Riding Dirty (2 page)

“Wouldn’t want to stain your silks, Cosmo,” he said. “Though I guess with my winnings tonight, I technically paid for them. You’re welcome.”

“Ramsey, my boy,” Cosmo Auditore was as smooth as he was dangerous, and Bronson checked himself. This was a fight he wasn’t in the mood for just yet. “You did great tonight, champ. We’re all very pleased. Right now you’re our best performing stock, and I foresee a profitable quarter ahead. Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up so we can celebrate properly? Together. We’ll be at the Encore, join us.”

Ramsey knew this wasn’t a suggestion. Right now, they owned him. It wasn’t a good feeling. When Cosmo paused at the door his younger brother Joey popped a bubble in his gum and leaned in. Too close.

“Oh, Ramsey,” said Joe, “A special treat for the champ, waiting inside. You’re welcome.” He jerked his head toward the next door and released a dirty chuckle.

Bronson painted on a smile and brushed past the goombah brothers with a bow. What he wouldn’t give to never see their faces again...

When he opened the next door he found Joey’s consolation prize; perched on the massage table, pert and naked and spread eagle, was an escort with a body that wouldn’t quit. Bronson recognized her as Sofia, one of his regulars. The swinging overhead light rocked in a tantalizing montage over her wide parted lips, cascading black hair, double-d breasts, and mile-long legs. Ramsey and Sofia went way, way back.

“To the victor the spoils,” she said.

“Don’t talk.”

Keyed up as he was from rattling his cage, Ramsey wouldn’t need much time. He snapped his fingers to dismiss his entourage. In a hot second his shorts were off and he was standing in between Sofia’s open legs. He buried his face in her breasts, biting down on her nipples, and heard her gasp. He hadn’t bothered to wash the blood off his hands. He grabbed her hips and yanked her to the edge of the tabletop in a sloppy, wet embrace. He squeezed her ample ass, releasing a guttural moan at its softness, rubbing his cock lengthwise along her waiting pussy.

She dug her nails desperately into his shoulders, grabbing for a handle, but nothing was safe. Bronson lifted her hips and slammed her back down. Right here, right now, he was the boss. He could be free. He could take it out on Sofia.

Sofia lost her hold on him and fell, crashing onto her back. He easily pinned her down with one arm grabbing and squeezing her breast while with the other hand he slid her pelvis back within reach. Bending over her, he bit and licked her breasts again and brought his hands to a light chokehold over her throat, feeling his own power with a rush.

“You want it?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Say please.”

He was rock hard, and teased her by rubbing the end of his shaft on her clit until she gasped. “Please.”

He stood up quickly, blood from his hands smearing across her collarbones, bringing her shoulders with him. Flipping her over to her stomach, he pulled her legs apart and thrust his dick in as hard and as deep as he could. He held himself there, burning, enjoying watching her squirm.

“Harder, baby,” she moaned.

“Shut up. Speak when spoken to.” He moved his hands to her hips, filling them with her flesh, watching her curves shudder as he penetrated her again, slower, angling her hips for more pressure. Her back arced in response. She cried out, clutching hard at the edge of the table and whipping her hair over her back.

Bronson didn’t care how she felt. He grabbed her hands and pinned them behind her back. Pulling his cock out halfway, his breath sped in anticipation, and he smacked her butt cheek hard. Harder. And again, harder. She sucked in her breath.

“Say you’re my slut,” he said, thrusting in hard and fast, one hand keeping her hands locked and the other steering her snatch to the right spot as he increased his tempo. “Say it!”

“Oh baby, I’m your slut, yes.”

“Louder.”

“I’m your slut!”

Ramsey accelerated, shoving himself again and again into her hot, wet body, feeling his energy building toward climax.

“Again!”

“I’m your slut! I love your cock, baby.”

He hit her again, letting the animal in him take over and ride her as hard as he wanted. He rolled her legs up onto the table and followed, straddling her doggy style. Her arms were pinned to her sides.

