Gambling with Gabriella (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 2) (4 page)

T
he underground poker
halls in Atlantic City look very much like the ones in New York. Same cheap furniture, same too-bright lighting. This room is in the back room of a non-descript Chinese restaurant. Every time someone opens the door, I smell fried rice.

Bulldog is huge. His bushy eyebrows come together in a frown as his gaze rests on me. “You’re the girl Sammy spoke of?” he asks suspiciously.

I nod.

“Can’t be too careful,” he grumbles. “The cops, the casino owners, everyone wants to shut me down.”

Ah. That explains the bad blood between Dominic and Bulldog. In New York City, there's no legal gambling, and for those of us that want to play, the only competition to the underground rooms are the online poker websites headquartered in the Caribbean. Here in Atlantic City, there’s a third option, and the casino owners will fight to protect their territory.

No wonder Dominic and Carter can’t come close.

I look around as unobtrusively as possible, my job in public relations helping me here. When you manage world famous soccer players, you get good at blending into the background. But my search is in vain. Ed Wagner is nowhere to be seen.

Bulldog’s eyes fall on my handbag and he bristles. “No personal effects,” he says. “No phones. No cameras. There’s a closet you can put it all in.”

“Certainly.” What else can I say? I can’t rely on Carter’s tracker, and I can’t call Dominic for help. I’m on my own.

Strangely, I’m not flustered. I’ve spent many years in rooms like this. Here, I feel at home. Here, I belong.

O
nly the most
hardcore of players are out on a Tuesday evening. There’s fewer than twenty people clustered around four tables. Bulldog gestures hopefully to the sparsely populated high stakes tables when I exchange my ten grand for chips, but I shake my head. “I should warm up first,” I tell him. Hiding his disappointment, he leads me to the medium stakes table.

The four guys occupying it look up at our approach. “Guys,” Bulldog says, “this is Gabriella from New York. She’s going to be playing with us tonight.”

“Hi,” I say, surveying my competition for the night. It’s the typical assortment. One of them looks straight out of Wall Street. He’s wearing the investment banking uniform - Armani suit, expensive watch and handmade Italian leather shoes. The two spots next to him are occupied by two geeky looking guys who nod shyly at me. I smother a grimace and nod back. I know I’m typecasting, but these two are probably going to outplay everyone because they are math geniuses. And even though I’m playing with Dominic’s money and have no real skin in the game, I’m still competitive enough to want to win.

The last guy is a wildcard. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and faded jeans, and unlike the others, he’s completely relaxed. He’s either a professional, or he’s got money to burn. Neither scenario is particularly good.

Most importantly, there’s no sign of Ed Wagner. I wonder if he’s even going to show up, or if this entire thing is a gigantic waste of time.

“Another five minutes and we’ll get going,” the young dealer tells us. He doesn’t look a day over eighteen, but his gaze is alert. “Bulldog’s just waiting for a few more people.”

“Do you normally wait for the tables to fill?” I ask him, shamelessly pumping for information. Hey, any bit of information might be useful in finding Carter’s nephew. “That’s different from the places I usually play in.”

“Not always,” he confides, then shrugs. “Still, when the boss says to wait, I wait.”

Five minutes later, Ed Wagner walks in.

I’ve seen his photo; I know what he looks like. He’s got blond hair and hazel eyes, and a thin face. But photos are never a substitute for seeing someone in person. Up close, Ed looks
tired.

He’s also older than I expected. Looking at him under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting, I’m guessing he’s in his forties. Carter’s in his early thirties and his sister Chloe was a twin, which makes her at least a decade younger than Ed. Ten years isn’t a huge age gap, all things considered, but it’s notable. Maybe this is why Carter’s so angry with Ed. Maybe he thinks Ed led his sister astray.

This situation is filled with unknowns. For Ed to resort to snatching his child away from Carter, there has to have been so much history and bad blood between the two men. Should I even be involved in this mess? I don’t know.

I remind myself to keep an open mind. As worried as Carter is, Ed is still Noah’s
father
. As I think of my close relationship with my parents, what I’m doing prickles at my conscience. I’m interfering without knowing all the facts.

Then again, Sammy’s goons know how to wield their iron pipes, and I’m extremely fond of my knees.

