Page 1 of Savage Game
Prologue
Charlotte Randall placed the tray with snacks on the hall table and checked her appearance in the mirror hanging above it. She looked a bit pale, but her makeup was flawless and concealed the fist-sized bruise on her cheek. She’d styled her hair in an elegant updo with not a strand out of place. She ran sweaty palms down from her waist to her hips, smoothing out a crease in the fabric of the red and white polka-dot dress. Although her insides felt as crumbled and decayed as some ancient ruins, her reflection showed the polished trophy wife of a successful executive in every way. In her thirty-two years, she’d learned to put on a façade for the world.
I hate poker night.
Sighing, she opened the door, lifted the tray, and pushed herself inside the dark room. The smell of cigars assaulted her nose, and she took shallow breaths to avoid coughing. Ice tinkled in scotch glasses, and she slowly walked toward the round table in the middle of the opulent room.
Liam’s lecture on etiquette fresh in her mind, she first approached the man sitting on Liam’s right side. Waiting next to the man’s left shoulder, she held out the tray and couldn’t help but admire how perfectly his broad shoulders filled the expensive material of his suit jacket.
Without saying a word, he kept his gaze on the cards in his left hand, and—with an impatient flick of his right fingers—he dismissed her offering. Startled, Charlotte lifted her gaze at her husband, who jerked his chin with an impatient glower. Charlotte swallowed. I hope I’m not going to pay for this after the guests leave. Liam’s nose and cheeks were ruby red already, which didn’t bode well for her, either.
She hurried to the next poker player. Mr. Dennehy wasn’t bad as guests went. He didn’t leer, didn’t touch, and possessed a nice smile.
“Dear Ms. Randall, what are you offering?” Dennehy let go of his cards.
“Cold canapes, sir. I have honey-drizzled apple bites with gouda cheese and bacon, mini-BLTs with prawns, Parma ham and Parmesan cheese on ciabatta, and salmon-cucumber wraps with cream cheese.” She bent a little forward to lower the tray.
“Looks lovely as always.” Mr. Dennehy selected a BLT with his left hand and popped a salmon wrap in his mouth with his other. His head bobbed enthusiastically as he chewed. Her shoulders relaxed a bit at his silent approval.
Reluctantly, Charlotte continued to the next player. She didn’t like Michael, her husband’s partner and best friend. He and Liam shared many traits, including their mean streaks and nasty tempers when drunk.
When she lowered the plate to offer Michael a selection of food, he snaked his hand under the hem of her dress and curled his hand around her thigh. She froze and closed her eyes for a few seconds.
Don’t show him your revulsion, it will only prolong the inevitable and make him crueler.
Her arms trembled as she forced herself to remain immobile while Michael stroked the soft skin above her stocking and toyed with the garter. His fingers didn’t wander higher, and her shoulders sagged in relief when he removed his hand and chose a snack.
Her eyes lifted and landed on the face of the stranger at the other side of the table. Charlotte sucked in a breath as if he’d punched her in the stomach. On one side, horrible scars marred his face, but what kept her captivated was his cobalt-blue gaze.
Byron Nolan leaned back in his chair and watched as the little housewife scuttled from the room. Liam Randall and Michael Connolly were new business associates and, until now, the evening had been enlightening and disheartening.
His gaze slid to the other man at the table. Although Byron didn’t know Ben Dennehy very well, the man had an excellent reputation in the business, and he seemed less reckless and entitled than the other two at the table.
The entire evening Dennehy held back on the liquor and so did Byron, but the other two men indulged extravagantly. With the increasing amount of booze in their systems, their bets became more daring and their play sloppier. On their third round, Dennehy acted as the dealer. It put Byron at the disadvantage of being first, but at least he didn’t need to worry the dealer might be cheating.
Like doing business, playing cards was a combination of skill, mathematics, timing, and a little bit of luck, and then there was the most important reason he liked the game.
With poker more than any other card game, it was also about observational skills and knowing when to go all in and when to fold. Byron was a winner both in business as well as at the card table. Sadly, he hadn’t played poker with these men before he’d gone into business with them.
Oh well, it wasn’t like they’d sworn “until death do us part”. And even that famous oath didn’t make it for five out of ten marriages.
Byron focused on his cards—Ace-Queen suited, not bad at all. He dropped two blue chips in front of him. “Call.”
Randall and Connolly raised, and Dennehy and Byron called.
After collecting the chips, Dennehy placed the flop on the table—Queen, nine, and Jack, none of them spades.
“Bet.” A green chip dropped on the table in front of Liam Randall.
“Call.”
As the evening’s play had continued, Randall and Connolly kept increasing their bets, and this hand was proving to be no different.
“Raise.” Fifty dollars landed on the table in front of Connolly. Byron liked the man even less than their host. Connolly was clearly bluffing, and badly.
Mentally Byron went over the possibilities and took a small sip from his tumbler. “Call.” He pushed forward his own chips.
His host raised to seventy-five dollars with a self-satisfied expression. Connolly did the same, but he appeared uncertain now. Dennehy called.
