Page 17 of Betting Blind

“Maybe next time you’ll get my name.” She stands and leans forward until her face is inches from mine, taking her phone back without breaking eye contact. I can smell the spices from her chai on her breath, and I want nothing more than to get lost in the smell of her. “See you around, Si.” Her lips ghost across my cheek and I almost lean back in shock. Thiswoman is a spitfire, and I want nothing more than to see how else she can surprise me.

Declan and Hayden can fight over Emelia all they want. I’m staying far away from that derailed train. I’ve got my sights set on another queen, and I plan on bending to her until I’m no longer needed in this world.

Chapter 11

Emelia

I shut off the engine of my bike and the silence of the parking deck is almost deafening. My ears are still ringing from the roar of the bike as I pull my helmet off and allow my hair to tumble down around my shoulders. I opted to tuck it up under my helmet completely because trying to detangle a wig is on my list of top ten things I absolutely hate. Plus, I really love the deep crimson color of this particular one. It’s one of my favorites and I don’t wear it enough.

The heels of my boots echo within the concrete walls as I stalk up to the single black, metal door with yellow and blue spray paint chipping from the surface. “Fucking hood rats,” I mutter and yank the door open with a loud metallic screech. My eyes blink rapidly at the sudden bright light, and I press the heels of my hands into my sockets, trying not to rub them aggressively.

“Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.” Tobias claps his hands once and I glower over at him. “Easy there, killer.” He holds up his hands placatingly. “I just want to make sure you’re fine.”

“I’ll be fine once I get these fucking contacts out of my eyes,” I mutter and blink several more times, trying to get them to reset on my corneas.

“Don’t bother,” Hector says grimly. His mouth is set in a firm line and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. I brush past both men with a dismissive wave of my hand, but before I can get through the door Hector’s voice brings me to a halt. “Cecelia called.”

“And what does that lecherous snake want?” I ask through clenched teeth and turn to face them.

“She has been having some trouble with a few men in one of her gambling dens,” Tobias says slowly and tugs at his cufflinks.

I scoff. “I have my own empire to run and my own men to see to. I don’t have time to handle someone else’s trash employees. She needs to grow a spine and handle them herself. If she didn’t want to break a nail, she should have never agreed to be the head of those dens. I swear!” I take a deep breath before continuing my one-sided rant under my breath. “You help someone out with a favor one time and they think that they can just call you night or day to drop everything to be at their beck and call.”

Hector clears his throat patiently as I trail off. “Are you finished yet?” he asks with a slight upward turn of his lips.

“You’d better wipe that look off your face before I knock it off for you,” I mutter venomously.

“Emelia,” Tobias says, his voice measured. His calmness and patience could rival that of a monk some days. I level my glare at him but make no further comment. “These are not employees.”

“Why the fuck do I care either way?” I bellow and throw my hands up in the air. At this rate I’d rather hop back on my bike and drive into traffic. With my eyes closed.

“We think that you would in this particular circumstance,” Hector says carefully and holds up his hands, palms out. Mimicking the way Tobias just approached me.

“Their identities are unknown,” Tobias states nonchalantly and inspects his pristine fingernails. “They were all wearing expensive suits and white masks with card suits on them. Does that sound familiar?” Of course, I had told Tobias everything that had happened in the alley, including the masked men that are very quickly becoming my obsession.

I have to actively fight to keep my jaw from falling open, but I do lose the battle with the twinkle in my eyes. “Where? When?” I want nothing more than to find them and delve into the mysteries that are these three men. What do they look like? Do they have tattoos? What color are their eyes? Are they missing eyes? Do they have scars? My mind is buzzing with so many questions that I completely tune out the men in front of me.

“Are you still with us?” Tobias asks and his voice sounds far away and muffled. I blink my eyes back into focus and narrow them at his grinning face. “There you are. Welcome back.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter and fold my arms across my chest like a petulant child.

“I said this most recent incident was about two months ago, but the den is steadily losing revenue and no one can find where they are hemorrhaging the cash from.” Tobias unbuttons his sleek black suit jacket and sits down on the black sofa along the back wall. He gracefully folds his right ankleover his left knee and spreads his arms out along the back of the couch.

Hector leans one shoulder against the door frame that I entered from, effectively blocking the door from me. It’s not like I am planning on running out there at this very minute to start a manhunt. At least not that he knows of. “She wants you to come by and see if you can find anything suspicious with how the tables are run.” Hector’s voice is steely as he meets Tobias’s gaze. “Without an escort.”

I knew that was why Hector is so ruffled. He always hates the idea of putting me anywhere near a potential attack. My lips turn up into a playful smirk. “I’ll make an appearance tonight. Unannounced,” I add and head off toward the stairwell. “Don’t wait up, darlings!” I call over my shoulder and take the stairs two at a time with a wide grin stretching across my face. I have a brilliantly terrible idea and my therapist would most definitely not be proud of me for choosing this outlet. I unlock my phone and type a quick invitation to my cover story for the night.

At eight-thirty I’m sitting at a poker table in a dimly lit room with my black heels tucked daintily underneath my chair and a glass of white wine in my right hand. My eyes follow the movements of the cards as the dealer shuffles the deck once more before tossing them in quick succession onto the table in front of the five players occupying the table.

My fingers stretch across the slick backs of the cards already in my hand, itching to throw down the hand and claim the chips currently in the pot. I know what the other three are holding. I know what the dealer is about to lay down. My eyes flick to the stack of cards next to the dealer’s black-glovedhand and then back up to his face. His dark eyes narrow just a fraction, and his lips press into a firm line. I swirl my wine in the glass before taking a small sip and holding his gaze with a fire of my own, daring him to push.

He knows what I’m doing, and he knows what the protocol for these things are, but he doesn’t move a muscle. His eyes track my fingers and I smile deviously at him. The bouncers make their way around the tables in slow methodical circles, scanning the crowds for any troublemakers. The dealer arches an eyebrow at me, daring me to make the first move. I nod my head to him, and he smirks, confirming the unspoken deal. I won’t make trouble for him here tonight, and he won’t cause any trouble for me.

Unfortunately for him, trouble tends to follow me wherever I go.

He fingers the deck before burning the top card and flipping over the turn card. There are now four cards face up on the tabletop. “Gentlemen,” he says with a flourish of his hand. “Milady.” He winks at my grimace at the nickname. “Bets?” There’s a shuffle of cards and a few low curses murmured among the group, but I keep my mouth shut. My eyes skate over the dealer’s clean-shaven face, taking in the dark eyeliner around his eyes and a fringe of bleach blond hair peeking out from under a top hat. I drop two chips into the pile and raise my glass to my smirking lips. His eyebrow quirks but he still makes no move to out me and I’m beginning to enjoy this game of cat and mouse that we have settled into.

The games continue and there is a steady stream of patrons coming and going from the various tables and slots along the back wall. I keep my head on a swivel and nurse my third glass of white wine, my eyes always searching theroom. My therapist has thrown words at me like “paranoia” and “schizophrenia”, but I like to think of myself as observant and prepared for anything. After all, you never know when a hurricane might blow over the horizon.

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