Riding Dirty (3 page)

Bronson Ramsey could still feel his knuckles tingling from the fight as he pulled his Harley to the curb at the Encore an hour later. He was invigorated, alive, and ready for a stiff drink. Jerry was the only valet he trusted with his bike and he tossed him the keys with a nod before rolling into the cool blast of air from the massive, elaborate hotel lobby. A concierge met him and ushered him towards the Sky Casino. Ramsey followed.

He was wearing his black leather riding pants and a vest to match, no shirt, and sensed the eyes of every woman and man on his bulging chest and biceps as he passed. The corner of his mouth turned up and he winked at a redhead in a white sequin dress.

Maybe being Joey Auditore’s pet fighter might have its perks, after all.

Bronson arrived in the high stakes room to an eruption of applause from all corners: cigar smoking patrons, leggy cocktail servers, and bow-tied dealers alike swept to their feet and turned to cheer for him. Some joker switched the music to play the Rocky theme song. Bronson waved and smiled, settling in his place at the Texas hold’em table with Cosmo and Joey and their well endowed arm pieces. The girls were all hands.

A suited floor manager approached to personally deliver a bottle of champagne. “Our finest for the new Ultimate Fighting Champion,” he cooed. “On the house. Congratulations, Mr. Ramsey! A stunning knock-out!”

Cosmo raised a glass. “To our dark horse. Ramsey!”
“To Ramsey!”

“Thank you,” Bronson swallowed his entire flute of champagne in one gulp. When he came up for air, he found all eyes on him. Speech time. “It’s a special occasion, and there’s a certain tradition I like to observe when I celebrate.” He raised the empty glass high, and with a flourish tossed it hard against the edge of the poker table. It splintered into sparkling fragments with a crackle.

“Opa!” Shouted Joey, laughing.

“You don’t become the champion by playing safe. Go big or go home, right?” Ramsey stood, nabbed the bottle of champagne, and chugged what remained of it to the laughter of his audience. When it was gone he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When I celebrate, I like to do it right. Now bring out the hard stuff!”

Cosmo laughed and motioned to the cocktail waitress. She knew the drill and returned a moment later with a bottle of Jameson. “Set my friend up, dealer, if you please.” Cosmo kept his eyes on the blonde as she worked. “Ramsey, meet the lovely Miss Rowan Thomas, our newest acquisition at the Sky Casino. Remind me to give the human resources department a raise. Look at those tits! Makes me hard. Rumor has it she’s a virgin. I’ll be keeping this one close.”

Cosmo signed a slip and handed it over to the dealer. The girl glanced from him to Bronson, a flicker of something flashing in her eyes. Bronson held her steady gaze and felt a wave of curiosity. What was that look she gave him? Something about her piqued his interest but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She was drop dead gorgeous in a wholesome heartland way, with high cheekbones and full pink lips. He could almost smell the apple pie and he liked the firm, petite curves he saw under that skimpy mock tuxedo the casino had her in. Not his usual rough and ready type, there was something different. He could almost place it.

Rowan caught herself staring back at the newcomer. Rallying, she offered Bronson a reserved, professional smile. He sensed the clear act of dismissal and made a mental note to rise to the challenge.

Rowan signaled and an attendant arrived with a towering tray of chips.

Cosmo slapped Bronson on the back. “A token of esteem,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

Bronson raised an eyebrow. Buying him in to a $30,000 game gave him an indication of just how much the Cosmo had made on bets in addition to pocketing his prize money tonight. His pride prickled.
Damn those manipulative fuckers.
No doubt tossing him this bone was supposed to make him grateful. He clenched a fist under the table. Shit. He sure could use a winning streak, though. This was not the time for anger. Bronson grinned and punched Cosmo’s arm, friendly like. “I always enjoy myself.”

The first few games, Bronson cleaned house. The whiskey and cigars kept coming and the talk got freer while a rotation of escorts ensured that Bronson’s shoulders never got cold. His chips stacked higher and the crowd thinned out.

