Player: Stone Cold MC by Carmen Faye Page A

cunning strength that wouldn’t just break in a high-stakes game.
     
    I left the venue five minutes later. I left the Cokes right there and didn’t give a shit if someone thought the table was taken, or what they were going to do with the drinks.
     
    My phone rang in my pocket, and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen, hoping to God it was Alex. It wasn’t. Unknown Number, and I usually didn’t answer those. I pushed talk anyway and held the phone to my ear.
     
    “Ben Reeker,” a deep voice came over the speaker.
     
    “Yes?”
     
    “Mr. Tucci would like a word.”
     
    “Right now?”
     
    I assumed the silence meant yes.
     
    “Where?”
     
    The voice gave me an address and told me not to waste any time. What else was I going to do? Mope around in my motel room because the one person who could make me rich and happy wanted nothing to do with me? What could a meeting with one of the Crucifix Six do?
     
    I followed the instructions and ended up in a rich part of town with perimeter walls so tall I couldn’t see anything. Mighty gates made of metal or wood blocked out the view, too. I found the right address and pushed the intercom button. I looked into the camera, and the gate slowly rolled open.
     
    A curving driveway led through an elegant garden to a house in the middle of the property. It was made up of blocks of concrete arranged in strange angles to give it a modern feel, with glass railings around the porches and patios.
     
    The front door opened just as I reached it, and Harry from Rumor’s Lounge stood in front of me. He wore a white suit and a green shirt that made him look like Godfather of the Leprechauns.
     
    “I’m here to see Mr. Tucci,” I said.
     
    “Mr. Tucci is unavailable right now, but if you’ll follow me, we can talk in the office.”
     
    I realized that Harry had been the one to phone me. His voice was almost deeper in person, not fitting his less than average height and build at all. The office he led me into was decorated in shades of deep mahogany with heavy curtains in front of windows that looked out over the back of the garden and onto a swimming pool.
     
    “I was under the impression Mr. Tucci wanted to see me himself,” I said.
     
    “Mr. Tucci’s time is far too valuable to meet with every person he speaks to at the lounge. Now, we spoke about your deal and how you’re going to make that work for us.” He slid a piece of paper across the desk to me. “Your signature.”
     
    It was a contract. One that laid out the agreement that I would give Tucci sixty percent of my winnings. I wasn’t aware that something like this could have legally binding contracts. And I didn’t like it either.
     
    “Don’t you think it’s a little foolish to get the law involved in this?” I asked. I didn’t want to sign it. It was going to cause issues for me. I knew it, I just knew it.
     
    “This is not so that we can bring a lawyer into the picture, Mr. Reeker,” Harry said. “This is so that you’re clear on what we expect of you. So that when you find yourself in a compromised position, we don’t go down with you.”
     
    So it was like a waiver.
     
    “If I don’t sign it?” I looked at Harry. I still hadn’t stepped closer to the desk. He looked irritated. He put his hands on his hips and his jacket opened, and I caught a glimpse of a silver gun. I didn’t know if it had been a threat, if he’d done it with purpose, but it was enough to get me to move. I stepped forward and signed the damn paper, feeling like maybe I’d gotten myself into a lot more trouble than I’d bargained for.
     
    The upside was that I had signed with my fake name. He’d never asked for documents.
     
    “We have an important game happening at Lady’s Luck next week on Saturday. I would like to invite you to it on Mr. Tucci’s behalf.
     
    “What game is it?”
     
    “Texas Hold’em.”
     
    I wasn’t so good at Texas Hold’em.
     
    “I don’t know if I’ll be in town