Page 12 of Reluctant Surrender

A message from Lukas.I stared at the text, unsure if I should respond or not. Knowing him, he’d hunt me down again if I didn’t answer him right away. And this was not the night I needed him barging into a room.

As much asany other night. I’m busy. Talk later.

Talk later.Well, that left the door open, didn’t it? And I should shut that door, bolt it, put as much furniture in front of it as possible. I should seal the door as though the devil himself was behind it. Because Lukas Kaczmarek might as well be him.

We’d shared a few fun times together. Had a few drinks. Played a few games of poker. He’d been fun to hang with while traveling to see Amelia in New York. But it was different now.

At least it was supposed to be.

But that morning, when he’d pushed his way into my apartment demanding to know if I was all right. It had been like a tiny white light shining at the end of a very dark, very long tunnel.

Be good,angel.

I rolled my eyes.The man gave me a little spanking once, and his arrogance grew twofold. The bigger annoyance was how easily the short spanking had left me wet and wanting. And that little peck on my cheek afterward; it should have had zero effect on me. And yet, the whole scene had been looping in my mind since the moment he left my apartment.

After shooting an angel emoji back to him, I shoved my phone back into my purse. I had to get my head in the game, and that wouldn’t happen if Lukas kept invading my thoughts.

My heels clicked against the cement stairs leading up to the brownstone. As I approached the front door, a man dressed in a dark blue suit stepped onto the porch with me.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a smooth Lurch sort of way. He fit the physique well, too. Standing over six feet tall, severe expression, yep, he fit the bill.

“Serata di gioco.” I smiled. There were very few phrases I understood or spoke in Italian, but this game had more security than others. It was a lame password—game night—but to each their own.

Lurch nodded and pushed the door open, gesturing for me to enter. He followed behind me. “Down this hall all the way, the room to the left. You’ll find it easy.”

I thanked him and made my way toward the game room, taking note of other hallways and a second set of stairs. Another man stood in the hall just outside a closed door. Security was tight. My stomach sank a bit. My client better know what he was doing, or he would get us both in trouble.

“Name?” the guy asked, taking a step in front of the door.

“Margaret.” I raised my chin. Confidence and defiance. Those two traits were more beneficial to conceal things than anything else in my arsenal.

He nodded and reached behind him for the doorknob. “You’re the last to arrive.”

Cigarette and cigar smoke hit my senses as I stepped into the cloud. The group, all men, sat around the poker table. The conversation stopped once I was noticed.

“Ready to lose all your cash, gentlemen?” I asked with a bright smile as I found the last empty seat. My client sat across from me, playing with the chips he’d been given already. A little man compared to the brawn of the others sitting with us, Stanley Grecco kept his eyes down on the green felt. Stanley had found me through another client. Word of mouth worked best for new business, but even then, precautions had to be taken. I’d only met Stanley once before in a brief five-minute exchange while standing in line for coffee. He gave me the details of what game he wanted my assistance with, and I gave him the rules.

“Big talker, this one.” Johnny DeSantiago, someone I’d played with in the past but had no idea what sort of game I was really running, laughed while jerking his thumb at me. Johnny had been the one to get me an invitation to the game.

“Can she actually play though?” another man asked as he puffed away on his fat cigar.

“She’s good enough to make taking her for everything interesting.” Johnny patted the empty chair beside him. “C’mon, Mags, we’ve been waiting on you.”

“I had business. Sorry.” I winked at him, then slid into the empty chair. I dug out the bills for my chips and tossed them on the table.

Only once I had my chips lined up and a drink beside me did I look at my client to give him the subtle sign that we were ready to start. What we had planned wasn’t difficult.

We’d play a few rounds, nothing fancy, no twists or turns, but after that, we’d start picking off the other players. Once it was just down to him, me, and two others, I’d start losing my hands to all three of them. The tricky part was being careful not to lose too many in a row and not to the same player every time. Nothing that would cause suspicion.

Soon after that, the game would be down to me and my client. We’d play tug of war for a few rounds, me losing larger pots than him. And eventually, I’d go all in and lose it all.

One by one the men fell from the game. “Sorry, boys,” I grinned as I gathered up the pot of the latest hand. Johnny laughed beside me and leaned back in his chair.

“Told you she makes it interesting.” He rested his hand on my back, rubbing it in circles. I stiffened beneath his touch, hating the feel of it on me.

I stacked my chips and leaned forward enough that his hand fell away from me. “Another, please?” I wiggled my empty glass in the air.

A fresh whiskey sour was brought over as the next hand was dealt. We were down to four players. If I took out the next guy, Stanley could take out Johnny after that and then we’d be home free. I checked my slinky wristwatch. Two in the morning. The game was going quicker than usual. Slowing down would hide the rig better.

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