Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  “Is my calendar wrong?” I asked. “What is everyone doing up on a cold Saturday morning? Hell, I’d sleep in if I could.”

  Reid’s wife, Lorna, who was standing at the stove top flipping bacon and filling the room with an amazing aroma, laughed. “Patrick, when was the last time you slept in?”

  “Probably,” Reid said, “before they busted our asses in basic training.”

  A small smile came to my lips, imagining that time—before I joined the service, before Maddie disappeared. The image of the two of us cuddled under a thick blanket brought warmth to my face. When I snapped out of it, all eyes were on me. “I guess you’re right. I was just thinking how nice it would be.”

  “Grab some coffee,” Sparrow said, “and explain the tournament. I’m thinking of joining you for the final round.”

  “No,” came the resounding call from Mason, Reid, and me.

  “Why? What’s happening?” Araneae asked as she sat beside Sparrow.

  “Nothing,” Sparrow said as he flashed her a grin.

  “Yeah, I don’t believe you,” she said. And then she turned to me. “Come on, Patrick, you’re supposed to do what I say. What’s happening and why can’t Sterling be there?”

  Sparrow had once told me that—to listen to her—and even though she was saying it in jest, it was something she liked to remind me of. “I’m playing cards,” I answered honestly.

  “Cards?” all three women echoed.

  “Poker,” Mason clarified. “It’s a tournament with a million-dollar jackpot on top of substantial earnings. Patrick has made it to the semifinals. Tonight is the final.”

  “Is this legal?” Araneae asked.

  “What if you don’t win in the semi-finals?” Laurel, Mason’s wife, asked.

  “Yes,” Sparrow answered his wife and turning to Laurel, he said, “That won’t happen.”

  “Poker sounds fun,” Lorna said. “I say we have a house poker party one of these cold nights instead of you four working away downstairs.”

  “And we’ll have wine,” Araneae added.

  “And snacks,” Lorna replied as she lifted a platter of bacon onto the table.

  Laurel stood and brought over a bowl of fruit.

  From the oven, Lorna added a large bowl of scrambled eggs and added it to the center. Before long, we were all feasting on the morning’s spread while I explained the workings of the Club Regal tournament. “Eighteen players will begin the early round today. Depending upon the betting, eighteen may not complete it.”

  “Why?” Laurel asked.

  “Have you ever played poker?” Mason asked her with a grin. “I mean, I would be happy to teach you.”

  Pink filled her cheeks. “Why am I thinking strip poker?”

  “Because that was what I was thinking,” he said.

  “I can teach you,” Araneae volunteered with a smirk. “And then you can still play strip poker, but you’ll be the one with the view.”

  Sparrow cleared his throat.

  His wife laughed. “Sure, I’ll take you on. You’ll lose too, but Laurel’s view is more—”

  “More what?” Sparrow asked.

  Everyone’s meal was momentarily forgotten as we waited, wondering how Araneae was going to ease her way out of this conversation corner.

  Araneae’s head tilted. “More colorful. Mine, though, will be the best.”

  The room filled with laughter. It was an alternate universe within the homes of our glass castle, a strange reality where our family, though not by blood, could live and love despite the dangers lurking within our city. It was comforting and sad. For only a moment my thoughts went to Madeline. I could make her safe, just as these men had done for their women.

  I pushed the thought away. It was not the way a man like me lived, and with Maddie’s constant denials, it wouldn’t happen. I needed to concentrate on what I could do.

  “As I was saying,” I began after another sip of coffee. “All-in wasn’t an option in the first two rounds. It is now. It’s the best way to eliminate opponents.”

  “Risky,” Sparrow said.

  “Not to be done in a bluff. Not usually,” I said.

  “So if all eighteen players end the round with chips, who advances?” Laurel asked, seeming genuinely curious.

  “The six players who have accumulated the most during the round.”

  “Not overall winnings?” Lorna asked.

