by Kelsie Rae
“Who was Joe?” Gigi probes.
“He was a regular of my mom’s. For years, I thought he was her boyfriend. But looking back, I think he just had a soft spot for her and me.” My eyes glaze over slightly, taking me back to those times in my trailer.
Shaking my head, I keep explaining, “Anyway…on the nights Burlone didn’t come over, Joe did. He didn’t hit my mom or me. He was actually a pretty good guy. I’d seen him play cards with Burlone, so I began to get braver. It started with me getting a glass of water while Joe was leaving the trailer, then changed to me shuffling a worn deck of cards when he’d step out of my mom’s room. He’d smile kindly, tip his head in my direction, then leave. That was it. And then…one day, I got the courage to ask him if he played. I knew he played because I’d seen him with Burlone, but he didn’t know that. His eyes softened when I caught his attention, and he pulled out a chair. From there, he taught me everything he knew. And between all of it, I figured out how to play. How to keep my emotions in check. And how to read my opponents better than your average Joe.” I laugh. “No pun intended.”
With my story finished, I lean my back against the cushion. Normally, I’d be annoyed that Dottie hasn’t come over to take my order, but tonight, I’m not exactly hungry.
“So what makes you so sure you can beat Burlone?”
“I’m not.” I shrug. “But it’s the only way I can think of to hurt him the way he hurt me.”
“What do you mean? I mean…” she rushes. “I know he hurt you, but why do you have this long vendetta?”
Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths before opening them and addressing Gigi’s question. “The day my mom disappeared, I found Burlone’s old deck of cards on the table. They’re the ones I carry in my backpack.”
“The gold ones?”
“Yeah. I know he took her. I know he probably killed her. And I know that he has no remorse for tearing my family apart. My mom and I might not have been on great terms, but she did the best she could even if that meant spreading her legs for any guy that contacted Burlone for a ride. And then, Burlone made her vanish into thin air, leaving me a sad, pathetic little twelve-year-old to fend for herself in the foster care system.”
Raising my arms, I give her a set of sarcastic jazz hands. “Ta-da.”
A dry laugh escapes her before she sobers slightly. “You’re pretty screwed up, Ace.”
I chuckle. “Thanks for your assessment.”
With a grin, she adds, “I’m pretty screwed up, too.”
“Two peas in a pod?” I tease her.
“Yeah, Ace. Two peas in a pod.”
Chapter Eight
Ace
Charlette. Oh, Charlette. My favorite casino ever. Walking into the classic hotel, I breathe a sigh of relief. After Sin a few nights ago, I couldn’t be happier to be on more comfortable turf. Hell, this place is practically my second home. Other than Dottie’s, of course.
Tugging at the hem of my black dress, I head for the blackjack tables.
The night passes at a snail’s pace when the deck finally starts to get hot. Betting big, I can barely contain the grin that spreads across my face when the dealer places a shit-ton of chips in front of me.
Going for another round, I keep the stack on the table for the next hand. Again, it pays out.
Moments later, a set of strong hands grab my upper arms when a husky voice laced with smoke fills my ears. “Excuse me, miss. I’m going to need you to come with me.”
I hold my breath then peek over my shoulder to see the pit boss hovering a few inches away as his fingers dig into my bicep.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
With a thick swallow, I murmur, “Umm…sure.”
I reach for my purse and chips, but the pit boss shakes his head. “You can come get them when we’re finished.” I look toward the dealer to see his eyes shining with pity, and I know I’m in deep trouble.
I’ve heard these horror stories before. They’re rare, but they happen, which is why I’ve always had my rules in place. My heart is pounding against my ribcage as I force my legs to hold my weight. With a tip of his head, the angry pit boss guides me to the elevators and presses the down button.
Shit.
We’re going to the basement. Nothing good happens in basements.
When the doors slide open a few seconds later, the big gorilla loses a bit of his chivalry and shoves me inside. After a stumble, I glare over my shoulder but don’t say anything.
Other than the boring elevator music, a heavy silence encompasses the small space as I dig my teeth into my lower lip, chewing the flesh anxiously.
Shit, shit, shit, I repeat in my head over and over again. It’s kind of my mantra when I’m in crappy situations, and boy are the warning bells ringing right now.
This is all my fault. I’d completely discarded Rule #2 as soon as I entered the Charlette. I was comfortable. Too comfortable. I should’ve seen this coming. I know better than this.
I have my damn rules for a reason!
When the door slides open, I find myself being dragged down a long, dark, windowless hallway with closed doors lining each side. The fluorescent lights cast shadows along the blank, gray walls, and I feel like I’ve just stepped into a horror movie. The likelihood of me getting out of this situation without a few bruises is slim to none, and my mind scrambles for options.
Unfortunately, I doubt any of them will help me.
“Look, you have no legal right to detain me,” I argue. “Let me cash out my chips, and I’ll leave, okay?”
With his heavy hand on my shoulder, he chuckles behind me. His pudgy fingers dig into my collarbone. “You do know whose casino you’re in, right?”
A lump the size of a golf ball lodges in my throat, so I don’t respond.
I’m so screwed.
