Betting the Moon: Cannon Pack, Book 4 (4 page)

A young man named Steve Tilly took the chair on the other side of her and gave her a quick handshake. His sweaty hand gripped hers, and she had to resist the urge to pull away and wipe her palm on her skirt. If he was nervous already, he wouldn’t last long. Nonetheless, making it to the finals was a credit to his skills. Mari smiled a greeting and tried to recall how many online tournament wins it had taken the boy to earn his entry ticket.

Two more players, Ari Fleishman and Ramona Ray, joined the table, taking their respective seats while they chatted. Mari wiggled her fingers at Ramona, giving the other woman player a “well done” look for making it to the finals.

Charles “Judge” Bean, a retired lawyer nicknamed after the famous Old West judge, slid into the spot next to Mari and patted her on the shoulder. She asked after his wife and was about to inquire about his oldest son graduating from Harvard when another young player sporting a peach-fuzz beard flopped onto the chair next to Tucker.

“Hey, dude. You’re Tucker Manning, aren’t you? Good to meet ya. I’m Percy Billan.” Peach Fuzz grinned at Tucker as though he were a superhero. “I’m a big fan, dude.”

Mari rolled her lips under to keep a giggle from surfacing. The poor kid didn’t realize he’d end up with a nickname of either Dude, or worse yet, Peach Fuzz. Of course, with a name like Percy a nickname might not be so bad.

Tucker thanked him, appearing self-conscious and slightly annoyed at Peach Fuzz’s exuberance. Tucker’s introductions of the others were accented with exclamations of “wow” and “awesome” from the excited newcomer. Tucker rolled his eyes at Mari, but even his silly gesture couldn’t detract from his sexiness.

He doesn’t matter. Repeat, repeat and then repeat again until you believe it.

The memory of Tucker’s tongue in her mouth, then trailing along her breasts to lick her nipples brought a slow inhale, along with a heavy dose of anger. Did he think she’d forgiven him? If so, he was crazier than she thought. Mari glared at him, but he was looking past her. Miffed by his inattention, she thrust out her chin and turned to see what had him so captivated.

Ty Bascom, winner of the past two years’ tournaments, tipped his black cowboy hat toward the audience then at the other players before finally taking his place at one end of the oval table. She studied him, taking in his lean form, the black silk shirt that looked as though it shimmered with a life all its own, and the bolo necktie hanging loosely around his neck. Long, black hair rested against gaunt cheekbones accented by a hawk-like nose, thin lips and dark sunglasses. Yet it wasn’t his appearance that captured her attention.

Mari shifted in her chair. The man might not be ruggedly handsome like Tucker, but he had a chilling appeal. Emphasis on the chilling part.

“Hello.” The voice, melodic and compelling, spoke of darkness and mystery.

Everyone returned his greeting, but Mari couldn’t get a word out. Although he had a magnetic pull she couldn’t explain, he radiated a bad vibe, almost as though he were the Grim Reaper ready to snatch her life away. She frowned, not caring when he saw her reaction. Almost by instinct, she recited a protection spell, lifting an invisible barrier around her.

Bascom reached for his bolo tie and adjusted it. Long, manicured nails made Mari cringe. “I do hope everyone is ready to lose.”

If anyone else had made the comment, good-natured bantering would have ensued. Instead, they ignored him, taking their time instead to put their chips into short towers.

“What, pray tell, is the matter?” His thick Southern accent, along with his formal, old-fashioned manner of speech might’ve been charming coming from another man.

“I guess they didn’t appreciate the joke, dude.” Amazingly, the young man didn’t fawn over the champion as he had the other players.

Bascom removed his sunglasses and stared at Peach Fuzz. Eyes, so light they almost looked silver, glittered with a coldness that made Mari shiver.

“I was not joking…
dude
.”

To his credit, Peach Fuzz tried to hold Bascom’s stare, but it wasn’t long before he ducked his head, breaking contact. Tucker, on the other hand, didn’t have any problem standing up to him.

“Leave the kid alone, Bascom.”

Bascom slid on the sunglasses, then tilted his head at Tucker. “And who, may I ask, are you? His father, perhaps?”

