Page 84 of Wild Ace

“You seem to know how to win,” someone says to the right of me in a thick Russian accent. I look up to see who it belongs to, and it’s a man who looks to be in his mid to late thirties and has been in a fight or two. Or fifty. And the hard, lifeless stare tells me he’s won every single one of them.

I can tell he’s not a man who will be impressed with flirting, so I go with confidence. “I do.”

“It looks like you need more of a challenge.”

“I think I’m doing just fine taking their money.”

“Da. But you can take more money from richer men.”

“That’s an intriguing offer.”

“Come.” He waves another man over who collects my chips, giving me no other choice but to follow him.

I’m sandwiched between them and feel the eyes of many flit to me as I walk through the tables. They’re all probably thinking what I am. It’s a walk of death. Or a walk where I’m taken and used as they see fit.

Once again, I really should have told someone I was coming here. If I get sold into a sex trafficking ring, no one will know where to start looking for me. Vinny would look, I know he would, but he wouldn’t know where to start.

I’m led to a hallway blocked off by another big scary Russian who steps aside to let us through.

I can’t back out now.

I can’t show fear.

There’s only one way out of this, and that’s walking down this nondescript hallway with two Russian mobsters who could overtake me in a second.

I’d fight. I’d fight tooth and nail if it meant I got to see Vinny again and apologize for lying about what I was doing tonight. I’m never going to be this stupid again.

I want to feel his arms around me.

I want to feel my heart flutter when he kisses me and my skin flush when he touches me.

I want to hear him call me dolcezza when he’s deep inside of me and tell me how much he loves being inside of me.

I’m picturing Vinny’s sexy little smirk as we turn a corner in this creepy hallway, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief when I see another muscled man guarding the entrance to another room. This one only has two occupied tables in it, with five men at one and two women and four men at the other.

“You sit at that one.” My guide points at the table of five men.

“Have to make sure there’s at least one woman at each table to keep the men honest, huh?”

“Not necessarily,” he clips.

“I don’t mind.” I walk over to the table with the man carrying my chips in tow, keeping my confidence game up.

The men at the table look me up and down, and I give them all a smile where I simply curl my lips up, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.

I’m dealt in, and with these guys, it takes everything I know to keep up. They’re better at hiding their tells than the amateurs in the other room.

A small tick of their jaw, a tap of their straw in their drink, a nose wrinkle, eye twitch, and a blank stare. I get them all and I use them all.

Their frustrations when I keep winning becomes more evident as the night progresses, and the tension is making me think of ways to quietly quit while I’m ahead.

I can guess what each of these men do based on how they bet and take risks. The two guys in three-piece suits are probably commodities traders who need to keep the rush going after work hours.

The one in black jeans, a white t-shirt, and an expensive leather jacket gives me the vibes of a trust fund baby who’s dwindling his inheritance down one hand at a time.

The one drinking whiskey, with his suit jacket draped on the back of his chair and the sleeves of his white button down rolled up to his elbows, is definitely a CEO or COO who makes more money than he knows what do with, so he bets it away without a care, knowing he’ll make it back the next day or week.

Then there’s the guy across from me. He’s just a regular guy who’s in over his head. He’s the guy that thinks he’s a good poker player, but luck hasn’t been on his side for some time. He still comes here, though, hoping it will.

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