

  His play wasn’t flamboyant, his movements calm and methodical. She watched as he folded often, but when he played, he bet with a fearlessness that amazed her. She saw him push almost a hundred thousand dollars into the pot like he’d have bet ten, picking off the other players one by one.

  When there were only four left at his table, she could see desperation on the faces of his opponents. They were trapped, unable to beat him, unable to stop play and walk away with what they had left. Had she been playing, she’d have been trying to go for the kill, but Beast’s play never changed. He still folded just as often as he did when the table was at full strength and his bets were in the range he’d been betting before.

  That’s why he wins at poker and I don’t even play, Shayna smiled as Beast took the last of another man’s chips.

  When the final bell sounded, announcing the close of the first day of the tournament, Shayna sighed. Standing around was a lot harder than walking, and she had to use the restroom in the worst possible way.

  As the remaining players, seven in all, counted their chips into the bank, Beast sauntered up to her. He’
d cleared his table with almost thirty minutes to spare and had already counted his chips.

  “Plans for the night?” he asked.

  “Yes. Going home.”

  He nodded. He wanted to press, but changed his mind. He was much more used to snapping his fingers and having women at his beck and call, so Shayna intrigued him. “Need a lift?” When she looked at him, he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just asking. I didn’t know if you have a car, took a cab, or what.”