Player: Stone Cold MC (11 page)

Rip ended up staying the night—not because we were suddenly all close because we were sleeping together and talking about dates, but because I felt bad to boot him out the door at this hour of the night.

From what I could tell, he lived in some scrappy motel on the other side of town. I wasn’t exactly living in the Ritz myself, but my house was more than big enough for the two of us…and I kind of liked having him around.

He got the couch though. There was no way he was going to sleep in bed with me, even if we were sleeping together. Continuous tense.

We weren’t that tight, and if I could help it, we would never be. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. My gambling habits left little space for someone of worth in my life, and I preferred to be on my own, unless it meant it was going to double my income.

Like with Rip.

Although it was debatable if that was going to be the case. He’d had a good night and all, but seventeen and a half after our payments and splitting it? It seemed meager.

It was a case of put-your-money-where-your-mouth-is…and so far he was telling rather than showing.

But either way, that was how he ended up at my breakfast table again, not even twelve hours after he’d been there last. He was already up and rummaging in my fridge by the time I stumbled out of bed.

My body was deliciously spent, and even though it had been short and sweet, the sex lingered like an echo between my legs.

When I saw him bent over in front of my fridge, memories of last came back to me and my body bloomed again, ready for round two.

Which wasn’t going to happen. One way to really curse a working relationship was to make sex a regular thing. It was a surefire way to mess up pretty much anything other than a romantic relationship.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He looked up as if I’d caught him red-handed, eyes wide and stepping back from the fridge like there was something wrong he could be doing in there.

“Nothing,” he said and scratched the back of his head. “I was looking for breakfast. I…ah… was thinking of making some for you. Us. You know, because you let me stay here.”

I smiled. That was very sweet of him.

“What were you thinking of making?”

He shrugged. “Eggs seemed a little redundant, but I can make a hell of a French toast sandwich. Eggy, but not too much. If you’d like? It’ll be like you haven’t tasted before.”

I nodded. “Sure,” I said. “Always nice when someone else is willing to do the work.

The roles from last night were reversed, as I took a seat at the table and he positioned himself in front of the counter. He broke four eggs in a bowl and mixed it up with a fork. He pushed it to the side and started making cheese and tomato sandwiches with fluffy white bread.

“I’m glad last night went well,” I said to break the silence.

“Better than it would have if you hadn’t trained me so well,” he said. I rolled my eyes at the flattery.

“This isn’t the kind of life most people just end up in though. You handle it like you’ve been doing it a while.”

Rip shrugged. “It’s really all I know. I’ve tried the corporate world and I’ve tried my own thing and none of it really stuck.” He shrugged again, and it made me think that he cared a lot more about what he was saying than he was trying to let on.

“Yeah, it didn’t really work for me either,” I said. I got up and got out two glasses, pouring us each orange juice. I put his glass next to him on the counter and returned to my seat with mine.

I watched what he was doing for a moment. He’d made the sandwiches and he’d put the whole thing in the egg mix for the bread to suck up. When he wanted to turn it, the tomato fell out, and he swore, pushing it back in with his fingers when it was turned, getting egg on himself. Such a man.

“How did you get into it?” I asked. I didn’t just want to break the silence; I was curious about who he was. Semi-housetrained with his cooking skills, good in bed, and not bad when it came to a lady, the gambling train was still one I couldn’t just picture him on without a bit of backstory.

“I started off as a cat burglar, actually. It’s a world removed from where I am now, obviously, but it worked for me back then. I got involved with a couple of guys who realized my talent—I was good at stealing shit—and it grew from there from a one-man act to something a little more organized.”

I raised my eyebrows. A cat burglar. Rip had the kind of looks that would make everyone look twice, women out of lust and men out of envy. He didn’t seem like the type to blend in, which was what I thought you needed as a burglar. It was what you needed as a gambler too, come to think of it. Standing out just didn’t fly too well when you were trying to get more money than was your due if you wanted to play by the rules of the unrealized American Dream.

“I’ve always been good at scamming. A club a lot like the Crucifix Six got ahold of me, and for a while, I was on their side, giving them what they wanted in return for what I needed. It paid the bills, and I met a few people along the way.”

He was quiet for a while, as if he was thinking about something. His shoulders curved forward, a picture of sadness as he fried the egg-soaked cheese and tomato sandwich in the pan.

“Anyway,” he carried on, squaring his shoulders as if he physically pushed the thoughts that hurt away. “It turned out they weren’t everything they made themselves out to be, and I ditched them. No time for that shit in my life.”

The words were bitter, and they carried a lot more history than I could figure out.

“I got into the gambling game because being a thief and a cheat isn’t that much different from the gambling scene we’re playing. It’s also a lot easier because it’s legal half of the way, which is more than burglary is.”

He shrugged again, that forced nonchalance, and flipped the first sandwich out on a plate. It smelled divine and my stomach rolled in response. He put the next oozing sandwich in the pan, and it made contact with a sizzle.

I got the feeling that he wasn’t telling me everything. Saying that it was a step up from thieving wasn’t exactly the reason you started gambling.