“That’s what I thought.” He stops me in front of a door on the right before opening it and roughly pushing me inside. Other than a folding chair in the center of the room, it’s empty.
I turn around as soon as he releases me, only to be greeted with the back of his hand.
With the force of a wrecking ball, my head swings to the side.
“Fuuuck,” I mutter to myself, gingerly touching the side of my face to find the skin already hot and angry.
Shit, that hurt.
Ears ringing, I struggle to find the willpower to focus on my attacker, but I know that if I curl up into a ball like I want to, I’ll be screwed.
“Enough!” a gruff voice barks from the doorway. The sound is almost muffled, but I search for its owner anyway. When my gaze connects with the stranger, I nearly swallow my tongue.
“Fuuuuck,” I repeat on a breath. The guy looks pissed. Sexy as hell, yes. But pissed.
The pit boss must feel the same anger radiating off him because he takes a cautious step away from me before tucking his hands into the front pockets of his charcoal slacks.
“Sir—”
“Out,” the stranger growls, cutting him off while striding over the threshold and into the room. The room that feels like it’s shrinking with each of his steps. My heart rate spikes.
I feel like I’m made of granite as he comes closer to me. Even if I wanted to, I’d be unable to move a muscle. Not a damn one.
With hurried steps, the asshole who hit me disappears through the door, leaving me alone with…him.
I’ve only seen him once or twice on the upper floor of the casino. But with the power he exudes, it’s hard to miss him. No matter how hard he tries to blend in with the crowds, it’s impossible. I’ve never bothered to find out his name, but I’m really wishing I had done my research now that I’m alone in a room with him in the basement of a casino.
I’m so screwed.
My attention is glued to the stranger as he relaxes right before my eyes. His broad shoulders soften. His clenched fists release. But his pinched brows stay in place, making the uneasiness in my lower gut flair in anticipation. I’m positive he can hear my heart pounding in my
chest as he assesses me.
Still frozen, I watch him circle me like a shark, and a single thought whispers through my mind. I’m about to get eaten alive.
“Do you know who I am?” his low voice rumbles.
I hold my breath, but don’t respond.
“Answer me, Acely Mezzerich.” With a knowing smirk and a few choice words, he nearly knocks me on my ass.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Surprised I know who you are?” he pushes.
Again, I’m silent.
How the hell does he know my real name?
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Yup. I keep my lips zipped.
“Answer me, Ace. I won’t ask again.” His authoritative tone does weird things to me, but I don’t have time to assess them now, so I shove them deep down in a little box labeled: Do Not Open.
“Yes,” I whisper as I watch him continue to circle me in his expensive loafers. The guy is built like a freaking panther. I can see his muscles bunching beneath the tailored suit he wears like a second skin as he slowly inches closer with every step.
He pauses at my voice. With a quirked brow, he asks, “Yes, you’re surprised I know who you are? Or yes, you know why you’re here?”
Licking my chapped lips, I hold his gaze. “Both, I guess.”
“And do you know how much money you’ve taken from me and my casino?”
I nearly grimace before schooling my features. If I had my notebook that’s not-so-safely tucked away in my backpack by the blackjack table upstairs, I’d be able to tell him exactly how much money I’ve taken from him. Even without it, I think I can still ballpark the number off the top of my head. That is if I wanted to get backhanded. Again.
A cocky grin tugs at his mouth. “So you do know, I take it. Interesting.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Do you know who I am?” he continues his probing while slowly closing the circle he’s been surrounding me with. The shrinking proximity is giving me heart palpitations, and my hands sweat as they hang by my sides, bunching up the black material of my dress.
When I remain silent, he pushes a little harder with a sharp tongue and an icy stare. “Better start talking, Ace. I’d hate to see that pretty little face get any more bruised than it already is.”
Asshole.
Part of me doesn’t believe he’d actually hit me, but the other part doesn’t want to risk any more damage. Getting hit hurts no matter how many times it happens.
Lifting my chin, I find the courage to answer. “I have an idea.”
He laughs dryly. “You have an idea of how much you’ve stolen from me, or you have an idea of who I am?”
“Both.” My lips tilt up on one side, and I find it ironic that any of this situation could possibly be found amusing to me.
“This is starting to feel an awful lot like déjà vu, isn’t it?” Again, I catch him reading my mind.
Rule #3: If something feels fishy, it probably is. Trust your instincts. The only problem? My instincts aren’t telling me to run in the other direction. The longer I’m in this room, the less threatened I’m beginning to feel, which is weird. And foreign. Thanks to my past, I always feel the need to run.
His forest green eyes flash as soon as the thought enters my mind. Instead of continuing his predatory stalking, he stops in front of me, leaving only a foot of room between us.
Tilting his head to the side, he states, “You’re not afraid of me.”
My poker face slips, revealing my confusion at his narrowed eyes. How can he tell when I just figured out the same thing myself?
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Let’s play a game.”
I feel like I have whiplash from the turn of events, and I’m having a hard time keeping up.
Shaking my head, I utter a single word. “What?”
A husky chuckle reverberates from him before he inches closer while my feet are still glued to the same spot. “Let’s play a game, Ace. After all, you’re good at games, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. “I mean, that is what got you here in the first place, isn’t it?”