“You say what I tell you. Nothing else. You’re a dirty bitch slut. Say it.”

“I’m…your…dirty bitch slut! God, I’m your slut!”

“Yes! Say you want it harder.”

“Harder.”

“Louder!”

“Oh, God, Ramsey, harder!”

“Yes!” He pushed in deep and fast, the friction setting him on fire as orgasm ripped through his body. He bit down into her shoulder with his teeth, shot his load and collapsed, feeling her panting beneath him. He slapped her ass once more for good measure.

“Alright, slut. I’m finished. You can go now.”

The door closed behind Sofia, and Bronson was left alone to shower and clean up.

The sex had taken the edge of his nerves, and now he felt like he could play the part of a civilized professional fighter out on the town. He had made his deal with the devil and inwardly repented. There had to be a way out; he would just have to find it. And when he figured it out, the Auditore brothers would be the last ones to know their own heads were rolling.

He could do anything, damn it.

He was the champion.

“I’m glad you arranged this meeting, Miss Thomas, because I’ve also been wanting to talk to you. I’m concerned. Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Professor Weller motioned to a chair in front of his desk.

Rowan Thomas clutched her books protectively into her chest, took a deep breath, and moved to the proffered seat. This was going to be hard. She tried to brace herself, her blue eyes dutifully tracking her mentor as he sighed himself into his cushy leather. “Concerned sir? What about?”

Professor Weller shook his head as he shuffled through a stack of papers and folders on his desk. When he found the right file, he pulled out a long crisp page. Rowan could make out the Alabama State University crest at its top and swallowed. He flipped the paper around so Rowan could see. It was her official transcript.

“I’m concerned about this.” His finger tapped firmly on the column of spring semester grades, all B’s. “You’ve slipped from a 4.0 and only barely meet the minimum requirements to reapply for your fellowship in the fall. I know to an untrained eye a 3.0 doesn’t sound so bad, but frankly, your application for support next year is looking weak. You know and I know that Alabama State University doesn’t tend to award graduate fellowships to applicants who only meet the minimum requirements; we are looking for
exceptional
criteria—exceptional criteria, Miss Thomas. That is what you started with, and that is why I am concerned. 3.0 is the bare minimum requirement. You have almost a full ride and you’re blowing it. As your faculty advisor, I’m a bit stumped”

Rowan opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed it again.

Professor Weller watched her over his bifocals. The weight of the world was visible on her slender shoulders. She was one of the best and brightest in the program and he knew there had to be a simple explanation and, hopefully, a simple solution. “This isn’t like you. You entered the year strong and clearly motivated to distinguish yourself among your fellow Clinical Health Counseling Masters candidates. Your fall semester was top notch, your lab and research assistance impeccable. And then out of the blue beyond you started missing classes here and there. You’ve been asking for extensions on assignments. Someone told me you’ve taken an outside job as a dealer at the Indian casino?”

When she wouldn’t meet his eyes, Professor Weller scratched his white curls and folded his hands. “Rowan, you’re only one year away from graduation. Don’t slip now. I know this is the hard part, so I want to get to the bottom of this before it becomes a serious problem for you, given your financial situation with the University. Why don’t you tell me what is going on? Perhaps we can fix it together.”

Rowan knew he was only trying to help, but it was too late. Besides, he wasn’t God. There would be no miracles. Her mouth suddenly dry, the only reply Rowan could muster was to fish out the paperwork she had brought and lay it down on Professor Weller’s desk.

“What’s this?” He picked up the form and turned in his chair toward the light, pushing his glasses up his crinkled nose to read. “A request for a leave of absence?”

His dumbfounded face would have made Rowan smile if she wasn’t so stressed out. Taking a deep breath, she searched for a steady voice. “Yes, sir. Just for one academic year.” She could see his worry and shook her head. “Sir, please, I assure you I have every intention of completing the program. I’ll return after the year is up and put my nose right back to the grindstone, I swear it. Just, at this time, I think this is the wisest course for me. And…my family.”

