13. Ozzie
13
OZZIE
It’s past midnight when I hop on the Screaming Eagle Road King I’ve borrowed from Louie at the Velocity Garage. I need to clear my head and the quickest way to do that is to hit the streets.
The Screaming Eagle roars as I rev the engine and take off down the Strip.
This late at night, Vegas still pulses with life.
Casino lights glitter on either side of me, digital billboards and neon signs flashing advertisements from all directions.
SLOTS - PLAY TO WIN!
PLAYERS LOUNGE - FREE DRINKS
LIVE STRIP SHOW
PLAY BIG, WIN BIG!
$10 LAP DANCES - FULLY NUDE GIRLS
I grip the throttle harder and go faster, cutting off the taxi beside me as the lanes merge. I’m speeding off into the night with no destination in mind, running from the bright lights that seem to be chasing me.
All the temptations I thought I was supposed to be fighting.
I’d come to this tournament telling myself I could handle it and do what I needed to do—I’d play along with Boone’s plan while I partnered with Zoe on her investigation.
For once, this wasn’t supposed to be a bender. This was supposed to be me being useful.
Making a change.
But as I race down the Vegas streets, jetting onto the freeway at speeds against the law, it feels a lot like I’m going in circles.
I’m no less destructive than before. The urges are still there beneath the surface. I’m a powder keg ready to fucking explode at any moment. A reckless man who can’t even control himself.
No matter how hard I try, it seems I always go back to what I know.
Kissing Zoe was another form of that—it was me acting on impulse after a night spent almost losing my temper. I’d had so much pent-up rage and frustration inside me that the only thing I could do in the moment was grab her and kiss her.
Shut her up with my mouth.
She drove me up the fucking wall, yet all I wanted to do was sink my dick deep into that pussy and take out my aggression on her. I wanted to fuck her hard and fast and get rid of the rage trapped inside me.
We were seconds away from going there.
My fingers were curled inside her and she was gyrating against me. Her lips were as soft and full as I remember, and her pussy walls contracted around me.
I was so fucking hard, I couldn’t even think straight. If I hadn’t walked out when I did, I would’ve been balls deep in her at this moment.
Everything blurs around me as I leave Vegas behind and drive so far out of the city, the dark desert landscape emerges.
You’d think I’d pull a U-turn and head back, but I only go faster.
I ride ’til the hot, late night air’s finally strong enough to ruffle my mohawk. It blows against me with nothing and no one around to serve as a barrier. It’s just me, the desert, and the wind as my thoughts take over and I fall down the black pit I always do.
There’s no use fighting it. No use convincing myself I could do better.
None of it fucking matters in the end.
And if Zoe wants to risk it all, then who the hell am I to stop her? Why should I give a shit if she wants to self-destruct? How am I supposed to play a hero and save her when I can’t even fucking save myself?
I’m not responsible for her. I’m done pretending to be something I won’t ever be.
It’s another few hours before I finally decide to ride back. Dawn is spilling onto the sky as the signs for Las Vegas start popping up. My jaw sets, eyes narrowed, as I grip the handles on the Screaming Eagle and head toward the Azure Sol Resort and Casino.
Just like I made myself scarce last night, Zoe makes herself scarce during the day. I return to the hotel to find she’s showering in the bathroom. She comes out fully dressed in a t-shirt and jean shorts that show off her long, smooth legs. I’m invisible to her as she zips up a few things in her suitcase and then walks out the door.
It’s anyone’s guess what the hell she’s up to. Probably something to do with the investigation.
Calling her FBI associates about the events so far. Letting them know what little pieces of info she’s gathered.
…which isn’t much as far as I know.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t give a fuck that Boone’s taken a special interest in her—she believes it’ll help her get closer to him and she’ll be able to get the evidence she seeks.
The only problem with that is she doesn’t get the kind of hot water she’ll be in the second Boone suspects her. He almost had her stripped and cavity searched in a fucking alley outside Déjà Vu and she thinks she can handle what he would have in store.
