Page 11 of Betting Blind

“Sorry, love, but I can’t just abandon all the other people who need drinks tonight,” I respond softly with a polite smile. “But I’ll take you up on the drink. What are you having? If you’re still around when my shift is over…” I trail off suggestively. There is no way in Hell that this man’s hands are going to be anywhere near me, but the tips are always better with a game of give and take and some heavy flirting. Not that I need the tips, but the game is always fun.

“Gin and tonic,” he says and quirks an eyebrow at me, his dark eyes following my every move as I gather supplies to make the drinks. “When are you finished here?”

I pour him the gin and tonic and then pour one for myself while still smiling at him. “Not until the party’s over I’m afraid. I drew the short straw for clean-up duty.”

“That’s a shame,” he mutters and rakes me over with his eyes as he takes a sip of his drink. I almost vomit in my mouth when I see the front of his trousers twitch, but I hide it behind the rim of my own glass. I take a long swallow and try to fight the hard shudder racing up my spine. God, I hate gin. Tastes like a fucking Christmas tree.

“That it is. Please enjoy yourself. I’m sure the other girls will be more than happy to assist you in whatever you need.” I wave him off with a suggestive quirk of my eyebrow and pick up a shaker to start making the next line of drinks.

Hector seems to materialize out of the shadows behind the bar and levels me with a concerned look. He’s wearing a black suit with a red tie and a Phantom of the Opera style white mask. Despite the mask covering half his face, it does not hide the slight scowl marring his face. “What did ‘Crocodile Dundee’ want?” he asks after a moment.

I gesture down at myself with a smirk. My signature tall combat boots, fishnet stockings, and a black, low-cut body-con dress to match the girls working the floor. It’s always better to blend in with the staff. “The goods, I suppose.” I pour the shaker contents into the glasses and then flip it in the air and catch it with the opposite hand. “Stop glowering in the corner. You’ll scare away my high tippers.” I shoo him away with the dingy rag.

Hector groans but puts up his hands in surrender. “Alight. Alright. I’m going to watch the tables. The games are starting to pick up and I don’t want any cheeky card counters tonight.”

“Cheeky?! I feel personally attacked by that statement.” I give him a wink. Being one of those shameless card counters myself. “Tonight is just for fun. No business. Do try not to murder any of our patrons tonight,” I call after him as he disappears into the crowd.

The bar is bustling with both men and women ordering rounds of shots, wine from our small selection, and cocktail after cocktail. Maybe having an-all night happy hour was a bad idea. My fingers are sticky from all the syrups and fruits, and my arms are getting tired from spinning bottles and shakers around in grand gestures that would make Coyote Ugly proud.

The costumes range from simple groups to elaborate single-person works of art. They’re so much fun to admire and guess what they’re from. One group keeps catching my eye throughout the night, and they’re currently occupying a blackjack table to the left of the bar. My eyes keep drifting in that direction each time I have a moment to breathe and relax my aching arms. There are three of them. When they came through the door in the throngs of people a few hours ago myeyes immediately found them. It was like I was drawn to the power they were emanating.

They are tall and broad shouldered and dressed in sleek black-tie attire. Their faces are all hidden behind poker themed masks. Appropriate for a game night in a casino. Even their hair is covered by black full face covering. There is a certain mystery about them that I can’t help but be drawn to. I want to know who they are. Do I know them? Do they work for me? Have they tried to kill Tobias in the last few years? Have I tried to kill them? Everything about them is a complete mystery and it actually kind of pisses me off.

The three masked men are still occupying the table and laughing wildly at each other. The one in the diamond mask punches the one in the spade mask on the shoulder and hitches his thumb over his own shoulder in the direction of the bar. The heart masked man’s shoulders shake with laughter as Spade gets to his feet and shuffles toward the other end of the bar top.

My eyes quickly take in the table and the multitude of empty tumblers. Good God this group can put away some hard liquor, and where are the girls to clean up? I do not want to be picking shards of glass out of the deep emerald carpet until four o’clock in the morning again. I set the rag down under the bar’s ledge and step towards him, elbowing past Marcus, who is busy making two trays of vodka shots.

Spade looks up abruptly and stills when I stop in front of him. I can only imagine the expression behind his mask right now. I’d guess he is blinking stupidly down at me while his lips move slowly, as if he’s trying to remember how to form a coherent sentence. “What’s your poison?” I ask lightly andreach for a fresh tumbler. By the looks of the table, they have been drinking everything neat. “Just for you or for the table?”

