Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  He reached for my hand. “Thank you for eating dinner and spending time with me, Madeline. It has been a real pleasure to get to know the woman behind the myth.”

  My cheeks rose as a smile formed. “Hardly a myth. You’re a legend.”

  “I would like to see you again, after the tournament,” he said, still holding my hand.

  “I don’t know what the future will bring,” I replied honestly. Whatever it entailed was as always at Andros’s discretion. “I have responsibilities that won’t allow me to stay here or make an unplanned trip to Dallas anytime soon.”

  “I wanted to ask,” he said, “before we became competitors again. I believe I have the capital to win, and I wouldn’t want that to influence your decision for the future.”

  My head tilted. “I’m glad you mentioned that. Otherwise I wouldn’t know if you felt the same way after I won.”

  The lines formed around his eyes as he chuckled. “Time will tell. I’ll see you across the table.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I can still hope for the future,” he added.

  With my handbag in hand, I made my way through the crowd toward the bathrooms. If I’d hoped for one more private encounter with Patrick, it wasn’t to be. Even the ladies’ room had occupants. As I was washing my hands, a new woman entered.

  “Ms. Miller?”

  “Yes,” I said, drying my hands and hoping this wasn’t another person telling me she’d placed money on me. As if the pressure from Andros wasn’t enough.

  The woman reached into her purse and handed me a folded piece of paper. “I was asked to deliver this to you.”

  I took it and read the script: Ms. Miller.

  I opened the paper.

  We don’t have much time. Please see me. Go down the hallway, farther away from the poker room. The third door on the left. I must talk to you before we begin.

  Patrick

  I folded the paper and took one last look in the mirror. My gut told me not to do it, but my heart wouldn’t let me miss this one last chance.

  Moving away from the crowds, I followed Patrick’s directions and counted the doors.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  The club was much quieter the farther I moved from the people. It was so quiet that I became oddly aware of the beating of my own heart as my circulation thumped in my ears. The bats in my stomach did flips and aerial acrobatics as I reached for the knob. The room inside was dim. It was the scent of his cologne that I recognized before his presence came into view. Large hands reached for my upper arms.

  “You’re fucking stunning tonight, Maddie.”

  I leaned toward him; his warmth filled me as we stood with my breasts against his solid chest. There were so many things I wanted to say. The most important was on the tip of my tongue, yet it wouldn’t budge. It couldn’t. That knowledge would change his world forever. I wasn’t any more willing to accept that responsibility now than I had been before.

  “I’m glad you sent the note,” I said. “I’m leaving immediately after the tournament. I wanted to say goodbye.”

  His touch moved upward until his hands were at my cheeks gently lifting my face toward his until our lips met. The spark I’d felt at his touch on Thursday was now a simmering fire, flames that I must leave unattended as they cool to embers. Nevertheless, the longer we stood with our kiss deepening, the opposite was happening. An inferno was building.

  “Listen to me,” Patrick said when we finally pulled away. “Cash out. I saw the ledger. You have two million. That’s twice the jackpot. Cash out and then,” he reached into his pocket and produced a keycard, “go to the Hilton. I have the executive suite booked in your name. Leave this tournament now. I wish I could say more. I can only say that it’s dangerous here.”

  I held the card in my hand as I contemplated his instructions.

  “Danger,” I said, looking back up, “is subjective, I’ve learned. Sometimes the safest place is in the middle of the fire.”

  His head shook. “I have to win the tournament, Maddie. I have to. I would never throw a game, but I would for you.”

  I took a step back. “Again, thank you for the vote of confidence. I wouldn’t ask you or anyone else to throw the tournament. I will win. I’m fucking good.”

  “You’re more than good,” he said. “This...what’s happening is big. There’s more at stake than poker.”

  “I know that, Patrick. I’m well aware of the danger—as you put it—of not winning.”

  “Why didn’t Leonardo bring you today?” he asked.

