Page 1 of Tempt Me

HUNTER KNUTSEN

Banta City has a bad reputation. A wannabe Las Vegas. A more upscale Reno. A fresher Atlantic City.

Casinos. Dog tracks. Betting parlors. Nightclubs. And more topless dancers than any city needs.

Even though I can live anywhere in the world, I choose to call Banta City home. The town might be mobbed up, overflowing with tourists on the weekends, and forever expanding, but I feel comfortable here.

This is also the city my mother calls home. I was born to a redheaded ballbuster with armor forged by wealth and power. Suzanne Knutsen was raised by nannies after her shiftless parents refused to return to their palatial estate. My mom has been bossing people around since she learned to speak. When she falls in love, Suzanne chases the high. After she gets bored, she walks away. My mother owns her every choice and makes no apologies.

In Banta City, Suzanne hobnobs with the elite from the mayor to the head of the local crime syndicate. Despite her friendships with dangerous people, I grew up disconnected from the town’s menacing underbelly.

However, violence has touched my life. During a summer trip to a ranch owned by my older sister’s father, Austen and I were attacked by the ranch hands. We fled Canary Basin with battered bodies and stinking of perverted men.

Until that night, my sister had been a wild child. Afterward, Austen wrapped her trauma around her and refused to move on.

I took the opposite route, forcing myself to face every single ugly moment until the violent night lost its power. My nose took longer to heal. Each surgery to fix what those men broke cemented my choice to toughen up and be smart in life.

Meanwhile, Austen remained trapped in her anxiety. A sexy, blond, out-of-town biker finally broke my sister free of her self-created prison. When I visited her recently, Austen seemed feisty again like before the long-ago rape. One day, she might be downright fearless.

I’m not immune to sexy, blond bikers, either. Tack O’Malley caught my eye immediately. Born to alcoholic parents, he was in and out of foster care. Once he became big and aggressive, Tack was sent to a group home run by Elvis and Aunt Fred O’Malley. Their farm has become a refuge for dozens of wild boys over the years.

Elvis and Aunt Fred created two daughters together, thirty-two-year-old Carys and twenty-seven-year-old Siobhan. I’ve been tight with the women for years. Siobhan is one of my closest friends, and she often invited me to join her at the Backcountry Kings’ clubhouse—Above Snakes Bar & Grill.

That’s where I first noticed Tack. His good looks didn’t fully register until he flashed a smile at me and suggested we play pool. I knew he was using the same moves he utilized with the many women who flocked to the clubhouse to swoon over the sexy bikers. I should have been annoyed by his lame seduction attempts. Yet, I couldn’t deny the temptation before me.

With his wide shoulders, thick arms, and muscled body, Tack owns every space he enters. His eyes are baby blue. His thick blond hair is shaggy and often in his eyes. He occasionally has a light beard growing. Other times, he shaves it close and shows off his impeccable bone structure.

Before Tack, men didn’t particularly interest me. I had boyfriends in college but never lovers. Men coveted my inexperience—and assumed virginity—until I began to view my cherry with the same reverence.

Once Tack smiled after I defeated him during our first game of pool, I started imagining sex positions and considering where to buy sexy underwear.

Except I didn’t want a life steeped in violence. This was also the reason my crush on Leon Kovak was so short-lived. My other best friend Natasha’s older brother is the pit boss at Verge Casino, where I’m a blackjack dealer one night a week. Leon is beautiful and cultured, but his family runs the Kovak Syndicate.

I view myself as tough and no shrinking violet. I’ve trained in Muay Thai since I was eighteen. I’m confident in a fight. I carry pepper spray and a switchblade gifted to me by Siobhan. If I were more comfortable with guns, I’d have one strapped on me, too.

Though capable of holding my own in a fight, I’m certainly not attracted to danger. I don’t put myself in the position to get hurt. That’s why I stopped crushing on Leon and the reason I shut down my flirtation with Tack O’Malley.

The biker is on my mind again as I leave my shift at the Kovak Syndicate’s premier casino, Verge. Tack is a constant in my life, even if we remain strictly friends. Whenever I fantasize about sharing more with him, I remember how his life is filled with casual violence.

As I stop at a coffee shop near my high-rise condo, I force my brain to focus. Every Friday for months, I’ve dropped by for a garlic bagel and coffee and left my casino tips for whichever single mom was working that night.

Last week, when I came outside, a man stinking of fish and booze wrapped his arms around me and tried to drag me into an alley. I quickly broke free, threw my hot coffee in his face, and beat the hell out of him. My rage was palpable. Even when he tried to escape my wrath, I snapped his ankle so he couldn’t flee. Drunk on anger, I was still kicking him when the police arrived.

Tack and his foster brothers—Indigo and Golden—rolled up right after the cops. After the mugger was carted off to the hospital, I sat down with my lawyer and gave the authorities my statement. Yesterday, I received word the guy hadn’t shown up to his first court appearance.

As I arrive at the coffee shop tonight, I find myself afraid. I’ve felt that way since the mugging. For years, I’ve refused to give into my fear. I didn’t hide like Austen did. I joined a band, did plays, and took part in an improv group. Plus, there was the casino job.

Men were always looking at me. Many flirted in creepy ways. Since I was a teenager, guys have claimed I looked like a “slutty Molly Ringwald.” My short red hair and pale skin feed into the image. However, I have blue eyes to her brown ones. I’m not as tall and own considerably larger breasts and more curves. So, yeah, a slutty Molly Ringwald.

At the casino, dozens of regular gamblers will move to my table once my shift starts. They claim I am their lucky charm. I never play along with their flirtation in the way the other attractive dealers often do. I don’t need the tips. I learned blackjack to share something in common with Leon Kovak. I continued dealing at the casino because I get a kick out of the experience.

With so many creepy regulars, I’ve considered quitting for some time. I used to work the weekends. Now, only Fridays. The constant flirting and attempts to buy my attention are annoying. One rich tech guy keeps hitting me up to join him in Monaco. Another man sent flowers to my condo with a dinner invitation. A third guy was persistent enough for me to report him to security. Leon had the man banned from the casino.

Those creepy men are crowding me out of my job. I’ve always tended to dress in beige and blue. My clothes are rarely revealing, yet I’ve become insecure about my clothes and hair. I find myself wary of leaving my condo. I hate feeling so weak.

Now, after last week’s attempted mugging, I’ve gotten downright paranoid. Tonight, as I sit in my Mercedes-AMG S63 at the curb outside the coffee shop, Banta City’s nightlife goes on around me. Our town rarely shuts down, especially in the “Double Down District,” where the coffee shop is located.

Too chickenshit to leave my car and walk past the alley where the mugger grabbed me, I call in my order and wait for the woman to bring it out.

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