  “No, those are the house rules. The rationale being that overall wouldn’t be fair. The top forty-two buy-ins entered the tournament. The money was uneven from the start. Entering with more capital is enough advantage without adding that to daily winnings.

  “Now, I am beginning the round with around $300,000. I’d venture to guess the person sitting at number one has in excess of a million.” My assumption was based on Madeline’s $500,000 in eighth place. “The money you begin play with is deducted to assess your placement. Top six advance.”

  Laurel’s head was shaking. “The more money you begin with the better your chances would seem.”

  I nodded. “It’s true, but then again, the all-in option can flip the winnings very fast.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Araneae said.

  Laurel continued her questions. “And if you win it all—the whole tournament—”

  “When,” Sparrow interjected.

  “When you win it all,” Laurel said with a grin, “do you get to only win the jackpot or do you keep your chips as well?”

  “The winner keeps both.” I thought about it for a second. It’s smart of a tournament to be run this way. If the players couldn’t keep their earnings, they would be more frivolous with their bets. “Even if the player doesn’t win the jackpot, if they never lose an all-in, that person could leave the tournament with a fair amount of cash.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket.

  “Excuse me.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and read the text message. “It’s from Beckman,” I said for the benefit of the other men.

  “I NEED TO SPEAK TO YOU RIGHT AWAY. IS NOW A GOOD TIME?”

  I stood. “He wants to talk.”

  “You’re not backing out of the tournament, no matter what pressure he’s under,” Sparrow said. “My city. If he plans on keeping that club open...”

  I nodded as I walked into the large living room. It was not far from the kitchen, yet far enough to keep my conversation away from the women. And as I paused, it sounded as if their conversation had resumed.

  Similar to all of our individual apartments, this floor of Sparrow and Araneae’s penthouse had floor-to-ceiling windows. I looked outside at the lake and city below. Even on this cold morning, the sun was rising, breaking through the morning frost and haze.

  My city.

  Sparrow’s proclamation rang in my ears. It was his and ours. We’d worked to secure it and allowing Hillman, one of McFadden’s old guard, to come in here and showboat, sling insults, and walk away with millions of dollars wouldn’t—couldn’t—be allowed.

  Hitting the icon near Ethan Beckman’s name, I waited for the call to connect. “Beckman?” I asked after he answered.

  “Mr. Kelly, there’s so much blood. I-I don’t...she’s dead.”

  Turning back toward the archway to the kitchen, I caught the three sets of eyes looking my direction. Reid, Mason, and Sparrow were no longer in the kitchen but standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at me in anticipation.

  My knees felt weak as the room around me spun.

  Madeline?

  Dead?

  How would Beckman know to call me?

  Why did I leave her?

  My pulse raced as questions fought for supremacy. “Wait. How did you know to call me?”

  “I-I figured you could get a message to Mr. Sparrow. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “To Mr. Sparrow?” I looked across the room as my mind tried to make sense of what Beckman was saying. “Yes, I can. Tell me what you want me to relay.”

  His voice cracked as he spoke fa
ster. “The thing is, she’s always here early, especially when there’s an event.”

  “Wait. Who is always there early?”

  “Veronica Standish.”

  Exhaling, I leaned against the back of one of the many sofas. “Veronica Standish.”

  “Yes, sir. You were speaking to her last evening. She’s almost always here...”

  “Yes, I know who she is.”

  “She doesn’t live far from Club Regal,” Beckman said.

  “Ms. Standish,” I said one more time for confirmation.

  “Yes, sir. When she didn’t answer her phone, I presumed she’d overslept. There are too many things that need to be done before the tournament at noon. I will admit, I was angry that she wasn’t here. We’d had a series of disagreements about this tournament.”

  “How do you know that she’s dead?”

  “After a few calls, I decided to go over to her place myself. It’s awful. I’ve never seen—”

  “Calm down. You found her?” My head was shaking. “Have you called the police?”

  “Not yet. I’m here...I didn’t know what to do. I-I...please; I just thought Mr. Sparrow would want to know. That’s why I called you first.”