  “What?” I was puzzled by his change in subject. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “I don’t believe it is a big deal. He was called out of town. Marion came to my rescue. That was why I was late.”

  “Where did you find him? How did you hire him?”

  My head shook, as if I could say I have no say in my drivers or anyone else. They’re all chosen for me. Instead I answered, “Driver dot com. What difference does it make?”

  “I have reason to believe Leonardo is connected to some dangerous people, people who could be planning...things you don’t need to know.”

  I did know that Mitchell was connected to dangerous people. I lived with the most dangerous one. However, whatever he was or wasn’t planning wouldn’t be discussed with me. I was certain he’d say it wasn’t my concern. My concern was winning.

  How would Patrick know anything about Mitchell’s connection?

  I handed the keycard back to Patrick. “What I know is that we need to get to the tournament. It’s about time to begin play.”

  He reached for my hands, pushing the card back my way. “Take the keycard and the two million, and I will get you more, whatever you need. I want to win the tournament knowing you’re safe.”

  “Then watch me win. At this moment, it’s my best road to safety.”

  In the dimness, I watched as his eyes closed and opened. It was resignation. I wouldn’t budge on my stance. I couldn’t. He needed to accept that.

  “May I kiss you once more?” he asked.

  My hands went to his shoulders as I lifted my chin, bringing our lips close. Beneath my touch he seemed broader and harder. “Our goodbye kiss, Patrick.”

  Our lips met, fanning the flames of desire. I could try to ignore them, refuse to give them more fuel, yet that was impossible. The blaze was out of control. I’d heard once that wildfires had their usefulness, clearing away the undergrowth and giving birth to new life. The heat of the fire opened the outer coating of some pine cones, like popcorn, freeing the seeds to grow again.

  In Patrick’s arms, I would find that strength to remember the fire he tended within me and allow it to keep me warm in the future.

  Patrick

  “He’s here,” Mason said as I approached the tournament hall.

  I looked around, wondering if Madeline was already in the hall. I’d given her a few minutes’ head start. “Who is?”

  “Andros Ivanov.”

  Here?

  Fuck.

  “Reid was able to identify him through facial recognition,” Mason went on. “He’s in the tournament hall in the spectator section.

  “Fuck,” I said aloud, running my hand over the top of my head. “We need him surrounded.”

  “He is. Not only are you and I in there, we have Sparrows, ones we know we can trust.”

  “Do you think Ivanov has been trying to infiltrate our men?”

  “I don’t, but I’m not taking any chances where Sparrow is concerned.”

  “Would Ivanov try something here, tonight, during the tournament?” I asked.

  “Sparrow doesn’t think so. He said Ivanov knows he’s outnumbered. Tonight he’s a fucking peacock, strutting around, making himself known. A stranger can’t take over a city. He needs to be seen and recognized. He needs to recruit and learn our weaknesses. Sparrow is sure that’s what he’s doing. Tomorrow we’re beginning a shakedown on
our men. We’ll find out if anyone is disloyal.”

  I nodded, hoping the boss was right and tomorrow wasn’t too late. “Tell me that Sparrow is still in Beckman’s office.”

  “No.” Mason nodded toward the hall where play was about to begin.

  “Fuck.”

  “Listen, he’s safe. He said he can’t hide if Ivanov is making an appearance. This is his city and for the people who are here tonight, they need to know that.”

  “Play is about to begin,” a woman said to those of us remaining in the hallway. “Once the doors are closed, they won’t be reopened until the tournament is complete.”

  The woman speaking was wearing a black dress, reminding me of Ms. Standish. “Any new news from the police on Standish?”

  “No. They haven’t returned and Beckman has been radio silent like we told him to be.”

  “Is he still in the office wing?”

  “Yes. Not a peep in hours. I should check on him, but I wanted to stay close to Sparrow,” Mason replied.

  “How many trusted Sparrows are here?”

  “Ten inside the hall, with another twenty divided inside and outside of the club.”

