by Kelsie Rae
Gigi huffs a breath of laughter before probing, “Ah yes. How could I forget the rules? Where did you come up with those anyway?”
“Some of them I picked up on my own. Some of them were little pieces of advice from my mom. Some of them were tiny tidbits of wisdom left by her friends.” I lift my fingers and dramatically place air quotes around the term. My mother was a druggie, and I’m pretty sure she was paid for sex on multiple occasions––scratch that. I’m positive about it.
“What do you mean her friends?” With a teasing smile, Gigi mimics my air quotes from seconds before.
“I’ve told you what my mom was like before she disappeared. Must’ve been stuck in the eighties because all she loved was sex, drugs, and rock and roll.” A scoff slips past my lips. “Unfortunately for both of us, she didn’t have the money to support that lifestyle, which meant she had to find alternative ways of earning income including, but not limited to, sex with strange men in our little trailer.” My eyes go wide at the memories before I sarcastically add, “That was a lot of fun. No wonder having sex is about as appealing as getting a colonoscopy.”
“Depending on who you’re with and how kinky they are, it’s probably pretty similar,” Gigi quips with a grin.
Gripping my stomach in laughter, Dottie interrupts us by planting my food on the table with a solid thud.
“Thanks, Dottie!” I yell to her retreating form.
Ketchup in hand, I squirt a generous portion of red sauce over my food. “Speaking of family, how’s the family life?”
She snorts. “Shitty, as always.”
Her words act like a wet blanket, sobering me instantly.
Gigi’s a very private person, but she broke down a few weeks ago and told me that her family is falling apart, and she feels helpless. Hopeless. I held her as she cried before she wiped under her eyes with a napkin and pretended her little breakdown never happened at all.
“I’d say I can relate, but since my only family went missing when I was twelve….”
“Sometimes, I wish I could be the one to disappear.” Gigi’s confession is said under her breath, and I doubt I was meant to hear it. Regardless, it hangs in the air with a weight I can’t disburse.
Clearing her throat, she reaches for a sausage link off my plate. “I’m jealous you get to go have fun and live on the edge, Ace. I think you should let me tag along one of these days.”
“Ya think? No offense, Gigi, but you would stick out like a sore thumb.” Scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs, I bring it to my mouth and chew slowly.
With a gasp, a mock offended Gigi chucks her crumpled napkin at my head. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re drop-dead gorgeous, and every guy will notice you as soon as you step foot onto the carpet.”
Gigi tosses her thick, dark hair over her shoulder in outrage. “Whatever. You’re just as gorgeous as I am, so cut the shit.”
Laughing, I pick up the second link of sausage and take a bite. “Sorry, G. But I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one. I,”—I point to my chest— “am girl-next-door cute. You,” —I motion to her— “are runway-model cute. There’s a difference. I can blend in at the blackjack table. You can’t.”
With a shake of her head, she tries a different tactic. “Then let’s skip the blackjack table. I need to get out. I need to live. The slots look fun.”
I balk, pointing my utensil at her and talking through a mouth full of food. “Don’t waste your money on slots. They’re designed to make you lose.”
“And what would you suggest I play, then?” She leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, clearly intrigued.
After taking another bite of eggs, I reply, “Blackjack.” She snorts. “Or poker. Hell, even roulette has better odds than the freaking slot machines. Especially when the gaming commission turns a blind eye and doesn’t audit their machines since they’re owned by the freaking mob. Just sayin’.”
She quirks her brow. “Then you should teach me blackjack or poker. Just sayin’,” she mimics with a teasing smile.
“We’ve already discussed this.”
“I know, I know. What if we play just for fun, then? No counting. No crazy strategies. No rules. Just fun.” She bounces her brows up and down suggestively like it’s a preposterously genius idea, and it’s a little pathetic that I can’t remember the last time I played for fun. I guess, with my history of the game, the answer would be never. And I can thank Burlone for that.
The same worn deck of cards that I learned how to count with is sitting in the front pouch of my backpack, burning a hole in the pocket as I consider using them for fun instead of an outlet for revenge.
I release a sigh then pull my backpack out, unzip the compartment, and grab one of my most prized possessions. The cards have swirling gold ink on the back with a cursive ‘A’ woven into the colors. Though they’ve definitely seen better days, I push my plate aside then deal her in.
We continue to shoot the shit while playing cards for a few more hours when dawn finally breaks, and we go our separate ways with the promise of meeting again tomorrow night.
Just like always.
And, just like always, I make the trek back to my lonely apartment in a bad part of town by myself, praying it’ll be nighttime soon, so I’m one step closer to my revenge.
Chapter Two
Ace
Swirling my straw in the watered-down vodka tonic, I shift awkwardly in my seat.
Damn, this dress is uncomfortable.
It’s red. And short. And about two sizes too small.
Casually, I glance to the blackjack table a few feet below. The bar is set up in the center of the casino on a platform that gives me a crazy good view of the entire floor plan––including the blackjack tables.
