Page 3 of Passion's Wicked Torment

It left her slender neck bare, highlighting the beauty of her profile. And, for the first time, she had even added touches of makeup to her eyes and cheeks. Kristin wore no coat,

even though it was chilly out. She had none that did justice to her flashy, expensive silver gown, and she could not afford to buy one.

“Here we are, ma’am,” said the cabby, stopping in front of the Crimson Club. She tipped him and got out.

The first important test came when the peephole opened after she knocked on the club door.

“Granny sent me,” she said to the visible eye. She did not smile. She was playing a role and she had to stick to it no matter what. When the door did not open at the password, she looked away, appearing bored and unconcerned, as if harboring no doubts whatever that she would be admitted.

There was a long hesitation. Then the door opened fully. The doorman bowed to her and said, “Good evening.” Kristin nodded as she passed by him. He was the same thin, mustached man who had been on the door yesterday and had received instructions to not admit her again. He did not recognize her. She had passed her first test.

When the maître d’ started to seat her in the dinner club, she told him not to bother, that she had come for the upstairs room. He bowed solicitously and watched her ascend the stairs.

The gambling activities were going full blast when she arrived. The room was filled with smoke, the sound of talking, the clicking of dice and the shuffling of cards. The gamblers were all well-dressed, but the strain of several hours of tension was evident in the rumpled look adorning some of the men’s clothes, or the out-of-place curls and strands of hair hanging down from the women’s coiffeurs.

Kristin went straight to the exchange window and traded in 300 dollars for stacks of blue 20 dollar and red ten dollar chips. She did not bother getting any chips of lesser denomination. She could not afford to lose this money. It was the major part of her life savings. But she viewed it as an investment—an investment that might save Chad’s life.

She wanted to give the impression she was adventure seeking, and the way to do it was to gamble recklessly. Also, she had to have a believable reason to come here tonight. Otherwise, she would be thrown out again.

She knew she might be thrown out anyway, and soon. Blackie, the thug who had escorted her out yesterday, had noticed her. He had squinted his eyes and stared, not quite believing it was really the same girl. She did not return his look, which would have given her away for sure.

Instead, she placed a very large bet, 100 dollars, on the color red, and another 50 on the “odd” designation. The bet was placed by putting her chips on the green felt roulette table, over the desired designation. Other players were placing their bets. As soon as all the bets were placed, the wheel was spun.

Blackie came up close to Kristin now, still looking at her scrutinizingly, as if not believing his eyes. The wheel came to a halt, and the steel ball landed in a slot. “Number nine,” called the croupier. “Number nine is the winner.” A few subdued groans greeted his proclamation, as well as a few exclamations of joy. Kristin watched in amazement as her $150 was pushed over to her by the croupier’s long-handled rake, along with $150 more. She had just made $150 in less than a minute. It was hard to believe.

Blackie touched her on the shoulder. She turned to look at him haughtily, as if impatient at his interruption.

“Uh . . . pardon me, uh, ma’am, but . . . aren’t you the same woman who was here yesterday?” he stammered.

“I’m busy,” said Kristin coldly. “I came here to gamble. Do you mind?” She turned back to the roulette table and put her original $150 and her newly won $150 on the even and the black designations this time.

Blackie didn’t know what to do. He glanced at the croupier. The expression he got back was one of warning, making him even more cautious. Don’t monkey with the big bettors, the expression seemed to say.

The main problem Blackie faced was one of class distinction. He would not hesitate at all to be rough and forceful with Kristin as she had appeared yesterday, for he knew she was not of a high social station. Now, though, this woman he was looking at could easily be a “society dame,” as he referred to them in his mind. He frowned, bewildered, and left.

When he returned a few minutes later, Dallas Hunter was proceeding him down the aisle. He did not have any trouble deciding whether or not this was the same girl he had kicked out of his club yesterday. He recognized her instantly, but his eyes showed that the effect of her transformation was not lost on him. His expression was one of admiration for something done very skillfully, and he was displaying a look of piqued interest. He took a place next to Kristin at the table and stood watching her, silently. All the players were standing; there were no chairs at the roulette wheels.

Kristin had doubled her initial buy-in, but now she was losing part of her winnings. “Nine, red,” called the croupier when the ball settled into its slot in the wheel. Kristin watched as her bet was raked in by the croupier’s rake. She took another 200 in chips and put them on the green felt of the roulette table.