Rowan proved an able hostess, keeping the game just challenging enough. Somewhere around the fourth bottle of whiskey for the group the ancillary players and spectators checked out, leaving Bronson with only the Auditore brothers to fleece.

“More of the same, boys?”

Bronson again caught something vivid in Rowan’s eyes before she replaced her mask. He allowed himself a long, covetous look at her cleavage. “I wouldn’t mind mixing it up, gorgeous.” Leaning back in his chair, he enjoyed watching the slight flush of pink rise in her cheeks as she averted her eyes from his exposed abs. “I’ve been on a steady diet of brunettes and I could use a cheat day with some lighter fare.”

Joey laughed.

“Really.” Rowan stopped shuffling. “Seems like you had quite a smorgasbord going on this evening. How hungry could you possibly be?”

“Starved.”

Rowan looked Bronson full in the face now, and he realized what was different about her; he couldn’t read her. Her youthful, All-American face was locked with a timeless, sphinx-like detachment. She was a scantily clad and unapproachable enigma. He felt like he was looking at an eclipse.

Rowan understood the power dynamics of the group and turned to Cosmo. “And you? Getting three squares a day or still looking for satisfaction?”

Puffing out a cloud of smoke, Cosmo pressed his lips together and shook his head. “My dear,” he said, “I try and I try and I try, but I can’t get no—”

“Maybe we’ve been playing the wrong game, gentlemen. If you will permit me, I’ve got a suggestion.” She looked around and leaned in conspiratorially. “This is the last game I deal before my shift ends. Let’s bend the rules a little bit, shall we? It being a special occasion and all, I’d hate to miss an opportunity to really raise the stakes. Why don’t you play me instead of playing the house? Just for fun. Hmm…I guess I’ll have to bet something besides money.”

Joey stroked his chin, eyes half-lidded. “What did you have in mind?”

“Come closer.” All three of the men were pulled in to her gravity in spite of themselves, sprawling across the table to hear her lowered voice. “Let’s make it interesting. You can bet your chips; I will bet my body. Winner takes all.”

The three of them chuckled like teenagers.

“Really,” she purred, her cool confidence sending chills down Bronson’s spine. “If any of you can beat me at this game, I will spend the night with you. Don’t get too excited, though. You can’t beat me.”

“You’re on!” Bronson shook her hand. Her skin was smooth as butter. He wouldn’t mind licking it. “But I have to warn you, you don’t know how motivated I am.”

“Fuck yeah, me too.” Cosmo took and kissed Rowan’s hand. “We should have been playing this game all along.”

The game went fast, cards and chips shuffling around the table with urgent intensity. Joey folded at the turn, leaving only Bronson and Cosmo to face off. Bronson knew it wasn’t smart beating Cosmo. It would piss him off. But Bronson was never one to put on the brakes, and recklessly pushed all his chips in. Cosmo matched him, and waited for Rowan to show her cards. When she did, Cosmo groaned.

“The lady escapes me once again! You’re breaking my heart babycakes. Let’s see it, Ramsey.”

Bronson laid out his hand. It was four of a kind: aces.

“And he twists the knife!” Cosmo clutched his chest and pretended to die.

Rowan blinked at Bronson. He tried to decipher any response under her stoic look.

“We have a winner,” she said. Bronson thought he heard her voice tremble.

“You son of a bitch,” chuckled Joey. “I guess it’s your turn to be king for a day. Go ahead, you earned it. Don’t get too used to this.”

The men stood and shook hands. Cosmo turned to Rowan. “Go ahead,” he said. “We’re done playing, go ahead and change.”

Rowan took a deep breath and tried to quiet her nerves. “Guess this is your lucky night, Mr. Ramsey.”

He grinned, dimples revealed. “Looks like it’s about to get a whole lot luckier.”

“Shit!”
Rowan almost hyperventilated when she crashed into Bronson waiting for her outside the staff exit. His arm encircled her waist and pulled her up close and personal. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. Her pulse hammered in her throat. Trapped.