As much as I told myself I didn’t give a damn last night, as the hotel door slams shut and I’m left alone in our room, deep down I know I do. I dim the lights and strip down to my boxers and crash on the bed, seeking sleep with Zoe on my mind.
Her trouble has become mine and I don’t know if I can separate us if it comes down to it. If I can turn my back when I know what could happen…
We don’t see each other again before I head out for round one of the tournament. Either Zoe went straight to the underground casino or she plans on returning to our hotel room after I’ve left. Either way, I step out of the elevator trying to focus on the night ahead.
I’ve got to be calm and controlled if I’m going to be on my A game.
Dozens of other poker players are already on the game floor, ready for round one to begin. I recognize tournament regulars like Judd from the Iron Wolves and another guy named Rupert Reznor, who’s a big name in professional poker circles.
There’re some new faces like an older woman whose name I learn is Linda Cao and some guy who’s apparently a known guru at online poker.
Others gather in front of the giant digital game board that shows the first round info. The table numbers and player names and start times.
Sugar finds me as I stop in front of the board and informs me that Boone would like a word before the first round begins.
My hands curl into natural fists at my side as the irritation I’d felt last night returns in spades. I give a terse nod and follow her to the VIP lounge area, where Boone’s already seated. This time it’s just him and Carlito Estrada, sharing drinks and indulging in the fruits of their labor.
Watching their creation that’s this poker tournament kick off.
“Oz,” Boone calls out. “There you are. I was getting worried when you didn’t show up with the rest.”
“I said I’d be here.”
Boone peers at me from behind his dark sunglasses, his wavy, thin white hair a stark contrast. He’s assessing if I’m mouthing off or not, if I’ll cooperate with his scheme.
“I hope it’s still clear we’re in this together,” he says after a few seconds, adding a grin. He picks up his glass of caramel colored liquor. “I’ve been sensing some tension, Oz. Tell me I’ve got it all wrong; tell me you understand our deal.”
“Nothing’s changed on my end.”
“Good to hear. Let this be the last time there might be a misunderstanding. You remember what’s special about the cards at your table, don’t you?”
My skin prickles hot. I manage a nod. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“See, now that makes me a happy man. And hey—no hard feelings about your woman. We all know who she belongs to. It’s all in good fun. She really is talented.”
I know what to make of Boone—more asserting his dominance and command over the situation. But as I turn to go, it’s Estrada who’s the mystery. He sits at Boone’s side like a silent co-pilot, never taking his gaze off me. He looks like the manager at a bank or some other type of corporate setting, dressed neatly in his button up shirt to Boone’s leather and denim.
Everybody associated with Boone is a snake, from Chmura to Benz to the rest of his cronies.
Estrada’s no different, even if I haven’t figured out how yet.
Somebody’s double-crossing somebody, and I don’t mean me and Zoe.
There’s something else going on in Boone’s circle that I can’t put my finger on.
But it almost doesn’t matter, because I don’t really fuck with Boone regardless of what goes down. He enrages me more by the second as I re-enter the game floor and everybody’s taking their positions at their tables.
You remember what’s special about the cards at your table, don’t you?
I head for table seven where Judd is sliding into his designated seat. The dealer’s already placed the deck on the table as the final minutes to start time wind down.
“Hey,” I call out. “Change of plans, Judd. You’re on table six now. I’m seven.”
Judd’s brow creases. “But the game board says?—”
“We’ve been switched,” I interrupt. “You take my place at six. I’ll be at this table.”
Judd’s still uncertain even as he steps back and lets me slide into his chair. Nobody else says anything at the table, though I can tell the abrupt change has thrown everybody off.
The clock hits zero and the games officially begin. The dealer starts shuffling the cards.
I can hardly keep from grinning as more of Boone’s words echo in my ears.
Let this be the last time there might be a misunderstanding.