Our gazes are still locked together as I search for a proper response. Part of me wonders what would happen if I refused, but the other part is dying from curiosity.
He must see the moment I decide I’m willing to play because his wicked mouth tugs into a knowing grin. The mysterious man in front of me has piqued my curiosity. He’s like a puzzle I’m dying to put together, and his smile is just the tip of the iceberg.
“Perfect,” he mutters under his breath before saying more loudly, “You seem as curious about me as I am about you, so let’s make it interesting. You can ask me anything, and I promise to answer. The trick is, I’m allowed to lie if I choose to do so.”
With a question on the tip of my tongue, my brows pinch together, and he calls me out on it. “What’s your question, Ace?”
I don’t like how easily he can read me, but I ask it anyway. “What’s the point in playing a game where you don’t need to tell the truth?”
The sound of his masculine laugh has a weird way of making my heart pick up a notch, and I push away the butterflies that swarm my insides when I realize I might like the sound.
Focus, Ace! I yell at myself.
Inching closer, he answers, “What’s the point of poker without a solid bluff? And you didn’t let me finish. The object of the game is to see how well you can read me. If you call me out for lying, then I have another chance to tell you the truth. But,” —he lifts his finger— “if you accuse me of lying when I’m telling the truth, then you aren’t allowed to ask me any more questions. Understand?”
I nod.
“Perfect. We each get to take turns asking each other questions until we both lose, or I decide I’m done playing.”
Sensing my agitation, he gently lifts my chin with his forefinger, forcing me to look up at him. “My game. My rules, sweetheart.”
My teeth dig into my lower lip as I watch him get distracted by the throbbing bruise on my cheekbone. Clenching his jaw, he softly drags his fingers down my sensitive skin, making my eyelids flutter for a split second. “Does it hurt?”
“Is that your question?” I bite out.
With a smoldering look, he volleys, “I suppose it is.”
“Then, no.”
His mesmerizing green eyes flare with amusement before shifting back to my swollen cheek. “Lie,” he murmurs. “Give me the truth.”
“Why would you ask a question when you already know the answer? Of course, it hurts. I just got backhanded by a damn gorilla. What’s your name?”
“Kingston.”
Searching his face, I mutter, “Truth,” calling it like it is.
He nods his approval before taking his turn. “How long have you been counting cards?”
“Professionally?”
“And recreationally,” he clarifies.
“Not long.”
“Lie.”
I grit my teeth. “As soon as I could afford a fake I.D.”
“Which is…?”
“Six years. Why did you bring me down here? This isn’t exactly normal behavior for a casino.” I leave out even for one run by the mob.
He drops his hand from my face to his side but doesn’t step back. “Maybe this is normal casino behavior for the Charlette.”
“Lie.” My voice is absolute, brooking no argument.
Kingston grins before adding, “I’ve been looking for someone to help me with something, and you fit the bill.”
“And what bill is that?”
Tapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he tsks me. “Uh-uh, sweetheart. My turn. How often do you count at other casinos?”
“Often enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Depends on how badly I need money.”
He tilts his head as he inspects me, making me feel like I’m beneath a microscope with the intensity of his gaze. “Half-lie. You like counting. You might pla
y more often when you need a little extra cash, but there’s more to it than that. You like taking the power from the casinos who swindle innocent gamblers on a daily basis. Am I right?”
“Not your turn, sweetheart,” I mimic his condescending tone from moments before.
With a laugh, he lifts his hand to silently offer me the floor. “My apologies.”
I circle back to my question from a second ago. “What makes me a good candidate for whatever you need?”
Scrutinizing me, he answers, “You’re a pretty little advantage player. Did you know that?”
What the hell? First, he used the term advantage player, which refers to a person who uses legal methods to gain an advantage while gambling, such as counting cards, but it can also be attributed to poker. No one knows I play poker. No one.
And second, he called me pretty. The word does weird things to my insides, making them turn to Jell-O in the blink of an eye. Subtly, I shake my head once in an attempt to focus and zero in on his face. His mouth. His eyes. His chiseled jaw. I’m looking for a twitch. An itch. A flicker of something that tells me he’s lying.
“That’s a non-answer,” I accuse.
He furrows his brows. “Excuse me?”
“It isn’t exactly a lie, but it isn’t really the answer to my question. You’re not playing by the rules, Kingston.”
Throwing his head back, he laughs. Hard. Apparently, Kingston must find me pretty amusing because, for a guy so cold, he does that a lot around me. “I like playing this game with you. Fine. I need someone to be a set of eyes and ears for me. Someone who can go where I can’t. Someone who can fly under the radar.” He motions to me with his hand. “You fit the bill. Why do you like sticking it to the casinos so much?”
An image of my mom flashes before my eyes. “I won’t answer that. Pick another question.”
“Fine,” he relents. “How often do you visit Sin?”
“Not enough, yet far too often.”
With a heavy silence hanging in the air, he inspects me. “Truth. And I know it’s not my turn, but would you mind expanding on that since I was a gentleman and chose another question?”