The dealer at the table raises his hand in greeting to Ed as he walks up to our table and takes a seat. “Ed, long time no see, man.”

Ed shakes the dealer’s hand. “I’ve been away,” he says dryly. “You’ve heard?”

“Yeah. That was a bum rap, dude.”

Ed’s hazel eyes glitter with anger. “My brother-in-law set me up,” he says. “But I’m going to hit him where it hurts.”

What the heck? He went to prison because Carter set him up? Neither Dominic nor Carter have mentioned this. I sip at the can of Coke that I got from the vending machine in the corner, thoughts bouncing off the corners of my brain.

Is everything on the up and up? Carter and Dominic haven’t gone to the police, though that would be the first thing I would do if my child went missing. They’ve acted like they don’t know where Bulldog holds his games, but Atlantic City isn’t a large town. Are they being straightforward with me, or am I being duped by them?

If the situation isn’t exactly as described, I don’t want to be the person that comes between a father and his son. Ed is Noah’s father. Sure, I need the money to pay off Sammy. But at the end of the day, I’m not going to aid and abet in the kidnapping of a child for it. Though I really hate the idea of disappointing them, I can call my parents to help me with my poker debt, and I can ask my friends.

Don’t trust Carter and Dominic quite so readily, Gabby,
I caution myself.
Not before you fully understand what's happening here.

W
e play
a few hands before we stop for a cigarette break. As luck would have it, I’m doing really well, and Ed Wagner is doing really badly. He’s nervous and distracted. He keeps checking his watch. When the dealer calls a fifteen minute break, he retrieves his cell phone from Bulldog’s closet and goes outside.

I follow, bumming a cigarette off Wall Street guy, who is also losing heavily. It’s been so many years since I last smoked. When I was sixteen, a rebellious teenager in London, my mother had caught me with a pack in my jacket. Shit had hit the fan, bigtime. My mom yelled and my father looked bemused, until he realized he needed to yell at me as well.

Normally, that kind of parental disapproval would have just made me dig in my heels, but then my mother wisely made me smoke the entire pack at once. I felt so gross by the time I was done that I’ve never smoked again. Until now. “Do you have a light?” I ask Ed, once he hangs up.

He nods curtly and hands me the lighter. Okay then. Chivalry is evidently dead. “Thanks.” I hand it back once I light up, and I try not to retch. “Rough night?”

He nods again, then decides it’s okay to speak a sentence or two. “I’m having shitty luck,” he says, puffing away at his own cigarette. “You’re doing well. I haven’t seen you before. Are you new?”

I’m supposed to seduce the guy, not have a conversation with him. Those were Carter and Dominic’s instructions. I ignore them and trust my own instincts. Ed’s skittish. If a woman makes a pass on him out of the blue, he’s going to bolt, not take advantage. “I play in New York,” I tell him. I’ve decided to be as honest as I can. “But I need money in a hurry.”

“Don’t we all?” he replies, and it’s the kind of question that doesn’t need answering.

We smoke in silence for a few minutes. At least, he smokes, and I’m trying to take as few puffs as possible. My mouth feels dry, itchy and gross. I stand there searching my mind for something else to say to Ed, but I’m coming up blank.
Dominic and Carter found you sexy,
I tell myself, in an effort to bolster my confidence enough to make a move on this obviously disinterested guy.

“I’m Gabriella,” I say finally, giving him a weak wave. “Hi.”

“Ed,” he offers, before he takes his final puff and throws the butt to the ground, grinding it under his heel. “I think break time’s up. See you upstairs?”

“Sure thing.”

What a fantastic seduction job, Gabby.

Lady Luck is still beaming at me when we resume playing, and Ed’s run of crappy cards doesn’t come to an end. He’s playing rashly now, his betting erratic, his decision making weak. Finally, after one big loss, he gets up and knocks his chair over. “I’m fucking tired of this,” he yells. “I never have good luck at your tables, Bulldog. Why’s that, do you think?”

Conversation in the room dies down instantly. The room becomes so quiet that if a pin dropped in that moment, you’d hear it. Heads swivel to watch the confrontation, and more than one person looks openly nervous. Everyone’s wondering the same thing - has Ed Wagner lost his mind? In the shadowy underground, one thinks very carefully before throwing around accusations of cheating. For the first time, I’m really glad Bulldog made everyone check in their bags. I’m not sure if anyone here is packing, but when tempers flare, the last thing one needs to toss into the mix is a loaded gun.