“Table.” He finally manages to get out after a few seconds of what I can only imagine to be him trying to compose himself. I nod for him to continue, and he leans against the bar, both hands gripping the edges hard. “Your eyes,” he whispers softly, his voice taking on a dark husk. “They’re so… green.”

I can’t help the blush that creeps into my cheeks as I place three empty glasses in front of me. He cocks his head just a fraction and it is the perfect storm to send butterflies skittering through my stomach. “Thank you,” I say earnestly and flip my mass of wavy dark hair from one side to the other to get it out of my way. “What would you like, sir?” I ask again, already preparing myself for the cheesy pick-up line to follow.

“Oh. Uhm.” He looks over his shoulder where his two friends are deep in conversation. “E. H. Taylor. Neat,” he says after a brief pause and turns back to face me.

I nod. I should have guessed they’d be into my high-end bourbon collection. “I have Rye, Sour Mash, or Barrel proof.” I tick my fingers as I list each option.

“Do you…” He pauses and leans closer, resting his forearm on the counter, like he’s about to tell me a secret. My eyes narrow and my fingers twitch towards the bat I have hidden under the bar for emergencies. “Do you know the difference? Because I don’t remember what we got this last time and I have no fucking clue what to order. I don’t want it to burn on the way down. I’m not usually a bourbon drinker,” he admits quietly.

I smile gently up at him and remove my fingers from the handle of the bat. “I’ll take care of it,” I reassure him with a gentle squeeze of my fingers on his forearm. “Go enjoy yourgame. I’ll be over to clear off the table and bring you fresh drinks in just a second, okay?”

He nods enthusiastically and saunters back over to his friends. That was a refreshing exchange considering most of my orders tonight have been from men blatantly staring at my boobs, asking me for a quickie in the bathroom, or getting too handsy when I came around the bar to clear out dirty dishes. This man was a real gentleman. Well, maybe? I couldn’t see his face. He could have been blatantly staring at my boobs the entire time and I wouldn’t have known. Clever men. I bet they picked those masks on purpose.

I pour three neat glasses of Barrel proof, place them on a circular serving tray, and carefully make my way across the bar to their table. It isn’t difficult because most of the crowds have already dispersed, and the night is winding down since it is nearly two in the morning. “Here we are boys. Mind the elbows.” I set the three glasses down with a faint thunk on the wooden table edge and gather all the empty ones.

“What’d you get us this time?” The heart masked man asks and picks the glass up with his fingertips, giving it a slow swirl.

Spade shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his chair, watching the poker game before him. His cards are face-down on the table in front of him. He’d clearly already folded and that’s why he was sent for drinks. “I can’t remember. She picked.”

Both Hearts and Diamond swing their masked faces up to take me in. “You picked our bourbon?” Diamond asks with doubt in his voice and sets the glass back down. “If this is Jack Daniels then you can take it back right now.” His voice is hard, no-nonsense. My anger prickles. “You let this barmaid make a selection for us?” He turns to face Spade and I can onlyimagine his eyes narrowing behind his mask. “She probably couldn’t even name a decent whiskey or bourbon if it was sitting directly in front of her behind that bar.”

And now I’m pissed. My nostrils flare and I set the tray of empty glasses down on a nearby table. “I can assure you that it is nothing but top quality liquor. If you don’t trust my judgment, I can take it back and you can happily go drink whatever the fuck you have in your own home.” Screw tips and screw these guys. Mysterious air and fancy suits do nothing if the men filling them don’t have enough decency to fill a teaspoon.

His headswing back to me and I nearly stop at the unchecked rage radiating off of him. “Perhaps we will. You can tell Emerson that I am not impressed with my service tonight and it might impact my contributions in the future.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest, toe tapping slowly on the carpeted floor. I cannot commit another murder today. I have too much paperwork from the first one, and I hate paperwork. Deep breath in for four. Deep breath out for four. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along,” I sneer at him. “I’ll also be sure to mention your questioning of the liquor Em chooses to stock the bars with. Also noting that it doesn’t seem to meet your tastes, Mr…”

“Smith,” He purrs and gracefully stands, his body stretching out before me. Hot damn, he is tall and really fills out that suit. Focus! He’s an asshat. A hot as hell asshat, but still. The other two masked men also stand and button up their suit jackets. They make a compelling picture of debonair grace.

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