Obsession (A Bad Boy's Secret Baby) (16 page)

Lucky shoved him away, watching as the fat man scampered to the back of the room and waited. Then he cleared his throat and straightened his tussled shirt.

“Looks like you've got other business to attend to,” Repo started, seeing that this conversation was fruitless. “We'll show ourselves out. I'll let Remy know—”

Repo was still talking, but my ears had begun to ring.
The Knights are running a shipment of girls for a human trafficking ring.
The realization slammed into my gut, stole the air from my lungs. I felt incredibly stupid for not catching it right away. My mounting anger towards this man grew by the second. Who was his brother, this Tully guy? Was he part of another club?

My eyes wandered back to the wall. The redhead was shrinking by the second, swaying.

“Those just for show?” I interrupted Repo and pointed at the deck in Lucky's pocket. “Or do you actually know your way around a deck of cards?”

Few evils crept under my skin more than people selling people. It made my fucking knuckles itch.

Repo turned his back to Lucky and whispered to me, “What are you doing?”

“Relax, we're done, right?” It felt like I had blinders on, my eyes were locked on the Knights' pres and nothing else. Some shit I just couldn't let slide. With the negotiations over, I was officially off the clock. Now it was my time. “I'm just having a little fun.”

Lucky looked at me inquisitively. I didn't fully know what I was going to do. It was like I'd toppled the first in a long line of dominoes inside of me and set something larger into motion. My plan, if I had one, began and ended with me fucking this asshole up.

“The refrigerator speaks.” He fished the deck out of his pocket. Soon, his hands and cards were flying all over the place in what was unnecessary grandiose shuffling. He was obviously pleased with himself and seemed like the type of guy who looked for any chance to show off. “The fuck do you think?”

“Ronin...” Repo grabbed my shoulder.

I brushed his hand off and took his seat across from Lucky. “I think you know your dynamo shuffle and a few dainty flourishes, but you haven't answered my question. Can you actually play, or are you just incredibly skilled at hand jobs?”

Lucky frowned. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. “What's your game?”

“Poker. Any way you like,” I casually replied, stemming a rising anger.

The fancy dressed fat man cautiously, but stubbornly, protested. “Mr. Hayes, the girls—”

“Can fucking wait,” Lucky barked, shuffling the cards back and forth, eying me in the silent room. “What are we playing for?”

Glancing at the girls, I considered the redhead again. For a split second she lifted her chin. She met my eyes, and I saw how gray hers were. Like storm clouds that wanted to drown me in rain.

“That girl,” I said, “In the big coat.” It was an easy choice.

“That's... an expensive ante,” Lucky said. He wasn't wrong. Buyers paid a premium for innocence. The rest of the girls had some miles on them, but not her. She had clear skin and hair. Sure she was high, yeah, they all were, but she didn't wear
junkie
as well as the others. Of all the girls, winning her would sting Lucky the most.

I convinced myself that was the whole reason I chose her.

“What's in it for me?” Lucky asked.

“My bike.”

“Goddammit, Ronin!” Repo protested.

“Girl like her is worth thirty thousand. I want both bikes.”

“Nope, I'm leaving,” Repo said. “You're on your own, Ronin. Try not to get yourself killed.” He pulled out his phone, no doubt to call Remy, and left the brothel.

Lucky chuckled. “Looks like you're going to have to pick something else.”

I shook my head, peering over my shoulder like I could see my vehicle through the wall. “My bike is fully loaded, valued at over twenty-thousand
and
I’m a nomad. If you win, I'm not just out a bike, but a club membership.” My teeth flashed. “Can't be in a motorcycle club without a motorcycle.”

Lucky thought on it and smiled. “Okay, but we're playing Blackjack instead. Two out of three.”

Blackjack, to me, was probably the game that was the hardest to manipulate. There was little in the way of long game tactics. In one or two hands it was hard to bluff or even gauge your opponent.

I was up for the challenge. I lifted my eyebrows in an expression that said to
bring it on
.

This was the closest I’d ever been to wagering my life on a game. Without my bike, I was nothing. And for what, some girl I'd never met? Or because my pride wouldn't let me walk away without hurting this guy?