My gaze zeroes in on the dealer as he lays down the cards face up. They’re playing with six decks, which means I can lazily count the cards as he puts them on the table instead of waiting for the players to throw them in once the round is over. Regardless, my focus is wicked-sharp as I watch from my perched position.
Rule #5: Be a machine. Don’t allow distractions. They’ll only break you.
Two. Two. Seven. Four. I watch as he slowly turns over one low card after another. The deck is hot.
Hell, it’s scorching. The more low cards that come out of the deck raise the probability of high ones begging to be played, which means it’s go-time.
Without thought, I pull out my phone and set a timer then slide off my stool and stumble down the steps, making sure to splash a little of my drink for good measure.
I can feel the dealer’s eyes on me as I set the scene.
Perfect.
Looking around the room without a care in the world, I stop when our gazes connect and give the dealer a dopey-eyed smile. “Hi. Ooo…” I step closer to the table. “Blackjack. Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” He scans me from head to toe before remembering he’s at work and checking out the players is slightly frowned upon. His neck snaps to the player on his left as I take a seat and fumble with the clasp on my clutch like a pro. Pulling out a roll of fifties, I toss ten onto the table.
With a smile, the dealer exchanges the cash for poker chips. “Here you go, miss.”
“Why, thank you,” I quip, making sure to keep track of the cards he dealt from a moment before.
Nine. Three. Five. Six.
Seriously, this couldn’t be a better time to play.
I can almost feel the heat radiating from the scorching deck as I wait for him to finish collecting the used cards then discard them into a pile.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I lean forward and motion to the empty chair next to me. “Mind if I play two hands? My boyfriend loves blackjack, so I like to play a hand for him too.” My red-tinted lips tilt up flirtatiously while the little tidbit of information I just dropped makes it clear I’m off-limits.
He deflates a few inches at my mention of a f
ake boyfriend then offers a quick, “Sure,” before motioning to the table.
“Perfect.” With a wink, I place the chips in two separate piles to show I’m playing two hands––two hundred each.
The dealer furrows his brows. “Miss, the minimum bet is fifty. You’re welcome to play that much, but I just want to make sure you’re aware of the rules.”
It’s far from appropriate to question how much a player gambles, but I must be nailing the scatterbrained sorority chick act because he takes pity on me.
Chewing my lower lip, I take a second to look at my watch before giving my attention back to the dealer. “I lost track of time at the bar and only have time for a couple of hands. Am I allowed to play more than fifty? My boyfriend said I could go crazy, so….” Batting my lashes at him, I channel my inner Gigi and give him my best puppy dog expression.
He caves like a champ.
“Of course, miss.”
The dealer starts making his way around the table, laying a card face-down in front of him before turning to his left and placing them face-up to everyone else.
Nine. Four. Six. Ten.
My turn.
A king of clubs is placed in front of my first hand, and I dig my teeth into my lower lip to contain my excitement. For my second hand, he turns over an ace of hearts. The dealer places a six of diamonds in front of him before he goes around again. I couldn’t ask for a better set-up. It’s practically a card counter’s wet dream.
Ten. Six. Three. Eight.
Again, it’s my turn.
A rush of adrenaline spikes through me as I watch it unfold.
Ten of spades for my first hand, which means I’m at twenty. It’s damn-near perfect. The only thing that beats a twenty in blackjack is twenty-one. Any more than that, and you bust.
I nibble my fingernail to contain my anxiety before glancing at the dealer’s face and smiling nervously.
It’s an act. I’m not nervous. I’m going to win. Hell, if I could put another five grand on the table, I would. But I can’t, so my measly four hundred bucks will have to do.
Next, the dealer slides a card off the top of the deck to pair with my ace of hearts. With bated breath, I watch as he flips over a king of spades.
Yes!
“Yay!” I clap my hands in front of me while bouncing in my chair. After all, I’m playing a peppy ex-cheerleader who loves spending her boyfriend’s money. Might as well have fun while I’m at it. “That’s good, right? I mean…it’s twenty-one!”
The people surrounding the table laugh.
“Yeah. That’s really good, miss,” the dealer confirms. “As long as I don’t beat it, then you’ll get paid three hundred for it.”
“But,” I play dumb. “I thought I put down two hundred?”
“If you get dealt blackjack, then you get paid out three to two, so it looks like it might be your lucky night.”
Or it’s statistics. But sure, we’ll go with luck.
I grin widely.
The dealer flips over his card on the bottom, displaying a six to tag along with his other six. He takes the top card from the deck and turns it over to reveal a queen of spades.
He busted.
“Yes!” With a squeal, I clap my hands again as he hands over five hundred dollars worth of chips.
I risk another hand and win another six hundred bucks when the alarm on my phone vibrates.
With an innocent smile, I lift my forefinger to the dealer and silence the alarm before pretending to read a text.
“It’s my boyfriend. Apparently, he had too much to drink and needs me to take care of him.” I roll my eyes. “You know boys. Thanks for the fun night!” I wave my fingers his way then gather my chips up from the table and head to the information center to cash out.
