by Shen, L. J.
“Hey. I’m talking to you.” I waved my hand in front of their faces.
“No women allowed,” one of them spat on the floor.
“I’m not just any woman.”
His eyes raked over my body, head to toe, halting when he reached my breasts. “Seems to me like you are.”
I took out my phone, gliding my finger on the screen until I got to Sam’s contact information, showing them his phone number. “How about I call Brennan and clear it with him? I’m sure he’ll have something to say about you not letting his girlfriend in.”
“Brennan doesn’t have a girlfriend,” one said.
“He doesn’t?” I snorted, my confidence wavering a little. “Didn’t know he spent a lot of time talking to his bouncers about his love life. My name is Aisling Fitzpatrick. Check with him if you want.”
The one who seemed hell-bent on not letting me in fished his phone out of his front pocket reluctantly, punching in Sam’s number while glaring at me. My heart was in my throat. This was the make or break moment. Sam would know I was here. The bouncer said my name. Asked if I could come in. There was a pause on the other line. The air was still despite the hustle and bustle of people, drinks, music, and the lights around us. After a second, he hung up and bowed his head, stepping sideways. His colleague widened his eyes.
“I’ll be damned. I thought pigs would fly sooner.”
“Keep the dream alive.” I patted his shoulder, shouldering past them.
I entered the hallway and picked the busiest, loudest, rowdiest card room. This time, I observed my surroundings more carefully than I did the night I came to fetch Cillian and Hunter. I had to look behind my shoulder for the bouncers and was too filled with white-hot rage to pay attention to anything back then.
Round, deep oak tables with green centers sat across the room with men in expensive suits huddled around them, smoking fine cigars and drinking brandy. They all looked like variations of the men in my family—privileged, corrupt, and desperate for cheap entertainment. There were also waitresses wearing tiny, black baby dolls, leaning down and tending to the clientele.
Scanning the room, I looked for the blackjack table. I knew how to play Texas hold ’em and seven-card stud, but my real specialty had always been blackjack. It was the first card game Cillian had taught me, and he made it a point to practice with me during Christmas Eves, after everyone had retired back to their rooms.
We kept that tradition alive for decades, this year included.
I found the table I was looking for and waited. I knew gambling in Sam’s establishment was going to make him explode with anger. My heart pinched a little when I realized he most likely was not around, but I forced myself to find the silver lining. The mere idea of me being here without him was going to bring him closer to asking me to move in with him again.
When the game drew to a close, I wedged myself in the middle of the semicircle of Prada-clad men, beaming at the dealer.
“I’d love to play.”
“I would love to play you,” a middle-aged man beside me jested, making the entire circle of men laugh crudely. I refused to let my smile drop.
“Wait, isn’t this …?” One of them frowned at me. I kept my gaze carefully on the dealer. “Whoa, it is. Aisling Fitzpatrick. Isn’t it your bedtime? Does your daddy know you’re here?”
I was three years shy of turning thirty, so this definitely stung, but maybe I deserved it for putting my parents’ needs before mine for almost three decades and still living at their place.
I stared at the dealer, ignoring the idiot talking to me. The older employee cleared his throat, widening his bowtie with his finger.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid—”
“Don’t be afraid. Fear is never a good look. Let me play,” I demanded, clinging onto my false confidence.
I was becoming aware of a warm, tingly sensation that spread from the top of my head down my spine. I knew exactly what it meant, and who just entered the room, but he didn’t make himself known.
“I’m not sure it is up to me, ma’am. See, there are rules regarding—”
“Me. Yes. I know. Brennan rescinded all of them.” I rolled up the sleeves of my Balmain mini-dress. “Same goes to women gambling in the card rooms. I’m not just any woman. I’m the woman Sam Brennan is engaged with in a battle of the wills. The rules do not apply to me. You can call and ask him yourself. That’s how I made it here in the first place.”