What happens next sets my spidey senses tingling. Goons do not materialize to toss Ed Wagner out of the room, and Bulldog doesn’t go ape-shit. He just walks up to Ed and talks to him soothingly. There’s a lot of arm-waving from Ed, a lot of
‘calm down’
gestures from Bulldog. I can’t tear my eyes away from the spectacle, and I’m not the only one.
This is weird.

“What the hell?” Wall Street asks our dealer.

“Ed has more money than sense.” The dealer shakes his head. “He shows up here, loses a lot, makes a scene, then comes back the next day. That’s his pattern. You know what they say. A fool and his money…”

My brow furrows. Carter and Dominic told me Ed’s a grinder, and I believe them. They’ve also led me to believe that Ed doesn’t have a lot of money. What the dealer’s saying doesn’t quite add up.

Then I look again at the guy from Wall Street, whose eyes gleam with greed
and I realize what’s going on.

I smother a grin. I don’t have to worry about my failed seduction attempt tonight. Ed’s definitely going to be back tomorrow.

“
Y
ou don't know
where he lives? Damn it, Gabby, what if Wagner doesn’t show tomorrow? What if he doesn't go back to play again at Bulldog's?”

I’m back at Carter’s office in the Grand River, slumped on the couch, utterly exhausted. “Will you calm down?” I snap at him, my own voice rising. “I was winning and he left in the middle of a hand. It would have looked crazy suspicious if I’d followed him. But he'll be back.”

“How can you be sure, Gabby?” Dominic sounds calmer than Carter, and he's prepared to listen. He hands me a glass of red wine, and I accept it gratefully, taking a sip. It’s been a long day. Right now, I just want to sleep.

That’s a lie. It’s two in the morning and I should rest, but I can’t stop thinking about my threesome with Dominic and Carter. I can’t stop wondering what would have happened at the restaurant if Bulldog’s text hadn’t interrupted us.

“Because he's working for Bulldog.” I describe the Wall Street guy. “That scene with Ed yelling was absolutely staged for the Wall Street guy’s benefit. Bulldog wanted that guy to come back and lose big the next day, so he made Ed seem unstable. The dealer on our table was in on it too.” I give them an earnest look. “I’m absolutely sure. I was there.
Trust me.
”

“That
is
Bulldog's modus operandi.” Dominic’s voice is thoughtful. He sits next to me on the couch and pulls me towards him. His hands clasp my neck and his fingers massage the knots of stress out. I whimper slightly in pleasure. This feels amazing.

Carter drops to the couch on the other side of me. He burrows his head in his hands. For a few moments, he doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “It’s going to be fine, Carter,” I say softly, resting my hand on his thigh. “Bulldog told me there’s another game tomorrow. I’ll get to Ed then.”

He sighs finally. “Yeah,” he says. His hand covers mine, enveloping me with warmth. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“That’s okay,” I soothe him. “You are under a lot of pressure.”

He gives me a small smile.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Dominic’s voice is a low, seductive murmur in my ear. “Will you stay here?”

“Here?”

Carter looks up, and his look of tension has receded, replaced by an expression that sends the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “As you pointed out to me just a minute ago, Ed’ll be back tomorrow to play at Bulldog’s. We have people looking for him right now. There’s absolutely nothing I can do.” His lips twitch. “That’s not strictly true. There’s
one
thing I can do.”

“
We
can do,” Dominic corrects with a lazy smile. I feel my tiredness evaporate looking at that smile. “If you are interested, Gabby?”

I have a rule, one instituted after Vinny, the boyfriend that cheated on me. If I must sleep with someone, it can only be one night. Anything more and my heart’s on the line. Anything more and I will get hurt.

“What do you think, little spitfire?” Carter runs a large, callused hand up my bare ankle, and each nerve ending in my body sparks to life. “Stay with us tonight?” His lips twitch. “The
whole
night.”

My rule has been set in place to protect my heart and mind, but I’ve always been reckless. I’m a gambler, after all.

“Yes.”