  I nodded. “Let’s get this tournament over. I’ll feel better when all this hoopla quiets down and we can deal with regular shit.”

  “Regular shit sounds nice.” Mason patted my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

  A few minutes later, I was standing among the other remaining players awaiting our chair draw. Seating could seem insignificant to those less familiar with the game, but it was vitally important. The player dealt first in each hand rotated, from right to left of the dealer and play always progressed in the same fashion. If the person dealt before me drew three cards instead of two, I would then be subject to their decision, not receiving the card they drew.

  I scanned the crowd. Andros Ivanov wasn’t difficult to find. His love of the spotlight meant I’d seen his picture many times. He looked the same in person, dark hair and dark eyes. His Russian heritage showed in his features and his physical presence could be called intimidating. The Ivanov bratva earned their dominance like the rest of us—through force. He was surrounded by two big goons, neither of them Leonardo. They could have rented a neon sign and been as subtle.

  “Number one,” the announcer said. “Mr. Hillman.”

  The room filled with murmurs and applause as the tension built and Hillman took his seat in the first chair.

  “Number two, Mr. Dunn.”

  The numbers continued as we began taking our seats.

  “Number three, Mr. Kelly.”

  My gaze met Sparrow’s. He was seated in a place of importance where he could watch the room and no one but Sparrows could be behind him. Mason was on one side and Garrett on the other. With a somber expression, Sparrow nodded my way.

  “Number four, Ms. Miller.”

  I sucked in a breath. While I was happy to sit with Maddie to my side, as she walked toward us in that fucking green dress, I had to remind myself to stay focused.

  “Number five, Mr. Garcia.”

  “That would make me number six,” Elliott said as the two men took the remaining two chairs.

  “Our dealer tonight is...”

  The room quieted as our stacks of chips were delivered. It appeared as it had on the ledger Sparrow had shown me. Elliott had the most. I was next and so on until Garcia, who appeared to have half of what Elliott did.

  The dealer opened a new deck of cards, removing the seal and placing the cards into the shuffler. The dealer next removed the cards and offered them to Madeline. “Ms. Miller, would you like to cut the deck?”

  She smiled. “No. I’m superstitious.”

  The room filled with nervous laughter. It was common among the elite poker players to not want to cut the deck, something about touching the cards before play. The dealer cut the deck and reinserted the cards to be shuffled.

  I didn’t believe in superstition and I doubted Maddie did either; nevertheless, it added to her persona.

  “Shall we play?” the dealer asked.

  And we did.

  Betting remained high. The total number of chips remained the same. It was their distribution that changed. It didn’t take long before both Dunn and Garcia were out of money. The bets had exceeded their stacks.

  Four of us remained.

  An hour passed.

  Another.

  A closing time for tonight’s play hadn’t been set. We would play until a winner was crowned.

  The cards fell where they did, making the play relatively even. With each passing hand, the crowd grew tenser. My gaze met Sparrow’s. Without a word he told me to wrap this up.

  The next hand was about to be dealt.

  We all threw in our $5000 ante.

  With Dunn eliminated, Hillman was on my left in the number one spot. However, the dealing had rotated, and in this hand, Madeline was dealt first, making me last with Elliott and Hillman in between.

  One card.

  Another.

  Another.

  Another.

  Another.

  They were all facedown and held close to our vests. This five-card stud was less entertaining to the crowd than Texas hold ’em.

  We each examined our cards. As I did, I watched each player. Elliott and Madeline were deathly still, not giving away the slightest tell. It was Hillman who was unnecessarily boisterous. Experience told me that his behavior was too unpredictable. It could mean he had the cards or he didn’t. It made his excessive tell as unenlightening as Elliott’s and Madeline’s lack thereof.

  I fanned my cards: 5, 8, 9, 6, A.