“There’s no battle, sweetheart. I won before I laid a finger on you, but nice try,” a low voice mocked behind me. My head snapped toward the door. Sam stood there, wearing a pale gray suit with a burgundy Hermes pocket square poking out of his blazer. A gorgeous sin in Italian loafers. He looked ready for a date. Ready for me, his skin gold and warm, his eyes gray and cold.
He knew I was going to come here the minute he challenged me to do so, and I fell right into his trap.
I looked away, ignoring him and turning my attention back to the dealer. I remembered what he told me all those years ago.
“I wouldn’t bet with me.”
“Why?”
“I always win.”
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the warm excitement that came with seeing him, and my insides didn’t turn into baby food as they usually had. Something about him felt daring, quiet, and on edge tonight. Like the old Sam, the one who didn’t want me. I felt like he was on the brink of showing me very publicly how much I abused his patience. I shifted from one foot to the other on my high heels.
“She can play, under one condition.” Sam sauntered deeper into the room behind me, his voice drawing closer, and I was aware of the curious glances thrown my way.
I refused to turn around and give him the audience he demanded.
“Usually when a man gives you his word, it doesn’t come with stipulations,” I muttered, feeling the color rising in my cheeks.
“I’m not a man. I’m a monster.” He stopped beside me, not removing his gaze from my face for a second. “Look at me, Nix.”
I didn’t.
I looked anywhere but at him.
“I will let you play, if we play each other,” he finished.
“It’s blackjack. I won’t be playing against you. I’ll be playing against the dealer.” I turned around, facing him.
Men whistled and chuckled, enjoying their front-row seat to our exchange. They obviously weren’t used to seeing anyone stand up to Sam Brennan, let alone a dainty woman in a dress.
Sam smiled calmly. “We play high stakes here, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
“My Spidey senses tell me I’m good for it,” I deadpanned, making everyone in the room erupt into rowdy laughter. Did he really just try to financially intimidate me? I had more money than all the men in this room combined.
“A million dollars a hand. Five hands. Sound acceptable?” I asked, my voice prim and proper, offering him my hand for a shake.
The place exploded with hoots, laughter, and shrieks. The men were on fire. Everyone looked at Sam expectantly, knowing he was not a man to bow out of a challenge.
Sam glanced at my outstretched hand, hands still in his pockets, his posture lazy. He was in no hurry to answer.
He obviously savored this moment. Our first public exchange in the ten years since we’d known each other.
“You mean five million dollars a hand.” He smirked.
“Dang!”
“Oh my!”
“Bryan, you gotta come here.”
Our audience grew as more men yelled and gasped to each other, people trickling from nearby rooms, craning their necks as the thick circle of bodies around us grew bigger and tighter. I felt the ring of men around me, like it was squeezing my neck. Cigarettes were put down, drinks were left unattended, everyone waited to hear my reply.
“Famous last words.” I hitched one shoulder up, raising my untouched hand an inch, hysteria clogging up my throat. Just because I had this kind of money didn’t mean I wanted to see twenty-five millio
n dollars flushed down the drain in half an hour.
I felt my armpits dampen and started second-guessing my coming here.
Why did I want to push him so much?
“And if I win…” he raised his palm up to stop me “…you marry me.”
The dealer looked between us, dropping the stack of cards in his hand in shock. The middle-aged man who propositioned me rubbed his hands together.
“This is gonna be a story to tell my grandchildren.”
I stared at Sam silently, stone-cold sober, searching for mockery in his eyes. I found none, but I still couldn’t believe my ears.
“It’s not funny.” My voice came out gravelly, crawling its way out my throat.
“I’m not laughing,” he countered softly, his eyes never leaving mine, delivering the final blow. “Oh. And no prenup.”
“Ohhhh!”
Men bent backward, slapping their foreheads dramatically. I was lucky I was propped against the table because every muscle in my body ceased to work.
