Page 29 of Shamelessly Loyal
It was after two in the morning when attrition during the high-stakes poker game took them from eight players to three. Despite spending the last five hours sitting on Pretty Boy’s lap, all he’d done was adjust me from one thigh to the other. I had a feeling it was because of the erection he’d been sporting since he settled me here.
I didn’t comment, and he didn’t grind against me. Instead, I played my part. I flirted with the other players and shared speculative looks with the dealer—she was lovely and very professional. In and around me shifting against Pretty Boy, I also caught the attention of others in the room who lingered to either watch the game or move to quieter discussions away from us.
A part of me wanted to go and wander, but Pretty Boy’s grip on me made it clear that he wanted me right here. A waste of resources, even as he played a mean game of poker and bluffed better than most of the other players.
But he had a tell. Subtle, though it was there. Whenever I caught a hint of it, I would shift in his lap and draw his attention. That wiped his tell out every single time. I never did the same thing, because otherwise it would draw attention to precisely what he needed them distracted from.
“Why don’t we make this our last round?” the older man sitting to our left said. He was a big guy, with dark brown hair with hints of silver in it. Older than he looked? Or graying prematurely? He’d been drinking steadily all evening, but slowly.
In fact, I had to admire the way he let his ice melt to water down the alcohol. It always looked like he had a half-full glass and whenever he slammed the weak remnants, he ordered another immediately.
Pretty Boy’s other opponent was slightly younger than our drinker but older than Pretty Boy or Adam. I would peg him somewhere around thirty. He had dark blond hair that looked brown. He wore a pair of tinted blue sunglasses even in here, not that it seemed to affect his visual acuity.
“Terms?” Unlike the drinker, he never asked for anything except a fresh water bottle, chilled and sealed. Paranoid and not afraid to hide it versus overconfident and covering with a socially “acceptable” bad habit that in turn provides camouflage.
Was either of these men Pretty Boy’s target? I had no idea. He didn’t give me any sign about any of the men we’d encountered or the single woman who had been involved in the game. She had folded the last hand and stepped away to have coffee and a cigarette, but she hadn’t left the room.
I could see her in the mirror, still watching our game with a kind of detached curiosity. Then again, she probably didn’t care who won as long as she didn’t lose anymore.
“All in,” the drinker said, giving me a look and then smiling when I met his gaze. “Add this beautiful creature, and I’ll throw in another half million.”
Sunglasses raised his eyebrows, but Pretty Boy went stiff. Considering the way they were playing, it might be worth the bet to test…
“No.” Pretty Boy pushed the chair back and rose, setting me on my feet behind him, before he eyed the men at the table and the dealer. “She’s not going into the pot for any amount of money. I’m out.” He knocked his hand against the table. “Cash out the remaining chips.” The remaining was more than three times what we started with; he’d hardly lost.
What the hell was he doing? But he didn’t give me time to ask as he escorted me out of the room. The woman, with her snow-white hair and dignified air, smiled at me even as she raised her drink as though to toast.
Yeah, she could admire the caveman tendencies of Pretty Boy all she wanted. I was not impressed, yet I had to bite my tongue because I was the arm candy.
The doors opened below as he escorted me down the stairs and then we followed the route to the elevator we’d taken to get here. A man waited at the doors to the elevator, probably to keep anyone without a key from getting off.
“Do we need to go down to go back up?” Pretty Boy asked.
“No sir,” he held out his hand. “If you’ll give me your key.”
Milo extended the card to him. He scanned it then checked his screen.
“Congratulations on a good night, sir. Your winnings will be fully funded within the hour to the account indicated. If you wish to play again tomorrow, you are welcome.” He handed the card back then opened the elevator for us. “Ma’am, do you have a card?” He took mine and nodded. My more modest winnings didn’t require congratulations or an invitation to return before he handed the card back.
“Good evening,” he said, bracing the door open. Pretty Boy kept his grip on my arm firm as he stepped us inside. When I turned, one of the players from the table stood right there. The drinker who’d asked to add me to the pot. Pretty Boy cut off my view of him as he stepped in front of me and hit the floor for our room. Then three others as the door closed.
Silence crackled between us as I kept my temper fisted and my expression as placid as possible. No doubt existed within me that we were being observed. We’d been under the watchful eyes of cameras all evening.
When we got to our floor, I tolerated Pretty Boy’s grip on my arm as he strode down the hall. I had to take two steps for every one of his, but I handled it. At least he wasn’t dragging me or holding on so tight he might leave bruises.
As soon as we were in the suite, I stalked away from him and into the bathroom. My bladder was screaming and had been. It took me two minutes to find relief, then wash my hands, before I jerked the door open.
Pretty Boy stood in front of the windows in the darkened room overlooking the emptiness below. The lights here probably glowed for miles, yet nothing out there greeted our eyes.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, folding my arms.
“That was me not beating that son of a bitch to death for asking to purchase you,” Pretty Boy stated in a cold tone. “He walked away with his limbs attached.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.” The comment pulled him all the way around and he gaped at me.
“What the fuck?”
“You shouldn’t have pulled out of the game. You were ahead of both of them,” I continued, barely keeping my rising fury in place. “You had their tells, and they couldn’t figure out yours—or at least they couldn’t before you stomped out of there like some overbearing toddler taking your toy home.”