The joke earned a few chuckles, including Tucker’s. “Well, now, with my randy past starting at a very tender age, I can’t be certain, but I’m going to guess I’m not his dad. The name’s Tucker Manning. Remember it so you can read it on the check they’ll hand me once I’ve played your ass under the table.”

The electric current passing between the two men made the hair on Mari’s arms stand on end. She studied them and noted each man’s dangerous countenance. The revolting sensation she always felt whenever Bascom was in the room overwhelmed her and, for a moment, she had to grip the arms of her chair until the dizziness passed. Behind the dizziness and revulsion came power, dark and vile, rolling off him in waves. What the hell was he? Why hadn’t she felt it before? Was the power the cause for her revulsion toward him? Maybe if she’d gotten closer before now, she would’ve sensed the evil seeping from him. She dragged in a long, slow breath, closed her eyes and willed herself to fight it off.

Needing to concentrate on anything besides Bascom, she centered her attention on Tucker. What was Tucker? His power, dark yet different from Bascom’s, sifted toward her. He didn’t make her feel sick to her stomach like the champion did. Instead, his darkness was tempered by another side. A side that told her she could trust him.

Worry worked its way into her, stiffening her spine and making her bite her lower lip. Tucker caught her nervous habit, yet instead of shooting her a knowing smirk, he glanced at Bascom, then nodded toward the exit and arched an eyebrow, asking her to meet with him during the first break. Mari stopped biting her lip and gave a nod she hoped no one else would notice.

The announcer began the tournament, his loud voice booming over the sound system. Jolted from her thoughts, Mari gave the audience a half-wave when he introduced her. She even managed to force a small smile as the camera swiveled in her direction, keeping the cool outward appearance needed in a competition. Inside, however, she fought to stay in control.

Chapter Three

Game Play of the Supernatural Kind

Mari studied the interaction between Bascom and Ramona, and sent another silent message of encouragement to her friend. Not that her encouragement had done any of the others any good. One by one, the reigning champion had defeated four of the eight players, leaving Mari, Tucker, Ramona and Judge Bean. Poor Peach Fuzz had folded quickly and left the game in the first hour. Steve, Bob and Ari had given Bascom a fight for the chip lead but had soon walked out the door, too. In fact, the game had gone surprisingly fast, considering the competitors were the best in the world.

Mari checked Tucker, who leaned back in his chair, obviously expecting Ramona to lose the hand and go out in fifth place. Tucker, who still maintained his easygoing attitude, toyed with his chips, picking up four or five of them, then dropping them to the table, only to stack them up again. Having studied him for a while, however, Mari was fairly certain his nonchalance was only skin-deep. In fact, judging from the way he kept glancing at her, he was having the same problem she was. How was Bascom winning so easily?

Bascom was cheating. Of that much she was sure. Plus, she had a gut feeling he was using supernatural powers to win. But she still couldn’t figure out exactly what he was even though the repulsion she felt whenever she saw him had diminished. She stared at him, intent on discovering his secret. He didn’t have the look of a warlock or a sorcerer. Besides, she hadn’t heard of a practicing sorcerer in over a decade. No, he had a different kind of power.

She sighed, letting her frustration show. Tucker caught the sound and flashed his dimples at her. She shrugged her shoulders in the slightest possible way, then nodded toward the champion who hadn’t looked at his cards for several minutes. Instead, he’d kept his focus centered on Ramona. Tucker made a face as if to say, “I don’t get it either, but be careful.”

What does he think I’ve been doing?

She had to give it to Ramona. A lesser player would’ve lost her chips by now, but Ramona kept coming back, winning then losing only to win enough to stay alive. She’d never taken the chip lead from Bascom, but she was hanging on. In fact, she was hanging on enough that Bascom’s mouth had thinned even more, showing a rare sign of irritation.

Come on, Ramona. Don’t let him take you out.
Mari wished she could raise a cheer for her fellow lady at the table, but she knew better than to openly take sides.

Mari leaned backward, stretching her spine, when suddenly the champion did something he hadn’t done during the game. Slowly, almost seductively, he slid off his sunglasses.