“Why did you start playing the tables?” I asked. I was interested in his story, and it had been so long that I’d been alone with my own backstory it was nice to hear someone else’s for a change.

He was quiet for just a split-second longer than was customary, and that made me think he wasn’t going to tell me the truth.

“Master of my own fate, and all that,” he said.

Which smelled like a lot of bullshit to me, but I didn’t say that. I wasn’t going to push where I wasn’t welcome. I didn’t know him well enough, and I didn’t want to force him to confide in me. Lovers confided in each other. We didn’t qualify. We were just fuck buddies.

Rip flipped the other sandwich out on the next plate and put the hot one in front of me. What a gentleman. I got up to get knives and forks and handed him a pair. When I cut the first piece and put it in my mouth I moaned.

“This is so good,” I said, mouth full of food. I’d never had anything like this. To me French toast needed syrup and bacon, not tomato and cheese. But damn. It was like the prefect mix between an omelet and a grilled sandwich. Perfect after-sex food.

We ate together in silence. After a while, Rip cleared his throat.

“So, how did you get into this?” he asked.

I shrugged. I wasn’t in the mood for my backstory, which made feel like asking him might have been cruel, but whatever.

“You know, you meet a guy, you do things you wouldn’t have done otherwise because you think it’s love, and the next thing you know, you don’t want to leave the habits you created even after you left the guy.”

Rip nodded and took another bite, and I wondered what was going on his mind. It had been the most condensed version of my life that I could give him. I’d called it a habit because I didn’t like thinking of it as an addiction, the way my sister did.

And it wasn’t exactly Tom who had gotten me into gambling. I’d been the one to push him to try it out, and it had been our thing, not because I loved him but because he’d loved me. But that was all too much detail to go into, and that version of the story just made me feel dirty and like a bad person.

I didn’t want to think about the fact that I made someone do something, I didn’t like to think I had a problem, and I didn’t like talking about my past.

And all of the above I could avoid by being on my own all the time. I played better that way, I lived better that way, and it was a perfect way not to get my heart broken.

I flipped that, too. I hadn’t left him; he’d left me. Because of the gambling… the money I’d lost until we’d hit rock bottom. I’d been a real party back then. A party where no one else was invited.

It was only after Tom had left that I’d learned to count. Not just to prove to the world that I wasn’t a complete fuck up, but to at least be able to look after myself. If you couldn’t cut an addiction, you made it work for you.

That didn’t make it any less of an addiction, but it was a hell of a good way to disguise it.

Rumor’s Lounge wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to visit all the time. It was too much of a scummy pub—even though the owners were high up in the ranks and had a lot of money. They had to have a bunch of money. I was bringing them so much money now, and that was just me. How many people did they have who also had to pay to be in the right circles?

And from what Alex had said, they had a lot of places all over the city.

When I walked in the white-suited lackey Harry against the far wall saw me straight away and nodded at me as if he’d been expecting me. I didn’t make an appointment before coming or anything, so I wondered what they would have done if I didn’t show up when they expected me to.

If they were anything like the Stone Cold Club, which I was more than willing to believe, they would send someone out to bust my kneecaps as a warning, and if I still didn’t show, they would come after me to retrieve the cash with a bullet.

Guys like those in the Crucifix Six and the Stone Cold Club had everything except a conscience. It was another reason I’d run away from them. Emmett was by far the biggest reason, but I couldn’t imagine being like any of those men. I couldn’t lose my heart.

It sounded pretty damn pansy-ass, but that was the truth—and I was going to stick to it. Emmett had had heart, and if there was anyone I wanted to be like, it was Emmett.

I followed Harry into the office where I’d spoken to Tucci the first time and put the black bag with his cut on the low table in front of him. He was sucking on a cigar that looked way too fat to be in a man’s mouth. Men just weren’t supposed to open their mouths that wide—leave it to the women.

“I hear that it went well,” he said, nodding at the bag. I rubbed my hands together now that they were empty.

“It did,” I said. I didn’t ask where he’d heard it. I didn’t doubt that he had his contacts with eyes on the games at all times. No doubt every small detail about my game had reached him long before Alex and I had even reached her home.

He leaned forward and opened the bag like the contents meant nothing to him, but the act wasn’t flawless. His eyes glittered with greed. He nodded when he’d glimpsed the notes and sniffed, leaning back again.

“I want you to meet someone,” he said. He nodded toward the door, which opened as if on cue. A man with a black suit walked in, and his presence filled the room until it spilled into the corners. His presence was bigger than he was, giving him the overall look of someone who towered over everyone else, but in actual fact he wasn’t much taller than I was.

He wore wraparound sunglasses even though he was inside, and that made me think either his eyes were extremely good, or extremely poor.

“This is Stanley Donal. Better known as Big Don.”

I could see why. I fought the urge to take a step back when he turned that face to me. The glasses made him look like some kind of killer.

“He’s my brother-in-law,” Tucci said. Right, one of the original brothers. He scared me. I would never marry into a family with men like that, but who was I to judge one of the kingpins of the city?

“Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. Big Don just looked at me, leaving my hand hanging in midair. After a moment, I pulled my hand back and stuffed it into my pants pocket instead.

“You’re the new rat,” he said. His voice was low and deep and almost as intimidating as his face was. If I heard it over the phone, I would still tremble.

“I am,” I said, not even bringing up that he called me a rat. I glanced down at his knuckles. He had L-A-S-T and S-H-O-T tattooed on his knuckles, and I wasn’t in a hurry to meet them.

He grunted and then turned his back on me, as if I wasn’t a threat at all, before sitting his ass in an armchair opposite Tucci. He dragged the bag of money closer and started unpacking the stacks, ready to count them. I would have preferred them to count it after I’d left.

“We have to makes sure we can trust you, you understand,” Tucci said, and it didn’t sound like a question. Of course that made sense, but I would really have had it otherwise.

With all the talk of contracts and finding me and killing me and all that, I didn’t doubt that Tucci was dangerous in his own right, but Big Don never had to brag about anything when he’d walked into the room. He said it all without opening his mouth, and that, to me, was the mark of a true killer.

There was an awkward silence as Big Don counted and Tucci puffed on his too-big cigar and Harry stood in the room as if he was merely ornamental.

The silence that stretched between the three of us was thick and heavy and filled with dread. I didn’t know what Big Don was going to say about the money, but he was counting it as if it was a huge deal.

And maybe it was, but it made me nervous. I’d pictured the whole drop off different in my mind.

“I want to thank you for the opportunity to play in the game,” I said. I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be proper. I was trying to get rid of the damn silence that was starting to suffocate me.

Tucci looked at me and nodded without saying anything. Big Don didn’t even bother looking up. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the silence falling back where it was like a heavy curtain.

After what felt like hours, Big Don finally stacked the money and carefully put it back in the bag. He handled the stuff as if it was precious, something I doubted I would ever get from him as a person. With him in the room, I got a distinct feeling that I was disposable, and it wasn’t a nice feeling.

Tucci and Big Don looked at each other as if they were communicating with their eyes or something.

“Where did you say you were from, Mr. Reeker?” Big Don finally asked me. Right. Ben Reeker. My alter ego. I had to keep reminding myself that around here I wasn’t Rip Peterson. I couldn’t afford to be.

I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. “I didn’t really say,” I said.

“Would you care to say now?” Big Don asked, but it wasn’t really as much a question as it was a command.

“I’m originally from Washington,” I said, making up facts on the spot, “but I’ve been all over. I’m really more of a nomad.”

Big Don nodded, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking with those black wraparounds on his face. It made me nervous. Maybe that was the point.

“I’ve never heard your name before,” he said.

I shrugged. I could make a cocky remark and tell him he would have if he was in the right circles, but being arrogant seemed a little detrimental to my health right now. I glanced down at his knuckles again.

“I don’t like you,” Big Don said. I glanced at Tucci who was grinning like an idiot around his cigar. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“What would I be lying about?” I asked. Other than my identity, where I’m from, what I do, and that I work alone, of course.

“I smell a rat. You waltz into my pub and worm your way into a high-ranking game, and then you have the nerve to sit here in my office and be nonchalant about it when there’s money missing?”

Blood drained from my face, and I prayed it didn’t show. I was still working on my poker face.

“It’s all there,” I said, and thankfully my voice sounded calm and steady. I wasn’t feeling calm and steady at all.

“Don’t fuck with me boy. I’m not the kind of person who allows second chances.”

I could believe that, but what the hell was his problem? Or did he just get off on people’s fear? Maybe he liked being the boss.

“The money is all there,” I said. That same calm cool that I didn’t feel. Point for me. Big Don just looked at me. For all I knew, he could be narrowing or rolling his eyes at me under to shades, but there was no way I was going to be able to figure that out. I looked right back at him.

We were caught in an immature little staring competition. Was it first one to blink loses?  He was cheating.

Finally Tucci cleared his throat, and I was the first to break eye contact. Or shades contact, as it were.

“We’ll be in touch, Ben,” he said to me, and I took it as a dismissal. I clapped my hands onto my knees and pushed myself up. I walked toward the door without glancing again at Mr. Sunglasses.

“I’m watching you, boy,” he said. I closed the door behind me and pretended I didn’t hear. For a money drop-off, that was a hell of a dramatic show. I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer, wondering if they could get me details for an electronic funds transfer so that I didn’t have to do that again. From what I could tell, this was going to be regular thing in the next couple of weeks, and I wasn’t in the mood to run into Big Don again anytime soon.

Just as I thought it, he appeared from the VIP room and took a seat next to me with one barstool open between us. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him. He ordered rum. We sat side by side, and the longer he sat there staring ahead, the smaller and more insignificant I felt.

I made quick work of my beer, left money on the counter to pay for it, and left the pub as quickly as I could. Big Don was damn intimidating.

The bright, fresh air outside was a welcome change to the dim stuffy atmosphere of the bar, and I took a deep breath. It smelled like the ocean. I hailed a cab and gave the address to get me back to the motel where I hadn’t been in a while.