I wondered if it was another stop in his destination to full domination over Boston, marrying into the richest family with no prenup. Was I just a pawn in his game? Another juicy deal waiting to be sealed?
“Sweetheart, Brennan’s a top-notch mathematician. Crazy good with numbers. Run, don’t walk,” one man hollered from the depths of the room.
Sam smirked, neither confirming nor denying it.
“I know your older brother, little Fitzy. Say yes and I’ll have no choice but to call him,” another young man shouted.
Smiling and refusing to withdraw my hand and cower like everyone expected me to, I said, “Wouldn’t you like that, Samuel Brennan? The son of a whore, born without a dime to his name, married to one of the richest women in the western world. You’ll be eligible to half my fortune.”
“I know,” he said calmly. “Which means you’ll think twice before leaving me.”
Our audience laughed and hooted loudly.
“I’m not giving you half my kingdom,” I enunciated, my voice clear and unwavering.
“I don’t give a fuck about your kingdom, sweetheart. Mine is bigger in all the ways that matter. Believe it or not, the number in your bank account is not as powerful as my hold on the East Coast.”
“I don’t believe you,” I lied.
“Take the stakes or leave this room, Miss Fitzpatrick, but do it now. I’m running a well-oiled operation here, and every moment people don’t spend their money on these tables costs me.”
“Marry you,” I mouthed the words rather than said them aloud, shock still gripping me. My father was going to kill me. Cillian and Hunter were going to burn whatever was left of me. Yet somehow I believed Sam’s motive wasn’t money. He had enough of it.
He wanted to trap me. And me? I wanted to be trapped.
“Fine,” I said shakily, my stomach turning a hundred times over.
Sam finally clasped my hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he used our entwined fingers to jerk me toward him, pressing a very public, very possessive kiss on my mouth.
“We have a game. They’re going for it!” A young man in a sage green velvet suit jumped up from his seat. There was chaos in the room for the next few minutes, and I tried to gulp deep breaths and tell myself it didn’t matter. None of it did. I could dig my way out of this. Maybe.
The stakes for a game were never this high in the history of Badlands. Bookies rolled in from other rooms to take bets on the game, holding clipboards with spreadsheets, taking names and numbers and odds. I recognized Becker and Angus, the soldiers I had treated last year, shuffling about, whispering between them as they placed their bet against me.
There was a human traffic jam outside the door to the card room, and I could barely breathe when I heard the bouncers physically pushing people away.
We both took our places in front of the dealer, whose golden nametag said Daniel. I drummed my fingers against the green felt of the table. Sam stared at me. I refused to look back at him.
“Smart move. Your club’s about to become legendary after this.” I flicked my hair behind my shoulder.
“I never let a good scandal go to waste,” he replied wryly.
“Are you really that good at math?” my voice quivered.
“Better.”
Everyone settled, and Daniel started shuffling the cards, reciting the rules of the game loud and clear. He made a show of it. First with an overhand shuffle, a riffle shuffle, then a pile shuffle. By the time he was done, the cards were thoroughly mixed, even I couldn’t deny that.
Daniel put the neat stack of cards down, glancing between Sam and me.
Sam jerked his chin toward me, deciding now was a good time to become a gentleman.
I refused to remove my gaze from the cards, splitting them into two stacks.
Why was I so hysterical? Wasn’t it my longtime wish? To marry Sam Brennan?
Oui, mon cheri, but not like this. Not as a part of another elaborate game between you two.
I withdrew my hand and indicated for Daniel to choose from the right-hand stack. We were each dealt two cards. Daniel also dealt himself a hand. One exposed, one hidden.
The first round was a quick win for me, allowing me to breathe again. I spluttered around an exhale, wondering if it was Sam’s way of making me lower my guard. The second round went to Sam, after I doubled down and lost, making my rival flash a devious smirk. The third—to me. The fourth—to Sam.