  It wasn’t promising. The only thing going for me was that all the cards, with the exception of the ace, were diamonds. If I threw away the ace and drew another diamond, I would have a flush. The seven of diamonds would give me a straight flush. The flush had better odds. After all, there were thirteen cards of each suit in the deck. There was only one seven of diamonds. A flush could also be beaten by a royal flush, a straight flush, four of a kind, and a full house, in that order.

  The bet began with Madeline.

  “Fifty,” she said.

  Fifty thousand was a steep bet for before the draw.

  Elliott peered her way. “I call your fifty.” He reached for more chips. “And I raise you fifty.”

  The $100,000 bet was to Hillman. “Well, I probably shouldn’t, but what the hell?” He pushed the adequate number of chips forward.

  It was to me.

  If when I drew, I drew neither a diamond nor a seven of diamonds I was left with the possibility of a nine high. Yet the possibility of more was there. I wouldn’t fold. “I’ll call,” I said.

  Madeline was the first to draw. “I’ll take one,” she said with her green eyes sparkling as she relinquished one card.

  The card she was dealt was laid facedown before her, yet she didn’t reach for it.

  Interesting.

  “One,” Elliott said, laying one card from his hand down and receiving another.

  “One,” Hillman said, doing the same. He lifted his new card immediately. “Well, fuck me.”

  It was my turn.

  I could keep the ace as a kicker and guarantee at least an ace high. I’d won with that in the past. They called it gambling for a reason. However, with everyone else drawing only one card, I didn’t believe it would win this hand. I pulled the ace from my hand and laid it facedown on the table. “One.”

  The crowd murmured.

  It was unusual for all the players to draw only one card.

  Madeline lifted her new card. Her pleasure wasn’t obvious, but I knew this woman. I felt the excitement radiating off of her, reverberating in waves. Whatever she had, she was pleased, very pleased.

  I lifted my card and tucked it into my others without looking.

  “Mr. Elliott,” the dealer said. “You were the last to raise. The bet is to you.”

  Elliott eyed his stacks of chips. “I think it’s time to make a
move.” He pushed one stack of $10,000 chips forward. And then he pushed another and another until his bet was one million.

  The crowd hummed with excitement.

  “Mr. Hillman, that’s a million to you,” the dealer said.

  Hillman hemmed and hawed as he did inventory. He had the million to bet. We all did. Without his usual fanfare, he pushed a million dollars in chips forward.

  “Mr. Kelly,” the dealer said. “A million to you.”

  I slowly fanned my cards. 5, 6, 8, 9, and 7 of diamonds. I fought not to inhale as a straight flush, nine high, stared back at me. The only hand that could beat me was a higher straight flush, including a royal flush. I reached for my chips. “I see the million and raise another million.”

  The room around us erupted as club officials tried to shush the crowd.

  “Ms. Miller,” the dealer said. “That makes the bet two million to you.”

  Two million was what I’d told her to take, to leave with.

  If only she would have.

  “I see the two million, and I...” She pushed her all her stacks forward.

  As she did, my heart dropped. Oh, my dear Maddie, don’t do it.

  “...I go all in.”

  This time it took longer for the room to still.

  The bets went around the table. With a shit-eating grin, Elliott followed suit, pushing all his chips into the center. Hillman was next. We waited until finally, he did the same. It was my turn. I could fold and be the only remaining player against whoever won. That person would have the bulk of the money and a distinct advantage. My gaze met Sparrow’s.

  He was telling me to end this.

  I pushed my chips to the center. This was it. “I’m in.”

  “Ms. Miller, everyone called,” the dealer said, prompting her to reveal her hand.

  Madeline nodded as she showed her cards: K, K, K, K, 10

  “Ms. Miller has four of a kind, kings, and a ten.”

  The crowd gasped.

  “Mr. Elliott,” the dealer said.

  Elliott tossed his hand to the table. “Well, doggie.” The cards appeared: a straight: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6. Both black and red suits were represented. He smiled to Madeline. “I wish you the win.”