Wild Card (Advantage Play Book 1)

by Kelsie Rae

  With a sympathetic smile, I replied, “I’ll try.”

  And boy, am I trying.

  Rolling my shoulders, I let out a brief yawn when Chance deals another hand. It feels like the thousandth one for the night. I’ve decided the adrenaline has worn off, and I need to recover from the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been through this evening, but it’s not over yet. In fact, it feels like it’ll never be over.

  “Getting tired, Ms. Johnson?” Burlone rumbles from his side of the table. I flinch when he addresses me, but cover it with another yawn to hide my fear. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being so close to him, and I’m itching to run in the opposite direction.

  But first, I need to win.

  “Sure am.” I take a look at my cards, ignoring Burlone’s heavy stare.

  “Care to make it interesting?”

  With a sigh, I force myself to give him my attention while adding my ante to the pot. Over the last few hands, the ante has been raised to help end the tournament more quickly, but he and I seem to keep tugging the chips back and forth, depending on the cards that are dealt.

  “And playing with hundreds of thousands of dollars isn’t interesting?” I quip, maintaining my persona.

  The crowd laughs while Burlone only looks mildly amused. “In a different game, I’d suggest playing with something other than money on the line, Ms. Johnson. In fact, I think I could have a great deal of fun with a different set of rules.” His gaze slides over me, leaving a filmy residue on my skin that makes me desperate for a shower. “But in this particular instance, I meant something much more appropriate for the public eye.”

  My mouth floods with bitter acid, but I swallow it back. I think I’m going to be sick.

  A hushed silence replaces the earlier lightness in the crowd. It’s as if they can feel the same commanding presence as I can.

  With another thick swallow, I force myself to stay calm. I’ve seen this side of Burlone. The charismatic, egotistical prick with double meanings woven into every syllable. The thought is almost enough to make me pause, but I press forward.

  “What do you have in mind?” The smile I give him feels like plastic, but I think he’s too self-absorbed to notice.

  “Five hands. That’s how many we have left to play. You can still bet or fold or whatever the hell you want, but we only play for five more rounds. That way, you won’t miss your bedtime.” He adds a wink for good measure, lightening the mood all over again. The crowd chuckles around me as he waits for my response.

  “Sir,” Chance interrupts. “That’s against the rules.”

  “Not really, though. I mean, if we both agree to it, then what’s the harm?”

  Chance attempts to explain, “Well—”

  “I’ll do it,” I say, surprising myself.

  Both sets of eyes, along with every single one in the room, turn to me.

  “Are you sure, miss?” Chance prods.

  “Yup. Five hands. Winner takes all.”

  Burlone’s arrogance is almost palpable as he zeroes in on me. “Perfect. Shall we start with this one, since we’ve already seen our cards or…?” His voice trails off, keeping his expression blank in hopes of preventing me from reading him.

  It’s interesting to be on this end. He thinks he’s won, yet he’s giving me exactly what I want. I knew I could make him bleed his chips slowly if I had no choice. But getting the opportunity to cut to the chase is exactly how I would play this if I had the chance. And he’s giving me exactly that. The knowledge that I’m so close to getting what I want seems to supersede the anxiety that normally weighs around my shoulders whenever he’s near. I savor the lightness that’s been absent since the first time I found him sitting at our tiny kitchen table with a cigar in his hand.

  I’m so close. I can almost taste it.

  “Yup,” I reply, reminding myself that I’m not that little girl anymore. “I think this hand sounds great. Since I don’t want to miss my bedtime and all.”

  With a syrupy sweet grin, I push a thick stack of chips into the pot and wait for him to fold. Like a puppet, he does exactly that.

  “Then I think I’ll sit this one out.” With a flick of his wrist, he tosses his two cards into the center table, then adds, “Four hands left, Ms. Johnson.”

  “Yup. I’m glad you can count.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jack

  This girl. I shake my head as the same question runs through my mind for the thousandth time in one night. What the hell is she thinking?

  Four hands? There’s over three hundred thousand dollars on the table, and she offers to win or lose it in four hands? My nostrils flare in frustration as I take a closer look.

  The dealer, Chance, starts handing out cards to both Burlone then Ace. With a grin, Burlone tosses in his ante, and Ace does the same.

  Chance moves the game along quickly as he places three cards face-up on the table. That same confident smirk is plastered on Burlone’s face. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that his hand is good. Ace, on the other hand, looks nervous. She’s trying to hide it, but I can see it in her gaze, shifting from her hand, back to the community cards, then back again.

  It’s Burlone’s turn to lead the bets, and he does so by throwing nearly half his stack into the center. He’s either an arrogant prick who expects Ace to fold, or he’s reading the situation the same way I am. Ace doesn’t have anything, and instead of dragging it out, he’s forcing her to the next hand.

  Anxiously, Ace tucks her hair behind her ear then matches his bet before calling it, which means it stops Burlone from adding any more money to the pot before Chance can show another card.