It’ll be a matter of seconds before Boone, smoking and drinking in his lounge watching on the big screens, realizes what’s happened. That I’ve switched from the table with his marked cards designed to give me an easy win and gone to a different table where I’ll have to win on merit.
Basically destroying his whole scheme to ensure his player won.
Boone loves reminding everybody he’s in charge, but he forgot one thing—I don’t fucking do authority. I don’t fucking need Boone’s marked cards to win the round. I can do it on my own.
The dealer deals the cards around the table and I take a look at my first hand, the cards carefully fanned out.
Ace of spades, king of hearts. My mouth twitches. Hell of a way to start. Strong, but not flashy. Not enough to scare off the cautious types, but enough to crush the cocky ones if they’re not paying attention.
I lean back in the chair, eyes sweeping across the table like a man casing a joint.
Left of me, sits an older heavyset guy with a spare tire for a gut. Sweat glistens on his bald dome under the casino lights. He scratches his nose twice and double-sniffs. It’s a definite tell of his, one way or another.
My guess? He’s sitting on something he likes; something that’s worthwhile. Three of a kind or a pocket pair he thinks’ll hold up.
Across from me, a guy named DJ twitches. His neck tattoo creeps up to his jawline—a skull with roses bleeding from the eyes. He grins like he knows something, but I’ve seen that look before. I’m much more familiar with him, having played with him in past tournaments.
DJ’s known to bluff. His hands are restless, fingers twitching like he’s been freshly electrocuted. His hand is trash.
The others playing this round, like the only girl at table seven, are nothing to worry about. The girl’s a newer contender to Boone’s tournaments, blonde with silver hoop earrings and small, mousy features. She tucks her bottom lip under her top row of teeth and reaches for her chips before the dealer’s even finished dealing.
It’s a rookie mistake, but reveals a lot about how rash and eager she is.
Dealer says, “Bets open.”
DJ’s first. He tosses in a raise, all fake swagger. He’s trying to scare folks off by acting like he’s got a winning hand.
Two others around the table fold like clockwork. Blondie takes DJ up on his offer, adding her chips to the pile. The heavyset guy scratches his nose again—complete with his double sniff—and then calls.
I’m last to go, taking my time, assessing the moment. I collect more chips than necessary and add them to the pot.
“Raise.”
DJ grits his teeth and mutters, “Seriously?”
Blondie folds this time, but DJ huffs and raises again. The fool thinks he can outplay me.
I shove in more chips, matching him.
The heavyset guy hesitates. His fingers hover over his chips before he obliges. He’s going with his gut, trusting that the hand he has is good enough to carry him.
Only three of us have stayed in.
The time for the reveal comes and I lay my cards on the table.
My ace of spades and king of hearts join the jack of diamonds, ten of clubs and queen of spades on the table.
I win the hand, setting the tone for the rest of the game. DJ’s like a ticking time bomb as the dealer passes out the next hand. The old man’s kept his cool, though he’s no longer sniffing.
For the rest of the round, I’m proving how adept I am at reading people and assessing the cards at play. DJ tries to out-bluff me a second time only to bust and lose the rest of what he has.
I rake in the mountain of chips once it’s all said and done, the weight of the win settling over me. I’m met with cheers in the lounge. Everybody who was watching the different game tables erupts and tells me how they impressive it was that I outmaneuvered the others with no trouble at all.
The cheers die down as everybody turns to check for Boone’s reaction. He’s remained in his seat, nursing his drink and letting his cigar smolder. Finally, he sits up in the lounge chair and sets down his glass. The lounge has become so quiet that the glass connects with a loud thud on the table.
“Oz, congratulations,” he says, his tone mild. “How about we get started on the private celebrations?”
It’s code for everybody who’s not part of his crew to get the hell out of here. Everybody takes note, making themselves scarce without a second thought. In less than a minute, I find myself in the lounge with Boone and only his closest allies.