She felt like a rat in a maze. How the hell had he figured out her escape route?

“Good to see you too,” said Bronson. “Going where I’m going?”

The neon lights cast a dizzying pattern over his bare chest. He didn’t budge, and watched her squirm with a smirk. The feel of his rock solid body was frightening. Rowan swallowed. “I was just– ”

“Trying to skip out on me. I know. Here.” He held out a bottle of bourbon. “Drink this. Takes the edge off.”

Fuming, Rowan accepted the bottle. “Fine. You got me.” She drank, the liquid burning her guts. Her eyes darted around the parking lot, checking that they were alone. Satisfied, she took one more swig. This was her last chance. With a grunt, she swung the bottle at Bronson’s head. He laughed and blocked her easily, closing his fingers around her wrist in an iron clasp.

“UFC champion, remember?” he said. “Forget it princess. You’re not giving me the slip. I won you and you’re coming with me, upstairs. Let’s go.”

Her face hot with shame, Rowan stumbled after her hulking captor as he led her back inside through the casino floor, into the elevator, and up to his VIP suite. As the door clicked shut behind them, Bronson pushed his conquest ahead. She tripped and landed on something soft with a gasp, her heart thudding.

Bronson flipped the light switch and a dim glow radiated from a clear glass chandelier overhead. Rowan scrambled to sit up, finding herself on a plush velvet couch in a luxurious sitting room. Bronson loomed in the hallway, his muscular body almost filling the frame.

“Here’s how this works, sweetheart.” He slowly removed his leather vest and let it drop to the floor. Her eyes were wide, a deer in the headlights. It made Bronson feel powerful to see his effect on her. “You placed a bet, and you lost. You created this situation. All I did was win, fair and square.”

“Fair and square?” Rowan jumped up from the couch and ran up to Bronson, pushing him. “We both know you cheated. You cheated! Where’d you get those aces? Not from me!”

Bronson laid a hand on his chest in mock surprise. “Me? Cheat?” He grabbed her upper arms with both hands to jerk her off her feet, holding her in the air in front of him. He brought his face close to hers, catching her scent with a thrill. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. God knows no one would blame me for going out of my way for a piece like you. Go ahead accuse me. Got any witnesses? I have some witnesses who heard your proposition. You could lose your job.”

Rowan felt her body go cold, furious. She kicked at his legs. “Are you threatening me?”

Bronson laughed and pinned her against the wall. She was even prettier when she was angry. “What’s your angle, blondie? Don’t you know you can’t tease a serious man? I don’t mind a little chase, but now it’s time for you to pay up.”

She looked up at him with a flood of feelings that he mistook for desire. He kissed her, his body searching hers like a question mark, feeling her out. They stumbled a step and landed, Rowan’s body fully pressed between Bronson and the wall. She could feel the length and breadth of his overpowering strength.

For a second Rowan went rigid, terrified. Bronson sensed it and softened his grip, letting his hands travel down to her waist, and he felt her respond. In spite of herself, Rowan found herself kissing him back. Chills went down her spine when his tongue dug aggressively under hers. She melded into his shape, her body seeking him almost against her will.

Bronson pulled back, panting and aroused, and looked down at her with a crooked grin. “So you’re not a sore loser after all.” He kissed her neck and let his hands slide up under her shirt, framing her ribcage. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin just under her breasts. “I’d say this was a win-win.”

Rowan gathered herself, forcing her breath to steady. “Please,” she managed, “Please…just…slow down.”

This was a new one. Bronson cocked his head to the side. “Alright, slowing. Permission to approach?”

Screwing her eyes tight shut, Rowan nodded. What was happening to her? From the moment she saw Bronson Ramsey in the casino tonight, her pulse had been faster and harder. Now his demanding kiss on her ear made her head spin. Heat was spreading between her legs, and she liked the touch of his rough hands almost as much as it scared her. He brushed her golden hair out of her face, tracing his fingers down her cheek, her throat, to her collarbone. When his hand reached the neckline of her shirt, she jumped.