  Chance places another one onto the center of the table. There are now two aces, a king, and a jack laying face up. Watching Burlone’s reaction, I can only assume he’s holding a queen and ten in his hand, giving him a straight, because his face is nearly splitting in two from his reaction to the community cards.

  Pushing the rest of his chips into the center pot, he boldly announces, “Your move, Ms. Johnson.”

  Again, Ace fidgets in her seat before brushing her hair with her hands and tucking a few of the strands behind her ear. It’s the same motion she did at the beginning of the game when she bluffed hard and lost.

  She’s either an absolute idiot who doesn’t know who she’s playing against, or she’s an utter genius. I can’t decide which one is more accurate when it comes to the enigma of a girl I met all those nights ago.

  Pushing the rest of the chips to the center of the table, she mutters, “Call. Obviously.”

  Chance turns the last card onto the table, completing the river before asking Burlone to show his hand.

  Triumphantly, he turns over a pair of kings. “Three of a kind. King high. Sorry, Ms. Johnson. You put up a good fight, but I guess my undefeated title will have to remain intact for now.”

  Lifting his hands into the air, Chance stops Burlone from collecting the chips from the center pile.

  “Ms. Johnson?”

  Ace pins Burlone with her stare. It’s filled with so much animosity that I’m surprised Burlone isn’t burnt to a crisp where he sits. As if in slow motion, she tosses a single card onto the pile of chips. An ace, which brings her to two pairs. Ace high. But it’s not enough to beat Burlone’s three of a kind.

  As Burlone’s grin widens, she finishes him off with another flick of her wrist. The entire room goes silent as if we’re all holding our collective breath at once. Tossing a second ace onto the stack, she lowers her chin and watches in satisfaction as Burlone’s grin slides off his face.

  “Full house, Mr. Allegretti. But you put up a good fight.” His jaw clenches as she continues, “I have to ask though, does defeating you come with a plaque or anything? Or maybe I can hire someone to make one. Ya know, since you were undefeated and all.”

  Hot. Fucking. Damn.

  I’ve never seen anything more attractive in my life as she slowly drags the stack of chips toward her, her gaze
never leaving Burlone’s as fumes practically shoot from his ears. I know what he’s thinking because the rest of the crowd is thinking the exact same thing. She just played him like a fucking fiddle in front of everyone, and he’ll never be able to recover from the embarrassment. He just got his ass handed to him by a nobody because he underestimated her. A girl who hasn’t played a single hand of professional poker before tonight just swept the tournament and dethroned the cocky sonofabitch who put it together in the first place.

  Hot. Damn.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Kingston

  Meanwhile…

  The air is calm, almost balmy as I wait near the safe house for D’s arrival. Him and Stefan, along with a few other men, are spread throughout the city, strategically placed to prevent our plan from crumbling, no matter what curveballs are thrown our way.

  Lou, a soldier and computer genius, stands at my side as we watch a white van roll down the street. Seconds later, a loud popping sound breaks the silence as Stefan uses a sniper rifle to puncture holes in the tires. With a squeal, the driver slams on his brakes and is ambushed by seven men with their handguns drawn.

  The pussy surrenders without a fight as he raises his hands into the air for all of us to see before opening the door. Two of my men reach for him and grab his arms, twisting them behind his back. He whimpers in pain.

  Tilting my head, I assess his strange behavior. It’s out of character for a soldier to come quietly. However, as soon as he sees Diece saunter over, he starts thrashing in an attempt to get away.

  This is the reaction I was anticipating.

  With a single hit, Diece knocks out Burlone’s man then tosses him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing more than a feather. Walking toward me, he lifts his chin then stalks inside and gets to work strapping the lifeless body to a hard, metal chair.

  My expression is stone cold as I follow him into the empty warehouse. It’s the same one my father brought me to when I had my first kill. I can still feel the cold metal of the gun as he placed it in my hand and encouraged me to pull the trigger.

  “Do you see what we do to traitors?” he asked. I was still shaking like a leaf from witnessing my first torture session, my stomach rolling with nausea. They had peeled back sections of his skin, ripped out toenails from his feet, broken bones with a hammer. It was gruesome. Unthinkable. Sickening. Yet, justified because he had lied to his family. He had given information to the Feds. He had earned every single amount of pain they inflicted and deserved the bullet I placed in his skull.

  And tonight?

  Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

  Sliding my black suit jacket from my shoulders, I hand it to Lou then approach the unconscious body sitting in a heap a few feet away.

  A table is set up beside him with various tools necessary for making even the strongest of men sing.

  And I’m in the mood for an entire album.

  “Hey, Boss?” D asks, grabbing my attention. When my stare connects with his, he continues, “What do you want me to do with the van?”

  “How many are in there?”

  “Three.”

  Three innocent women who were on their way to be sold like cattle. I’d like to say my conscience is cleared with the knowledge I saved them from a fate worse than death, but I know how many I’ve turned a blind eye to. Girls just like them who were sold to the highest bidder, and I’ll never be able to wash my hands of their blood.

  “What kind of shape are they in?”

  “A few cuts and bruises. Nothing broken,” D answers gruffly.