This was the first time in their entire two years of closely working together that Rowan had even mentioned having a family, and Professor Weller was taken aback. For such a private young lady to reveal even so small a detail was significant. He cleared his throat and proceeded with caution.

“Miss Thomas, I don’t mean to pry, but, is your family supportive of this decision?”

Rowan’s chin lifted. “They aren’t aware. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. This is the right thing to do. Please, Professor Weller, I just need your signature right here.”

A brief staring contest left Professor Weller deflated. There was clearly no room for debate in Rowan’s fiercely determined face. Life happened, and timing was never perfect. Over the course of his long career, Professor Weller had learned that there was precious little he could do to give his students any real assistance in the dilemmas they had to face, no matter how much he wished he could. With a heavy heart, he signed Rowan’s leave of absence.

The paper lay heavily on the desk between them as they listened to the clock tick.

“Very well, Miss Thomas. I’ve granted this request for you in good faith and full expectation of seeing you back here next year to complete your studies and graduate. If you don’t return, I’m sending out a search party. On horseback, if necessary.”

Rowan summoned a grateful laugh before she snatched up the precious paper, folding it carefully into the manila envelope in her hand. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back. I promise.”

There was little else to say. Like the southern gentleman he was, Professor Weller stood to open the door for his protégé. Rowan paused on her way out and raised her eloquent eyes to his. He searched carefully for the right words.

“Please accept my best wishes for whatever is going on with your family,” he said. “And let us know if there’s anything we can do to help. Really.”

Rowan smiled tremulously and accepted his handshake. In his wrinkled, dark hands, hers looked like those of a small child.

“Thanks Professor Weller,” she whispered. “But there isn’t.”

This had been one of the hardest mornings of her life, which was saying a lot. Rowan made a beeline through the quad, ignoring the activity of the students playing Frisbee and lounging around her. A few minutes later her windows were down and she was merging her beat up brown bronco onto the 1-85 North. She could feel her hands shaking. This was it, the paper was in; no more school for a whole year. If she was lucky, she could pick up where she left off—if she could find the money.

Her eyes stung as she thought about it. Yet another postponed goal, yet another disappointment. She allowed herself five—well, ten—minutes to feel sorry for herself, and then turned up the radio. The Dixie Chicks were on and Rowan tried to hum along as she pulled into the Tallapoosa Lakes Golf Course. She parked in the Creek Casino Montgomery lot and locked up. All she had to do now was get through her shift. Time to focus.

She had barely taken a step away from her car when her phone rang. It was her mother’s ringtone, and she felt her stomach drop. She frantically dug the old flip-phone out of her purse.

“Results?” It was the most cordial greeting she could manage. She listened, and the parking lot seemed to melt under her feet. “What does that mean? Uh-huh.” Rowan slid down the side of her bronco until she was squatting against the tire, exhausted. She felt so small, so insignificant. “What, no Mom! We don’t have three years. What did her hepatologist say?” Rowan was standing bolt upright in an instant, her free hand clutching her stomach as if she’d been punched. Even to herself, her voice sounded shrill. “Does Lacy know?”

Everything spun. Rowan’s senses felt hyper-sharp, but at the same time, it was as if she was a mile under water. “Mom, I…I gotta go. Don’t tell Lacy yet. I’ll call you back after work.”

Rowan felt the life drain out of her. She wasn’t conscious of walking into the building, changing into her uniform, or clocking in, but somehow she did it. Her world was sideways and she had become a robot, automatically going through the motions. She was about to go out to the casino floor when the storm of solid warmth and blue eye shadow that was her co-worker Nila grabbed her arm and pulled her into the bathroom.

“Girl,” said Nila, “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

“What?”

Nila raised a matronly eyebrow and positioned Rowan in front of the mirror. “Look at you. We have to clean you up. You can’t deal looking like a factory accident. People come in here to have fun, maybe you’ve heard of it? Fun? I think I have a comb here somewhere.”

