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Emma
What the fuck are you doing here, Emma Gomis?
I look around the dark room filled with cigar smoke. Where table after table of suspicious looking people exchange hard stares while gripping on their cards like lifelines. My gaze drifts to the man preceding me, the man who brought me here. But he doesn’t make eye contact. Just keeps hold of my hand and continues dragging me deeper into the room.
The man is Jimmy Bennett, my sort of boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks. Nothing to write home about. He’s a friend of friends, lawyer, handsome, always well dressed, and a bit of a show-off. In the dozen or so dates we’ve been on, he always makes it a point to blow my mind by taking me to luxurious or exclusive establishments. Jimmy is more interested in impressing me than getting to know me and building something real. I was already close to ending things. But tonight definitely tipped the scales. He brought me to a clandestine gambling club… I’m not sure what about me says I’d be amazed to go to a poker dive, but here we are.
The worst part is Jimmy drove us here, so I have no clue exactly where we are, and I’m too uncomfortable to call him on his bullshit in this place. I’d rather not attract too much attention on myself.
All my instincts yell at me to pull out my cellphone and call a ride share, but Jimmy is acting like a man on a mission. Striding through the crowd of onlookers and between the packed tables, towards the back of the large room. When we reach the far wall, he knocks on it and, to my surprise, a hidden door opens. A tall, bulky guy cracks the door open and stares Jimmy down.
“Alex invited me,” my not-boyfriend announces.
The man’s eyes slide my way, and he gives me a cursory once-over before pushing the handle further to let us in. He closes the panel after us, resumes his stance, legs slightly apart, face stony, and nods towards the center of the room. A single table sits there. It’s larger than the ones in the other room and also has fewer players.
An older lady with snow-white hair, refined features, pearls and diamonds at her neck and ears, with piercing blue eyes, wearing an elegant evening gown. One man with shifty, beady eyes, pulling on a cigarette. A younger woman with full curves, her blond hair falling down her back, fire engine red lipstick, and a cleavage meant to break her opponents’ concentration. A scary-looking guy with deep brown skin and a scar running along one side of his hardened face. And sitting at the head of the table… a dark angel.
That’s the only way to describe the last man. Even seated, I would bet my last dollar he’d tower over all of us if he stood from his chair. Maybe even the titan at the door. His hair is dark brown. Shiny locks pushed back from his prominent forehead, falling overlong on his shirt and suit jacket collars. His eyes are deep-seated pits of black ice, framed with thick, short lashes. His eyebrows, thick, dark and arched. A long, straight nose sits above a full, sensual mouth, even in its current hard set. Wide, square shoulders and a wide chest covered by a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, his black bowtie hanging undone.
Everyone but this man turn their attention to us.
He continues shuffling the deck of cards, and eyes still on his task, he asks, “who are you?”
His voice. His voice is low, deep and rumbly. Like the caress of thick, calloused fingers on a woman’s soft skin. Dirty words whispered into her ear while making love to her. The rasp of a tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs…
My nipples grow instantly hard, and I feel a pinch at my clit. What the fuck? I’ve never been intimate with Jimmy, but I also never reacted to another man while on a date. Even if said date was essentially the last nail in the coffin of our time together.
“I’m Jimmy. Jimmy Bennett. We met the other day at the club. You said I could stop by for a game,” Jimmy answers in a tone dripping with false assurance.
“Did I, now?” the man drawls.
He raises his gaze, letting it briefly skim over us. When our eyes meet, my breath catches and I watch in fascination as something flashes through his dark eyes. His elegant nostrils flare for a second. I would have missed his reaction to me if I wasn’t under his spell.
He asks, almost gruffly, his bored tone losing some of its composure, “who’s the girl?”
“She’s mine,” Jimmy lies. Before correcting, when I let out a groan, “she’s with me.”
The man, Alex, I presume, nods. Then he extends a large hand, showing the only empty chair at the table.
“Have a seat. We were about to start.”
Jimmy rushes to drop into the chair. Alex deals the hands. They begin playing and everything goes to shit. Jimmy loses one hand after the other while the other players alternate between gains and losses. I don’t know how much money the plastic chips they use represent. But the pile Jimmy bought when we first walked into this joint steadily declines. He’s sweating and cussing under his breath. The whole time, I’m standing behind him, just waiting for this nightmare to be over so I can go home and never see Jimmy Bennett again.
At some point, he removes his Rolex and lays it on the table. Alex gives him a detached look and the game resumes. Players drop out one after the other. Some with winnings, others bare handed.
I know things have taken a dire turn when Jimmy pulls his Tesla key fob out of his pocket and sets it on the velvet-covered table. My gasp blends in with the other players’ shocked mumbles. Is this fool crazy? How am I gonna go home?!
Alex raises his beautiful eyes to Jimmy.
“You sure, esquire? I advice you cut your losses.”
Esquire, so he did recognize him.
Jimmy’s face is set in a disturbing mix of stubbornness and shitless scared. This is not going to end well. My fingers tighten their grasp at the back of his chair, my heart beating fast. This place doesn’t seem like the kind where you can write a check if you don’t have cash to cover your losses. I really hope Jimmy knows what he’s doing.
But of course, he doesn’t. He loses his car. Then, like the desperate moron he is, he plays another hand.