Funny... riding over here today, I thought this assignment was going to be dull.

“Bring her in.” Lucky waved his guys over. There was no more reason to keep them hidden, I was outnumbered and alone. One of his bikers grabbed the prize by her hair and roughly pulled her into the room. “What's your name, bitch?”

“Screw you!” she blurted out, wobbling on her feet and scratching at the hands that held her.

“Alright! We got ourselves a lively one here! Those are my favorite.” Lucky snorted, then the mirth fled from his tone as he leaned in to taunt me. “After I take your bike, I think I'm going to bring her outside, bend her over your seat and...
test
the merchandise.”

I didn't flinch. “You going to deal at some point?”

“Did I strike a nerve?” Lucky asked, feigning innocence. He dealt the cards out onto the small table between us.

My smile was brazen. “I'll let you know when you do.”

In Blackjack, the goal is to get your hand's value as close to twenty-one as possible without busting by going over. I typically held at sixteen or seventeen if possible and tried to bluff my opponent into playing more cards.

Tapping his cards, Lucky asked, “You know why they call me Lucky?”

“I'm guessing it's because they can't call you handsome. Deal.”

The first game was over in a heartbeat. I'd lost by two points. It was almost like he could see my cards. I wasn't a sore loser, but something seemed very off about all this.

That's when I felt the slight scratches on the back corner of my cards. This motherfucker was playing with a marked deck,
that's
why he was so boastful! For all his gambling renown, Lucky was just another cheating thug.

You mark a deck by scratching small subtle numbers and letters into the back top and bottom corners of each card. Those symbols nearly get lost in the existing designs from the manufacturer. They're incredibly hard to spot by the untrained eye. They denote what the card is.

However, it only works if you mark
all
the cards and the other player is oblivious. Unfortunately for Lucky, I now knew where to look on his cards to see what he had. He was about to try a little of his own poison.

“I'm sorry, did I win too fast? I'll try to fuck you a little slower next round.” Lucky's patronizing syllables dripped with smugness. The cards flipped and blurred as he shuffled the deck. It was all very impressive, but ultimately complete bullshit.

“You're too kind. I'll raise you four hundred. That is, if you've got the balls for it.”

Lucky smiled. “Who am I to stand between an idiot and his finances. You're on.” He laughed. “Boy, you're going to be walking out of here naked.”

I adjusted my grip so as to hide the symbols on my cards, keeping on like I didn't know about the marks. “Nah, I just needed to knock the rust off. I think I'm about to hit my stride.”

The second game was just as fast but this time...
I
won.

Lucky sobered up real quick. Watching the anxiety seep in was beautiful. Lucky took on a much more serious tone, seeing through my obliviousness ploy. He wasn't a stupid man, he knew right away that he'd been had, but he also knew he couldn't dare call me out on it without implicating himself as well.

“Double or nothing?” I asked coyly.

He stayed uncharacteristically quiet, did a quick frill-less shuffle and dealt the cards. With both our hands properly covered, no one had an inherent advantage. It just came down to luck.

“Nineteen,” he called out, flipping his cards over.

“Damn. So close...” I cast a dour expression, looking down slightly. I waited until hope made its way across his features before I flipped my final card and stole the win. “Is that twenty? Well, I'll be damned. Maybe you should call
me
Lucky.”

“Funny,” Lucky said slowly, building to a boil. He'd finally realized just how much he'd lost. When the stillness broke, it popped like a ruptured gasket. He swiped all the cards off the table.

“Whoa there!” I put my hands up to calm the situation. “Don't tell me that you're a bad loser? Flaws aren't like those fancy spoons in tourist trap gift shops, you don't
have
to collect them all.”

His frustration and rage peaked, turning his face red. I'd hit Lucky's hard line. He sprang into action, reaching for the gun in the holster on his hip.

With only the small table between us, he was close enough that I was able to throw my whole body into a right cross before he could even unsnap the strap that secured his weapon. One heavy blow and Lucky dropped like a lumpy bag of sand.

Acting on impulse, I leaped over the table and followed Lucky to the floor. There were three other guys around me, not counting the fat guy in the suit; they'd be on me in seconds. I had to think fast.