She wished she could concentrate on what she was doing. This was a very unusual and exciting experience for her. Seeing such large amounts of money coming and going—and knowing that it was hers and that she could not afford to lose it—would have been worth concentrating on. But all her attention was focused on the tall, hard featured man at her side, even though she took great pains to not let him know she was in the least concerned by his presence. She pointedly ignored him.

“Twenty-seven, red!” called the croupier. She had won again! Her 200 plus 200 more were raked in to her.

“I told you not to come back here,” Hunter said to her, quietly. His voice was low enough so that no one else heard or paid any attention. The other players were all too involved in the game.

“I like gambling,” Kristin answered, keeping her eyes on the felt play area of the roulette table, not looking at him. “This is a gambling club, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe you like gambling. I don’t believe you’ve even done it before.”

“Nineteen, red!” called the croupier.

Kristin turned to Dallas Hunter for the first time. “For someone who hasn’t done it before, I’m taking a good deal of your money.”

Hunter shook his head, still expressionless. “You just gave yourself away again. Any real gambler knows that the amount you’re winning is not what we call ‘money.’ It’s what we call ‘petty cash.’ ” He waited until her next bet was finished. She won that also. Then he said, “Pick up your chips and come with me.”

She did as he asked, slipping her chips into her purse and turning toward his office. She made a point of concealing her delight at suddenly being so much richer than she had been earlier. Hunter nodded and held his hand out, indicating for her to precede him across the casino floor.

When they reached the padded, quilted leather door at the far end of the room, Hunter reached forward and opened it for her. She entered the richly paneled, expensively appointed room. He followed her in, then shut the door. He moved over to the large, polished mahogany desk and sat casually on the edge of it. He lit a cigarette from a silver case and then stared at her, silently.

Finally he said, “I don’t know what you’re up to, babe, but I don’t like it.”

“I came here to gamble.”

“Yeah. And yesterday you came to get a job. Yesterday you needed the fifty cents an hour a cocktail waitress makes, and today you’re putting down two-C bets. What’s the story?”

“I never said I wanted the job because I needed the money. I said I wanted it. Period.”

“Uh huh. The lady likes to slave away for peanuts. Protestant work ethic and all that, huh?”

“The lady likes adventure,” she said. “Fast action. Excitement. New worlds to conquer.” She looked at him haughtily, defiantly, putting a challenge into her eyes. She felt thrilled to see him staring back at her with an equal intensity. The thrill came from succeeding in her role, from having him accept her on the terms she was trying to present herself as. It didn’t come from anticipating a sexual situation. That only terrified her, even though she realized she

was pushing herself in that direction. She instinctively knew it was the only way she might succeed in arranging to he with him long enough to get the information she needed.

He stared at her challenging blue eyes for a moment, then casually stood up from the desk and came toward her. He stood close, looking down at her in a powerful, sexual way. When he put his finger to her bare shoulder and slowly drew it down and across her cleavage, stroking the exposed part of her bosom, she flinched.

Hunter grinned and bent his head forward, as if to kiss her. Kristin steeled herself for this, forcing herself to remain still, to not jerk her head away as she would under any other circumstances. Instead of kissing her, though, he just looked in her eyes, knowingly.

“You can’t bring it off, babe. You can doll yourself up to look the part of a sophisticated woman, but you don’t have what it takes inside. Look at you standing here all tense, like a statue, sacrificing yourself to get whatever it is you want. Tell me now: What the hell is it you really want? You’ve got me curious.”

“I told you already,” she insisted, trying to put force into the words that still sounded like a feeble protest. “And I’m not as little girlish as you obviously think.” To prove this, she suddenly rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. Then she quickly backed away. Her expression said, There, does that prove it to you?

He said nothing. He looked grim. He came to her, grasped her hair in his fist and jerked her head back. His lips descended on hers, brutally hard, searingly. He forced her mouth open and kissed her passionately. It was so sudden and strong and sensual, it made Kristin moan in response.

When he released her, she backed away, her eyes wide.

“That’s a kiss,” he said. “What you did was something else entirely.” His expression was cold, but Kristin sensed that it was partly false, that the man himself was not cold and heartless.

“Look, kid,” Hunter went on, “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying; so I’ll have to spell it out for you. You’re a nice little girl, and the dress you wore and the way you had your hair yesterday suit you a lot better than this getup you’re wearing now. If you’re not careful, someone’s going to take you up on your offer. Then you’ll really be in trouble.”

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