The eerie feeling everything was premeditated took root in my stomach. Perhaps Sam had intentionally made this game a close call to make people more interested. Statistically, the neatness of our wins, and losses, seemed highly unlikely. He was engineering a narrative where anything could happen, and it made me even more nervous because that meant he knew he would win.
I never lose.
Sam played against casinos and won repeatedly. The chances of him losing twice, out of four times, were slim to nonexistent.
By the time we were dealt our fifth hands, I was a sweaty pile of mess. My hair was plastered to my temples, and everything in me shook. No matter the result, I was going to be devastated.
I didn’t want his money, but marrying him right now seemed as impossible as kissing the moon good night.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it fast and easy for you, Miss Fitzpatrick.” Sam shot me an impersonal smile as Daniel cut the cards. The whole room held its breath.
I got confused and didn’t stand with a pair of nines when Daniel’s up-card was a seven, even though Cillian had taught me to do so.
Sam split a pair of eights and aces.
Sam won.
Three to two.
Fair and square.
The whole room erupted in screams, arguments, and laughter as hands exchanged thick stacks of money. People huddled over the betting books. Others clapped Sam’s back and whistled, shaking his hand with a smug smile.
“The deal of your life, Brennan. Next stop, world domination.”
“Make sure you get your hands on those Royal Pipelines shares, man.”
“You delicate fucking genius.”
“Better take her for a test drive, eh?”
Nausea washed over me, and I gripped the edges of the table with force.
I lost.
Not only tonight but the last decade.
We were always playing a game, at least that was how it felt, and this was the pinnacle of a ten-year battle.
It didn’t matter that I wanted it. That I wished for it. That I longed for it.
Sam Brennan won me, but he didn’t earn me.
What kind of marriage would I have to a man who didn’t want to have children and hated women?
Sam ignored the congratulations, strolling the short distance to meet me, his face unreadable. Everyone stopped to see what happened next. I couldn’t blame them. I wanted to know, too. I didn’t move. Didn’t run away. The least I could do was handle the situation with dignity. A Fitzpatrick never bowed down.
Sam stop
ped a foot away from me.
“Well done. I knew you were a talented mathematician and blackjack player, but I still underestimated you.” I offered him my hand again, my voice quiet and resolute.
He narrowed his eyes at me, like we were enemies. Maybe we were. I never knew where we stood. He cupped my throat, angling my face up to look him in the eye. When he spoke, it was to the room, not to me, but his words were loud and clear, filling the air with poison.
“I want every single asshole who witnessed this game to go and tell their friends. And tell your friends to tell their friends. I want this to hit Cillian, Hunter, and Gerald’s ears tonight. I want this in the papers. Aisling Fitzpatrick is now mine. I won her, and she is going to be my wife. If anyone has a problem with that, he will have to go through me, and I sincerely don’t recommend it. It’s a terrible way to die.”
With that, he crashed his lips down on mine, sealing our deal with an animalistic kiss. People cheered in the background, but we paid no attention to them. I paid no attention to them, completely immersed in this thing between us, my heart soaring to the sky. Sam hoisted me up and carried me out of the card room, shouldering past dozens of men, heading straight to his office. My legs wrapped around his waist, my tongue dancing inside his mouth.
We reached the point of no return.
There were no more games to be played.
We were together.
“You will keep your word to me,” he growled into my mouth, kicking the door to his office open and slamming it shut behind us without touching the handle, his fingers digging into my behind.
“No,” I insisted breathlessly, peppering his neck with kisses. “Not until you tell me that it’s real. That I’m just not a conquest. That I mean something to you.”
“You don’t mean something to me,” he countered. “You mean everything to me. Jesus Christ, I need to get inside you before I fucking die.” He let me down, turned to his desk, and in one go wiped it clean of his laptop, ledgers, and paperwork.
He grabbed my waist roughly and turned me around to face the desk, bending me over as he hoisted my dress up, tugging my panties to the side.