Gone were the piercing silver eyes. Dark eyes, blacker than a moonless night, swept over her on their way back to Ramona. A cold chill blew through Mari, freezing her to the bone. Her teeth chattered from the biting temperature, and she crossed her arms, suddenly more frightened than she’d ever been. She willed herself to keep breathing and gripped the arms of her chair as though she’d float away if she didn’t have something to cling to.

When the cold finally subsided, she looked at Tucker, knowing her fear showed on her face and not caring. She found him searching her, alarm hardening his features. He mouthed the words “Are you all right?” and somehow she managed to nod. The tension in his face eased a bit, and he turned toward Ramona, drawing Mari’s attention along with him.

Holy hell.

Mari’s mouth fell open as she stared at Ramona. Ramona’s eyes were glazed over and her expression was slack. A thin line of perspiration glistened above her upper lip. The woman stared straight at Bascom, ignoring everything around her.

What had he done to her?

Although Mari had no evidence to think Bascom had done anything, she knew with an overwhelming certainty that the strange man had taken control of Ramona. Was her friend under the grip of the freezing wind? Mari pulled her chair closer to the table, bent forward and whispered to Ramona.

“Ramona? Ramona, do you hear me? Are you okay?”

“Is there something wrong?” The dealer’s gaze darted between Ramona and her supervisor, who stood nearby. However, neither seemed willing to intervene.

“Do you think maybe she’s had a stroke?” Judge Bean’s voice had never sounded so weak. Was he affected, too?

“Calm yourselves, my friends. She is fine.” Bascom smiled at them but his gesture had no warmth behind it.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Tucker lowered his tone, but the strength behind his words didn’t falter.

“As I already said. She is fine.” Bascom narrowed his eyes and hissed, “Ramona, my love, what are you going to do? Are you going to play? Or will you fold?” Although his voice came out in a hiss, the strange mix of melodious tones and underlying power remained.

Bascom’s questions sounded more like demands for Ramona to follow his lead. Mari racked her brain and tried to come up with a way to change the situation but couldn’t. Unless she used magic. She bit her lip and wrestled with her promise to never use her powers during a game. Would helping Ramona be worth violating her promise? Before she could decide, Ramona made her move, betting all her chips.

Tucker cursed under his breath, putting Mari’s own reaction into words. Although she didn’t have a clue what Ramona’s cards were, she had a horrible feeling that Ramona had made the worst move of her professional career.

The hand was over in a flash, leaving Ramona without any chips. Ramona stood, her limbs shaking so hard that Tucker rushed around the table to come to her aid. Glaring at the smug champion, he escorted Ramona to the sidelines and into the arms of her anxious husband, then helped them walk toward an exit.

“What’s going on here?” Judge Bean flattened his hands on the tabletop and searched Mari, then Bascom. “She just blew her game out of the water, but I don’t think she even knew what she was doing.”

Bascom turned toward the older man. “Ya win some, ya lose some, dude.” His imitation of Peach Fuzz was perfect. “Surely you have heard the saying before. Have you not, old man?”

“Who you calling an old man?” Judge Bean’s face grew splotchy as he snarled at Bascom. Cameramen and commentators moved closer, hoping to get a closer look at the confrontation.

Mari laid her hand on Judge Bean’s arm and whispered, “Take it easy. The world’s watching.”

Bascom’s caustic laughter surrounded them as though it were a living thing that could crush their spirits. “I feel I must ask. Are you losing your hearing, Judge? Did you not hear me? I am calling you an old man. No, wait. I am in error.” He flattened his palm over his heart. “Please do forgive me. I misspoke. You are not an old man.” Bascom pushed forward and glowered at the older man.

Mari gasped at the black fury, the utter hatred she saw in his eyes. What the hell was Bascom that he could summon such power and evil? Panic shuddered into her, and she let go of Judge Bean’s arm.

“Be careful.” Yet she doubted her friend heard her whisper.

“That’s more like it,” Judge Bean sneered, but his voice wavered.

The champion sneered. “Look at me, Judge.” He narrowed his eyes, a surge of electricity sparking in them. Judge Bean did as he was commanded. “You are not simply an old man.” Bascom lowered his voice and added another sneer. “You are an old. Fat. Fart.”