  “Then let them go.”

  With a nod, D passes along the orders, and I know shit will get handled as it always does when Diece is in charge.

  “Now,” I continue. “Let’s begin.”

  Seconds later, Burlone’s man comes sputtering to life when Lou tosses a bucket of ice water in his face.

  “What the—”

  He blinks quickly in an attempt to get rid of the frigid liquid clinging to his lashes.

  “Morning, Sunshine,” I offer with a grin.

  The moment he recognizes me, his jaw drops, and absolute terror takes over his expression. “Fuck,” he breathes as the smell of piss permeates the air.

  “You’re about to be,” D jokes, slapping his big paw of a hand on my back before shoving me toward the table. “Get to work, Boss. I have a bet with Stefan to see how long it takes you to make him squeal.”

  “Come on, D. You’re not supposed to tell him! That changes the odds!” Stefan interrupts from the doorway.

  “He’s right, D. Plus, where’s the fun in that? Sometimes the foreplay is better than the main event.”

  D scoffs. “Says the guy who isn’t getting laid.”

  “Watch it,” I mutter under my breath. He’s right, though. I need to get this shit done so I can figure out my next move with a certain brunette who’s been the center of all my thoughts. I received a text from Reggie earlier tonight as she stepped onto Burlone’s territory, but I haven’t heard a word since. The thought makes my jaw tighten. The sooner I get this shit taken care of, the sooner I can find Ace and make sure she’s still safe.

  Gathering a small chisel and hammer from the table, I walk toward the guy I’m about to decimate and squat down so we’re eye to eye.

  “Hi. By your reaction, I’m going to assume you know who I am. Is that right?”

  With a trembling lower lip, he whimpers, “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Good.” I pat his knee. “What’s my name?”

  “K-Kingston, sir.”

  “Is that all?”

  “K-Kingston Romano. The D-Dark King.”

  “Good. Now, social etiquette would suggest it’s your turn to introduce yourself.” When he stays silent, I squeeze his knee.

  “M-Marty, sir. My name is Marty.”

  Again, I praise him. “Good. So tell me this, Marty. You seemed a little…,” I pause, “anxious when you woke up and saw me. Why is that?”

  With an audible gulp, a terrified Marty starts shaking. “B-because of the rumors, sir.”

  “And what rumors are those?” I push.

  “That you’re ruthless.”

  “And?”

  “That you know how to hurt people.”

  Tsking, I say, “Many men in my line of work know how to hurt people, Marty. I think you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

  “P-please don’t hurt me,” he begs, turning into a blubbering mess right before my eyes.

  “Now, now, Marty. Don’t be a coward. I haven’t even touched you yet. All we’re doing is chatting. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?” I address the rest of the spectators in the room. A rumble of yesses echoes throughout the space in response.

  “See? Just chatting, Marty. But if you don’t keep talking, then we’re going to have a problem. Understand?”

  With his eyes squeezed shut, and a mumbled prayer on his lips, he nods.

  “Good. Let’s start easy, shall we? Who are you working for?”

  When he doesn’t answer right away, I lift the tiny hammer and slam it against the knuckles in his thumb. As soon as it connects, the bones surrounding his tiny joint shatter into pieces.

  “Fuuuuck!” Marty yells with tears streaming down his face.

  “No, I don’t think that’s the right answer. Try again.”

  “P-please—”

  Again, I lift the hammer and hit it against his hand.

  His screams are piercing as he shouts, “Okay! Okay! I’ll talk! Please! Stop!”

  “Answer the question, Marty. It really is that simple.”

  “Burlone. I work for Burlone.”

  I nod. “And what, exactly, were you doing on my grounds?”

  With fascination, I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. “I–I was told to come here.”

  “Why?” I grit out, my gaze narrowing.

  His voice is stilted as if he can’t quite get his tongue to move how he wants it to. “B-beca
use. Because I was meeting someone.”

  “And who were you meeting?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  Lifting the hammer, he squeals before I can drop it down to his hand for a third time, rambling everything I need to know like a fucking waterfall. “I swear, I don’t know! I swear it! All I know is that it was supposed to look like I was working for you, and that the Feds were going to pick me up. They promised they’d take care of my family if I went along with it. They told me they’d pay off my debts if I told them I worked for you. If I told them the girls in the van belonged to you. That’s all they said! I didn’t know anything! I swear! Just please,” he begs. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Looking over my shoulder to D, he gives me a short nod.

  “Then it looks like we’re through here.” Stefan steps forward and shoves the barrel of a gun to his temple, pulling the trigger before Marty even has a chance to register that his life is about to end.

  Bang.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic,” D notes. “He didn’t even make it past ten minutes.”

  Stefan holsters his gun before pulling out a small roll of cash and handing it to Diece. “Yeah, yeah. Here’s your damn money. Boss, do you think you could drag it out a little longer next time?”

  With a smirk, I say, “I’ll see what I can do. Get the cleaning crew here, and don’t forget to grab the plates off the van.”

  “Already done,” Lou confirms.

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five