Unsnapping the strap on his holster, I drew Lucky's gun. I didn't have to turn around to know that the other men were doing the same with theirs.

“Stop,” I replied, jamming the metal tip into the side of their pres's head.

They yelled at me in turn, all saying roughly the same thing.
Let him go
,
drop the gun
, and on and on.

For as much as he probably deserved it, if I wanted to actually walk out of here, then killing Lucky was unfortunately off the table. With Lucky dead, the Knights would just promote their vice president and I'd
still
be dead. I had to improvise.

I quickly removed the gun from his forehead and rammed it into Lucky's groin. The unconscious body shifted from the impact but astonishingly, Lucky didn't wake up. I was impressed at the number I'd done on him with that punch.

“Listen up!” I cried. “One way or another, your pres is going to survive this and his balls are going to hurt something fierce. You'll be the ones to explain to him exactly what happened. From what I see, you got two options. One, shoot me and pray that before I die, I don't turn his cock and balls into a chunky red paste. Or two, you do what I say and because of that, although sore, Lucky's tiny dick will be unsatisfying women and farm animals for decades to come. So let me ask you, which conversation would you like to have with your boss when he wakes up?”

No one moved as the men argued amongst themselves. There were at least a dozen onlookers waiting to see how this would turn out. The tension in the brothel blanketed everyone like a thick coat of oil.

The girl they'd brought over earlier was slumped against the wall, putting as much distance between her and everyone as possible. I figured she was trying to avoid unwanted attention. I winked at her in an attempt to assure her it would all be over soon.

One way or another... it would be.

“Fine.” The Serbian motioned to the bikers to lower their guns. “Get the fuck outta here, but you'd better know—”

I fired the gun into the polished floor an inch beneath Lucky's crotch. Everyone jumped. Startled gasps rang out through our audience. The bikers raised their guns again.

“Oh, I'm sorry, did you think you were setting the terms?” I asked. I knew the second I got up they were planning on shooting me. I had to remove that temptation. “You're going to pop your magazines, thumb out all your rounds onto the floor, then you're going to toss your pistols to the other side of the stairwell.”

They hesitated.

I dug the gun deeper and said, “Let's go gentlemen, your boss is a busy man. He doesn't have all day.”

When their bullets and guns bounced across the wooden floorboards, I got up, then dropped back down and reached into the back of Lucky's pants. The bikers regarded me cautiously.

“What are you—” the Serbian began to ask.

I pulled out Lucky's wallet and fished out the cash he had on him. “What? I did win that game.” Lucky, that fucking liar, had only had three hundred on him. He probably didn't think he could lose, so what did it matter?

Whatever, three hundred was better than nothing.

Being that I was the only one in the building with a loaded gun, no one attempted to threaten or stop me on the way out. I was just about to push open the front doors when I heard the sergeant-at-arms threaten the girl in the big coat.

“The fuck are you standing around for? Get back in line.” The Serbian slapped her to the ground, then jerked the girl up to her knees and started dragging her back to the other girls that were still lined up.

When adrenaline kicks in, tunnel vision takes over. After the game, I'd been so focused on getting out of the situation that I’d forgotten all about my original prize.

My hand lingered on the gaudy, gold-painted door handle. None of those girls belonged here, but the redhead even less so. A really stupid idea flashed across my mind, one that I had too much trouble shaking.

I should take her with me.

I wasn't thinking straight earlier. Once I found out about what this place was, this uncontrollable urge came over me. I needed to punish the guy in charge, so I'd done what I always did and just rushed into the thick, regardless of the consequences. I never, for one second, gave a thought to what I'd do
after
I won her.

You're no hero, just leave, dammit!

I told myself to push the door open and walk away, like I'd done countless times before. Being in an MC for as long as I had, I'd seen awful things. I'd come to terms with the fact that some situations, like human trafficking rings, were beyond my ability to fix.

It was fucked up, and our club was openly against it, but there was nothing I could do. I wasn't equipped to deal with the sins of the world. To stay sane, sometimes all you could do was put it all behind you and drown your conscience in drugs and distractions.