It feels super crowded for a Thursday night as I weave between sweaty bodies toward my destination. When I’m shoved from behind, I stumble forward, nearly twisting my ankle.
Damn heels.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. With a clenched jaw, I look over my shoulder to find the culprit with his hands in the air.
Asshole.
Chapter Three
Ace
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
The guy looks to be a few years older than me, and he’s built like a swimmer. Tall and trim with a tapered waist. I’d probably punch his chiseled jaw if he didn’t look so damn apologetic for almost mowing me over.
“Yeah,” I murmur, taking a wobbly step back with my chips still in hand. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” His brows are pinched in concern as he looks me up and down, searching for any bumps or bruises.
“Um…yeah.”
“I’m Jack.” He offers his hand to me, and I take it. His palm is warm; his fingers long and calloused.
“Ace.” My real name slips past my lips before I can stop it, and frustration quickly follows.
Shit.
He knocked me off guard when he ran into me, and now I’m going to pay dearly for it.
Rule #6: Never reveal your true identity and don’t get personal.
I’m an idiot.
“Nice to meet you, Ace. Seems you were meant to play cards with a name like that,” he teases with a playful smirk. His chin drops to my left hand that’s still clutching my fat stack of chips.
Clearing my throat, I search for a response but come up empty.
The only thing going through my mind right now is shit, shit, shit. I need to get out of here. I’m supposed to be invisible, or as invisible as possible in a casino full of cameras at least, and right now, I feel like I have a glaring spotlight pointed right at me.
Holding my stare, a curious Jack asks, “Do you play often? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, though he doesn’t appear aggressive in any way. His hands are relaxed at his sides; his smile seems genuine. Maybe it really is a coincidence, and I’m not seconds away from being dragged to a dark room and backed off by a scary pit boss. Or worse. If I played at legit casinos, I wouldn’t worry, but when I’m dealing with mob money, things can get sticky. Fast.
Breathing in through my nostrils, I look at the situation from every angle, searching for the optimal response before going with a classic excuse. “My boyfriend and I like to party. I should probably go hunt him down, though. He’s looking for me.” To soften my blow, I smile innocently at him, then take a step closer to the information desk.
“That’s too bad. I think we could’ve made quite the pair,” he shamelessly flirts.
With a snort and heated cheeks, I cover my face in embarrassment.
A jack and an ace in blackjack give you twenty-one.
“Very clever,” I laugh, though the tension in my body is still very present.
“Why, thank you.” He winks.
I need to get out of here.
“Maybe I’ll see you around, Jack.” With a swift turn on my heel, I plan to make my escape when his smooth voice makes me pause.
“I hope you will, Ace.”
Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I press forward and ignore his parting comment. My hips lazily sway back and forth as I continue on my way, making sure to keep the persona I’ve chosen for the night by being confident even though I’m freaking out inside. I was supposed to be invisible. It’s one of my main rules. Yet tonight, I was the opposite. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.
I refuse to acknowledge how shaky my hands are as I give my chips to the casino clerk. Within thirty seconds, he hands me my cash, and I look over my shoulder in search of Jack, but he’s gone. Slipping the money into my clutch, I make my escape.
Rule #1 is fresh in my mind as I scan the parking lot and head to Dottie’s where I stashed my backpack.
The sooner I get out of this dress and back to myself, the better.
Chapter Four
Ace
“I thought you said you’re not supposed to draw attention when playin
g blackjack, Little Miss Red Dress,” Gigi notes before shoving a bite of pancake into her mouth as soon as I step inside Dottie’s.
Rolling my eyes, I walk into the break room, grab my ratty backpack from an unassigned locker, then head to the bathroom. Changing into a baggie hoodie that swallows me whole and a pair of jeans, I stand in front of the mirror and take in my appearance. A stranger’s gaze meets mine before I bend at the waist and splash water from the faucet against my face in hopes of erasing a woman that looks way too similar to someone I used to know and grew to hate.
My mom.
Peeking into the mirror again, I deem myself regular ol’ Ace then pat my face with a paper towel.
The bathroom door squeaks as my feet carry me toward the same corner booth from the night before.
I was hoping Gigi wouldn’t see me in the red dress, but it looks like I’m about to get a tongue lashing if her pursed lips are anything to go by.
“Something you wanna say?” she starts. Her arms are crossed, and her back is pressed against the vinyl booth as she waits for my response.
“Well—”
“No, no, no. You’re not allowed to come up with excuses. Not when you told me yesterday,” she drags out the word to emphasize her point, “that I couldn’t come ‘cause I was too pretty. You. In that dress? Girl, I’m surprised you were able to walk here without getting picked up by a few lonely men looking for a good time.”
My cheeks are on fire as a huff of laughter escapes her. “Wait! You did get hit on, didn’t you?”
With a scrunched up face, I search for a few words that will shut her up. “Look, the red dress is a good persona when I need to bet big and quickly. People think I’m too stupid to actually count cards, and that I’m playing with someone else’s money, which means I don’t care if I lose it or not. I don’t use it often, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”