The mirror proved Nila was right. Mascara streaked down Rowan’s cheeks, and her wavy blonde hair was a mess of flyaway’s and knots. At the sight of her own weary reflection, Rowan felt herself losing control. Her facial muscles convulsed and tears streamed from her eyes. She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Hey!” Nila abandoned the search for a comb, catching her petite friend up in a fierce bear hug. “What’s this? You, crying in public—did hell freeze over? Hey, honey what’s the matter? You can tell me. It’s the sister isn’t it?”

Rowan sobbed miserably into Nila’s shoulder. “The tests came back. Lacy’s definitely in the early stages of liver failure.” Nila was the only person she had confided in, the only one who knew. It felt somehow good to say the words out loud to someone, to let it be real. “Oh Nila, it’s so unfair! What did she ever do to deserve this? The poor kid is fourteen. It should be
him
.” Rowan was instantly ashamed of the anger and hatred she felt, but she couldn’t for the life of her take it back. “It should be Dad.”

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

Rowan sighed and made a show of pulling herself together. “Medicaid will cover a liver transplant, but she’s so far down the waiting list there just isn’t time. Her doctor said her liver might have one year left, if we’re lucky.”

“Shit. How long is the wait for a new liver?”

“Three. Three years. Three! God damn it.” Rowan kicked the trashcan and disappeared into a toilet stall, re-emerging with a roll of toilet paper that she began to tear up and wipe her face with.

For a minute, Nila watched in silence. “You should tell Jason,” she finally said. “Get a few days off, go home. Be with your sister. You can’t help her or yourself right now by dealing cards. I’m not sure you can even deal cards right now. You’re pretty useless today sweetie. You are a hot mess.”

Nila’s directness and honesty were what had made Rowan trust her in the first place, and she laughed in spite of herself; this was a person who never said it was going to be okay when it wasn’t. She knew better.

Rowan blew her nose. “I can’t help her from that junkyard we call home, that’s for sure, but you’re right Nila. I can’t do anything from here, either. There isn’t a high-roller in Montgomery loaded enough to win me a second chance for Lacy.”

“Pfft, high rollers my ass. You have to be on the strip for that kind of game. What your sister needs is a miracle.”

Rowan didn’t believe in miracles. She’d never seen one. What Lacy needed was action, results! A light went off in Rowan’s head and she blinked at her friend in amazement.

“That’s it, Nila! You still have that cousin working as a dealer in Las Vegas?”

“Yeah, Chitto? He’s there. Why?”

Of course Rowan couldn’t help Lacy from Montgomery! It wasn’t the right town. But she
could
help Lacy. In fact, she was the only one who could. Her Dad was a deadbeat drunk and her mom was an idiot. A sweetheart, but an idiot. Rowan dug in her pocket for her phone.

“I need you to do me a huge favor, Nila, and I need you to do it now. Right now. I need you to call Chitto. I need his help getting a job. I need him to get me a job dealing in the high stakes room at a casino, and I need to crash on his couch for a while.”

“What are you talking about baby?”

“I’m going to Vegas.” Rowan held out the phone to Nila, but Nila only chuckled. “What? I have casino experience!”

Nila rolled her eyes. “Experience. You? Baby girl, Vegas is no Creek Casino. It’s not fat locals lining up for a buffet and a karaoke machine, and once in a while maybe a nice quiet poker tournament. God! It’s rough honey. Someone like you gets chewed up and spit out. High stakes people are different. You understand what I’m saying? You don’t know nothing about that world.”

But that was exactly the world Rowan needed, the people she needed. Experienced people. Rough people. People who lived on the other side off the law; people with more money than God and less morality than Satan.

Mafiosos and black-market brokers—they were the only people who could find a human liver for Lacy in less than one year—and those people were in Vegas.

“I know enough.” Rowan firmly placed her phone in Nila’s hand. “Vegas is what I need, and I need it real bad, Nila. Dial. Now.”

Nila saw Rowan’s seriousness and gave up. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Flipping open the phone, she punched in Chitto’s number.