  “Mr. Beckman, take a deep breath. Let me inform Mr. Sparrow.” I didn’t wait for a response before hitting the mute button on the phone. I then relayed what I’d just heard, speaking softly so as to not alarm the women.

  “Tell him to wait for our forensics team,” Sparrow said. “Once they arrive he’s to go to the club and go on like a normal day. Not a word to anyone else.”

  I nodded.

  “Tell him,” Sparrow went on, “that he’ll be rewarded for his loyalty for calling you first. After our people get a look at the scene, the police can be notified anonymously.”

  I unmuted the phone. “Stay where you are.”

  “Here?” he asked. “No, sir, I can’t...I mean, what if someone assumes—”

  “Stop, Ethan,” I said calmly. “You did the right thing calling me first. Mr. Sparrow is pleased with your order of actions. Stay put until our team arrives. Tell me it wasn’t you and you won’t be implicated.”

  “It wasn’t, Mr. Kelly, I swear. Oh God. The blood.”

  “Don’t touch anything. Whatever you have already touched, tell our team. After they arrive, go back to the club and act like it’s a normal day.”

  “I-I...don’t know that I can.”

  “Don’t disappoint Mr. Sparrow, Beckman. You can do this. We need to learn the details and find out who did this. I’ll leave right away. The team will be there soon.” I looked over at Reid who was sending what I believed was the message to the capo in charge of these jobs. He looked up from his phone and nodded. “Yes, they’ve been notified. I’ll meet you back at the club. Tell me you can do this.”

  “I-I...”

  “Tell me we can count on you,” I said again.

  “Yes...yes, I can stay. You can count on me. What about the police?” he asked.

  “Once our team has learned all they can, the police will receive an anonymous call. Don’t call anyone else.”

  “Yes, sir. I was upset with her, but I never wanted...”

  “Of course you didn’t. Stay put until the team arrives.”

  I disconnected the line.

  “Why?” Sparrow asked. “Veronica Standish has been a staple...” He did a full turn as his fingers raked through his hair. “Tell me everything he said.”

  I nodded and turned to Reid to confirm what we’d silently said. “The team on its way?”

  “Yes. Marcelo replied. They’re good.”

  “All right. Can you confirm that I was Beckman’s first call and his last until this is resolved?”

  “I’m going with you,” Sparrow said. “You can fill me in on the way.”

  My jaw clenched. “Boss, it’s your call. I would prefer if you didn’t, at least not yet.”

  “I’ll go with Patrick,” Mason volunteered. “I was going anyway.”

  Reid joined the conversation. “If Hillman is working for what’s left of the McFadden outfit, they could be trying to flush you out, boss. That goes for the tournament too.”

  Sparrow’s nostrils flared as he exhaled. “How was she killed?”

  I gave everyone a brief synopsis of the call. “Beckman said she didn’t show up at the club. She doesn’t live far. He thought she overslept and he went to her house.”

  “How did he get in?” Mason asked.

  My head shook. I should have asked. “He didn’t say. We’ll find out at the club. He kept mentioning blood. Marcelo’s team will tell us more. I got Beckman calmed enough, I hope. He said he’d stay and wait for the team and then meet me at the club.”

  Sparrow’s head was shaking. “I don’t like any of this.” He looked at Mason and me. “Stop on two. I want you both prepared for anything.”

  We nodded.

  “I’ll stay here now,” Sparrow said, though it was obvious it wasn’t what he wanted. “I’m not sure about later. Right now, you two go and keep me and Reid updated. I’m putting the apartments on lockdown.

  “Reid and I are in flux,” Sparrow went on. “No matter what the risk, we’ll be where we’re needed. We need to assume her death was another arrow shot at us. My gut is telling me that Veronica’s death is not only connected to the tournament but that it is more than likely connected to Hillman. Reid,” Sparrow looked at him. “We know Hillman and his men went back to the hotel after their little house party. Are we sure they stayed?”

  “I’ll head down to two and see what I can find,” Reid replied.

