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“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I murmur, hot tears springing to my eyes. “I mean, WTF?”
Hunter and Brent merely growl.
“It’s fine, honey. Besides, we don’t know what was going on just now. Maybe your dad was just showing a friend around town. That girl could have been anyone.”
Nausea rises in my throat again, and I swallow hard to make it stay down.
“No, she clearly wasn’t a friend. Mike was on a date, I’m pretty sure. But hell, why her? And why so young too? Plus, why is he even out? He never goes to restaurants because he likes staying home eating TV dinners while watchingThe Old-Time Gospel Houron TV. It’s insane.” I slink down further in my seat, embarrassed and humiliated, as Brent and Hunter are silent. “I’m sorry again for walking out like that,” I stammer, desperate to fill the awkward quiet in the car. “We were enjoying such a nice dinner, and now it’s all ruined. Maybe we can do this another time?”
With that, Brent sighs while starting up the truck.
“Maybe,” Hunter says in a low voice. “We’ll see. Did you not want us to meet your father for some reason?”
“No, it’s not that at all!” I rush. “I’m not embarrassed to be with you guys, or by the fact that we’re in a threesome. It’s just that I told you about my dad and how Mike’s been getting crazier by the minute. I need to vet things first, and I didn’t think a surprise meeting at a BBQ joint was the time and place.”
Hunter nods slowly.
“Okay, that’s fair. I get it. Not everything in life should be a surprise.”
“Of course not,” I say quickly. “And I promise I’m not like Maria. I’ve stopped seeing other men. She broke your hearts, and I understand that it was really painful, but we’re talking about two different things here. This thing with my dad has nothing to do with you guys, and everything to do withhim.”
“You did say Mike’s a harsh guy,” Brent growls from the driver’s seat.
I nod furiously.
“He is. He’s a stern man who believes that God’s way is the only way and that furthermore, he’s the only one who can interpret God’s intent too. It was overbearing before, and it’s only gotten worse in the last couple years. But like I mentioned, he’s still my father, and I love him. I just need to figure out who that girl was. I mean, why was she dressed like that? A lot of ladies are wearing nap dresses these days, but her outfit went way beyond that.”
Brent nods while still staring at the road.
“I have no idea, but is your father fostering teens, maybe? I know a lot of church members take in people in need, especially with the recent crises in Ukraine, Yemen, and Syria. Maybe she was an escapee from a FLDS sect.”
I shake my head.
“I doubt it, because the date kind of looked romantic, don’t you think? He was holding her hand and she was clinging to him like they belong together. Ugh gross.” Hunter and Brent go silent as nausea rises in my chest. “Oh shit. This is bad news, isn’t it?” I ask in a low voice as the truck comes to a halt in front of my apartment building. “My dad’s up to no good. I can feel it.”
Hunter turns to me.
“You would know best,” the handsome man says in a slow tone. “After all, Kaci, you said that he’s been off the reservation for a while now, and it seems like there’s nothing reining him in if he’s been spinning out for years. Is it possible that this time, your dad’s doing something malicious?”
I don’t answer even as a stab of pain makes me gasp because in my heart of hearts, I have a feeling that Hunter’s right. My father is up to no good, and I only hope that I’m not the one who ends up paying the price.
8
Hunter
The casino is bustling as I stand at a table, dapper in my waistcoat and starched white shirt. Four new players make their way to my table, and I can already tell how it’s going to go. The customers look like drunken frat boys with too much gel in their hair, acne on their chins, and flashy, over-priced watches. Whatever. The hotel will take their money so fast they’ll be skulking away soon enough.
Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, the frat boys have met their match. It wasn’t strategic playing on my part. Instead, the Corinthian has strict rules on when the house plays or folds. Still, the odds are stacked in our favor, and the boys slink away, defeated and humbled while muttering under their breaths. Meanwhile, my shift is over, and my replacement comes up next to me.
“How’s it hanging?” Greg asks in a mild tone. He’s a middle-aged guy with graying hair and jowls. But don’t be fooled because the man’s been with the Corinthian for more than a decade now, and is a valued employee. I shrug.
“Steady. Nothing to report. Just the reg.”
He nods, surveying the scene.
“Good. We like it regular around here.”
It’s true too because believe it or not, there are still crews that like to work “hot tables.” It’s something that started two decades ago when MIT grads tried to card count, and it’s illegal, but it still happens. Fortunately, we’re dealing blackjack and not poker, so it’s not a huge problem in our part of the world.