He rises to his feet and so do his men. Holding out his hand, he offers me a handshake. “Really, Oz. Congratulations, you fucking won the biggest pot of the first round. All on your own. No extra help needed.”
My grip is limp on his, aware this handshake is more mind games. I pull mine back. “Yeah, well… doing what I always do. Playing my best game.”
“That sure is what you were doing.” He releases a deep sigh and strokes the hair on his jaw. “The thing is, we just had a talk about this, didn’t we? How we’re supposed to be in this together, and then you go defy all that. You decide to go against my rules. What do you expect me to do now?”
“I can win without the help,” I say plainly. “I don’t need marked cards.”
My declarative statement is met with loud silence until Boone breaks it with a throaty laugh. His grin returns and he takes a step back.
“I see I’ve been too nice. I see you’re still not understanding. Boys, why don’t you help him understand.”
Before I can even think of what he’s said, his guys are on me. They’ve rushed me with fists flying. I duck fast enough to dodge the first few punches. But there’s too many of them.
The attack’s too sudden. I’m fucked as Moe’s fist connects with the side of my face and then some other fucker by the name of Hawke gut punches me. I’m brought to my knees, bowing forward from the force of the punch.
It’s the first of many to come.
Boots rain down. Knuckles crack against bones.
Suddenly, I’m Jacob McDonald from the other night—on the floor, getting the shit beat out of me.
I’ve got no choice but to take it, lying on the lounge floor.
The beatdown goes on for long enough for blood to spill from my lips and the gash above my brow.
Boone’s men back off once he waves them aside. I cough, one of my left ribs aching, as I push myself up to my knees. He crouches in front of me, the grin still wide on his face.
“See, Oz, let this be a lesson hard learned. You just couldn’t get with the program,” he explains. “The plan is simple. The rules are simple. All I’m asking is for you to follow them.”
I spit out the blood pooled in my mouth, unblinking as I meet the dark shades blocking his gaze. “Who gives a fuck about rules when I won anyway? You’ve got your money.”
He grunts out a laugh. “Typical batshit crazy Oz. You ain’t gonna learn a thing, are you? Well… you better. That’s the question that remains—are you gonna fall in line and make this easy on yourself, on everybody, or are you gonna keep stepping out of line?”
I want nothing more than to spit in his fucking face. To slam my fist into his face and break the fucking glasses he always wears. But I bite down the rush of anger burning inside me, forcing myself to comply.
…for now.
“I get it,” I growl begrudgingly, baring bloodied teeth.
“Good. That’s what I like to hear. Consider this a friendly reminder not to go coloring outside the lines ever again, or next time I won’t be so forgiving. It would be bad for everyone, but especially for you… and your girl.”
Boone rises to full height, all seventy-eight inches. He turns to everybody else in the lounge and announces that Benz’s girls are about to hit the stage and put on a show. He acts like I’m not kneeling on the ground dripping buckets of fucking blood.
I get up as he returns to his table and everybody drinks up in celebration. I agreed to play the tournament how he wants, but I’m not about to hang around the lounge and pretend to enjoy myself.
Fuck Boone and fuck the hold he thinks he’s got over everybody.
Including me.
He won’t ever control me like he thinks he can, even if it seems like it at the moment. I ride the elevator up from the underground casino to the hotel side of the resort. I’m dripping blood as I walk down the hall and earn scandalized looks from some of the guests coming out of their rooms.
Almost like they’ve never seen a bruised and bleeding guy casually walking down a hotel hallway before.
I tap my keycard against the lock to the room I share with Zoe and step inside expecting nobody to be here. Zoe’s probably still downstairs finishing up her shift as a bottle girl.
Turns out, I’m wrong. I walk into our hotel room to a sharp, immediate gasp from her.
She’s in the middle of wiping off makeup from the night and gathering her things in her suitcase. The toiletry bag drops from her hands, her eyes going wide.
“Ozzie,” she says, stunned. “What the hell’s happened to you?!”