“Easy, easy,” he whispered. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, his eyes piercing her as his other hand cupped her breast. She cried out. He silenced her with his tongue, pressing inside her mouth.

She recoiled slightly, the sense of resistance heightening his killer instincts. He used his hips to slam her back against the wall, delighted in her submission. He reached his hands back under her shirt, this time firmly closing around each of her breasts and rolling their softness in his fingers. She moaned, making his pulse quicken.

“Please,” she gasped. “Stop.”

He ripped her shirt off and threw it, thrusting his tongue back into her mouth as he flipped the hook for her bra and untangled it to the ground. He threaded his fingers through hers, pinning her arms up to the wall, leaning back to take a good look at her. He kept his hips firmly pressed against hers, letting her feel his full erection. She was perfect, slender but shapely. The contour of her waist hinted at womanly hips. His dick was throbbing. He couldn’t wait much longer.

“I’m going as slow as I can.” Bronson guided her hand down his pants, rubbing her hand on his shaft. “Consider it a compliment.” He bit her lip, sucked it, holding her hand on him until her grip tightened. He shuddered, forcing her to rub him harder. He was so ready for her crease, and he knew she could feel it. With a cry she broke her hand free.

“Come here.” He grabbed the front of her jeans with one hand, pressing his thumb down toward her pelvic bone, and steered her toward him. “I want to fuck you so hard,” he said, kissing her neck as he fumbled with her fly. “Let me. Let me fuck you.”

“Wait! Please,” she pushed away from him. “I- I need to get something from my purse. M-my diaphragm.”

“Make it fast.”

Bronson helped himself out of his pants. When he straightened, he was met with the sight of a topless, shaking Rowan pointing a gun at his chest. He stifled a laugh. Badly.

“What’s this?”

“My shirt. Give it to me.” Rowan’s voice was unsteady. Bronson raised his eyebrows but complied, tossing it at her. She caught it, holding it over her with her free hand like a shield. “Now, give me your winnings from tonight. I know you’ve got to have cash in here. Give it to me. All of it.”

Bronson couldn’t handle it, and burst out laughing until tears were in his eyes. “You’re sticking me up, huh? Shit.” Nope. He couldn’t hold it in. He was laughing again, doubled over.

Rowan would have been annoyed if she weren’t so distressed. “Hey! Shut up I’m serious, I will kill you if I have to! Give me your money. All of it motherfucker!”

Bronson raised his head and assessed her. He could see the desperation and fear, and reminded himself that even a ridiculous situation with a gun could turn ugly fast. He had seen it before. “You can’t possibly be serious, blondie, and I’ll tell you why. First of all, we’re in the fucking Encore. Fire a shot and there’ll be more security on your ass in ten seconds than lifers in a gangbang. Not to mention, being an asset of Cosmo’s, I’ve got my own personal watchdogs outside. Second point. I could rip that gun out of your hands and tear you to pieces in three ticks if I wanted.”

Rowan felt the blood draining from her head, her hands, and willed herself to stay with it.
This is for Lacy
, she reminded herself.
Everything for Lacy.

“Also,” said Bronson, “It might help to clarify the situation if I explain to you that I don’t actually have any money. Those guerillas you saw me with tonight have all my money. All I got are chips. Now, listen closely, because this is the final and most relevant point: the safety on your gun is on. You can’t shoot shit.”

Rowan glanced down at her weapon just long enough for Bronson to kick it out of her hands and snare her in a his merciless arms.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with guns?” Bronson whispered, playfully clicking his tongue. She collapsed against him, breaking down into sobs. “Jesus. Now she’s crying. Of course. Fuck.”

Not trusting to let go of Rowan just yet, Bronson awkwardly bent down to pick up the gun. He emptied the bullets, knocking out the chamber piece and dismantling the handle. When he was satisfied that the thing was safely disabled, he released his grip on Rowan. She tumbled to the floor, out cold. For a second, Bronson stared down at her, at a loss.

“Rowan?”