  “Lockdown?” I asked in confirmation.

  “Yes,” Sparrow said. “Our job is out there. We’ll all take precautions, but this is our city.” He tilted his head toward the kitchen. “With them, I’m not taking any chances.”

  We all nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said. As I spoke, Araneae came into the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I just called Garrett,” she said, giving Sparrow a kiss. “I know it’s Saturday, but Laurel and I are headed to the foundation for a bit. She wants to check something and I have some paperwork...”

  Mason, Reid, and I exchanged looks as the speed of our walking toward the elevator increased.

  “Laurel and Lorna?” I asked when we arrived to the pocket door that disguised the elevator.

  “I’m calling Lorna now,” Reid said.

  Mason had his phone out. “Yes, sending a text. I wasn’t sticking around for Sparrow’s announcement.”

  The three of us scoffed as we stepped into the elevator. I hit the button for two.

  This was in no way a laughing matter. However, it was no secret how Sparrow’s wife felt about lockdowns, even on a frigid Saturday morning. It wasn’t that she’d make a scene in front of us, but we all knew that when Araneae had her chance, she’d relay her opinion to her husband in no uncertain terms. No matter the risk out in the world, Sparrow would get an earful, most likely delivered loud and clear.

  Madeline

  With my phone in hand, I paced the length of my hotel room from the door to the window and back. I’d done it so many times, the carpeting was pockmarked from the indentation of my high heels. My breakfast tray was still lying upon the desk and the decanter of coffee was empty. The time on the screen of my phone read 10:20 a.m. The next round of the tournament would begin in less than two hours with or without me.

  Pressing the speaker button, I tried Mitchell’s cell phone for probably the twenty-fifth time. On my end, I heard three rings before it went to voicemail. Three. Each time it was the same, never varying. I disconnected, not leaving another message.

  “Where are you?” I asked aloud, though no one could hear.

  One more try.

  I didn’t bother to put it on speaker.

  Besides the hum of the heat, the room was silent.

  Three rings. ‘Leave a message.’

  I disconnected.

  Gah.

&nbs
p; Even Mitchell’s voicemail was annoying. Couldn’t he say hello or you have reached...?

  I busied myself as much as I could in a hotel room to keep my mind off the impending tournament and Mitchell’s absence. Entering the bathroom, I did another check of my hair and makeup.

  Since I hadn’t received specific dressing instructions from Andros, I’d done—as I did most days—managing my appearance on my own. My hair was down, curled in waves cascading down my back. The dress I wore was long and emerald green with a low-cut neckline and a slit along the side.

  The plan all along had been for me to wear this particular one on the final day. Yes, I was a woman in a man’s arena, but I wasn’t above a bit of distraction. If my opponents were more interested in my cleavage than my cards, they only had themselves to blame.

  I dabbed a bit of perfume between the swell of my breasts. As I did, my mind went to one of my possible opponents. Patrick’s words came back to me, twisting my stomach and delivering a rush of warmth to my core.

  ‘...know I’m thinking about how it feels to be inside you and the way you moan as I’m going down on you.’

  I pouted my lips and ran another layer of gloss over the red stain. After I finished, I whispered, “I’m sorry, Patrick. I have to win.”

  I brought the screen of my phone back to life.

  Shit!

  It was now nearly ten thirty.

  I stopped my pacing at the window. Peering out the large pane, I assessed traffic below. Late at night we had made it back to the Palmer House in less than fifteen minutes. This wasn’t late at night. Despite the snow and cold, the city, stories below, was alive with people coming and going from here to there. Those wrapped from head to toe were along the sidewalk while vehicles of all sizes and colors filled the streets.

  This was getting ridiculously close to bad form. I shouldn’t show up at Club Regal just as play was about to begin.

  I pushed dial and called Mitchell’s phone again.

  Three rings.

  “Leave—”

  Hitting disconnect, I threw my phone onto the bed.

  This can’t be happening. I hadn’t gotten this far to not play out.