For a frantic moment he thought that he had somehow killed her. He checked her breath and realized she had only fainted.

This was definitely not the evening he had envisioned.

Carefully lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the king sized bed and laid her out. He ran and got a glass of water, returning just as she roused. She looked completely vulnerable stretched out on his bed like that, half naked, utterly defeated. He felt a strange sensation in his chest and cleared his throat.

“Water.” Bronson handed her the glass, turning his back as she drank. Now he was playing nursemaid. Fuck. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

Rowan had never felt more miserable in her life. Here she was with one shot to save her sister, and she was screwing it up. She might as well have stayed in Alabama.

“You want to tell me what the fuck that was all about?”

Rowan brought a trembling hand to wipe her eyes. She stared at Bronson’s back, knowing it was as solid as a prison wall. There was no way around him. “I…need money.”

Bronson glanced at her over his shoulder. “No shit, Sherlock. Join the club.”

“I know,” said Rowan. “I came to Vegas to make money, any way I can. I’ll do anything. Anything. I need it, I—” she paused, swallowing down tears. She did her best to return Bronson’s penetrating gaze. “My little sister is dying. She’s only fourteen god damn years old.”

Something in the tone of her voice told Bronson she was on the level. This explained her nerves, her gun, and her reserve. He nodded, motioning for her to continue.

“Congenital Hepatic Fibrosis. It’s genetic. Which means that our crappy parents, on top of the standard trailer park, alcoholic childhood package, gave her the worst body possible. If she doesn’t get a liver transplant she’ll be dead within the year. I thought, if I could just hustle the money…find a liver on the black market.” Rowan burst out laughing and shook her head, motioning at herself. “I mean, look at me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a criminal. You saw through me.”

Bronson shrugged. “You’re green.”

“Even if I could pull it off,” said Rowan, “It’ll take too long. But if I don’t try to do something, anything, I’ll go crazy. I’d never forgive myself. She doesn’t have anybody else.”

She knew it probably sounded like a line, but she couldn’t help that. It was the actual truth. Bronson could see her anxiety and grunted. Everybody had problems.

“Please, I’m sorry Bronson. I won’t do it ever again, I’ll go home tomorrow, please just don’t tell anybody what I did. If I go to jail, it’s over. Please let me off the hook this one time, please. I’ll—I’ll disappear. I’ll...please.”

He turned away, thinking.

“Please Bronson,” she whispered. “Help me out.”

“Relax, blondie. I’m not a rat.” Something Cosmo had said earlier was floating in his brain. “You really a virgin?”

Rowan pulled her legs into her chest, puzzled, scared. “What?”

“Cosmo said that. Rumor is you’re a virgin. Is that true?”

Rowan nodded.

Bronson stood up, studying her. Her body was amazing, contoured and young. At least, what he had seen of it. “Take off your pants.”

“No, please, Ramsey—”

“You heard me. Take ‘em off.” Trembling, Rowan obeyed, sliding them down over her feet. Bronson bit his lip. “God, you’re perfect. Those thighs.” He ran his hand along her legs, guiding them open, sending a shudder through her. She convulsed her thighs back together, fighting against him.

“Stop, please—”

“Listen princess, you want me to help you? You’re gonna have to help me too. Comprende? I’ve got to know what we’re working with here.”

Rowan whimpered, but stopped struggling. Bronson pushed her legs apart and sucked in his breath. What he saw was tight, fresh, beautiful, and so maddeningly close. What a day. He clenched his jaw and turned his face away.

“I have an idea,” he said. “Sit up.”

Rowan scrambled up and away from him, cowering in the corner of the bed.

“God, what? I’m not going to rape you. Jesus. Calm down and listen to me; you want a human liver on the black market, you’re gonna need a shit-ton of money. I might be able to help you get it, if we can agree on some terms here. Ok? Here’s the play.” Bronson stood and paced, the ideas flowing. “You were onto something here with this cock-tease racket, but your mistake was playing small and flying solo. So, we modify your original con. You cut down your hours as a dealer and enter the high-end escort business.”