6. Meri
CHAPTER 6
MERI
Being Mistress Green gives me confidence and bone-deep knowledge that I can handle myself.
“I fold.”
Poker tosses his cards onto the table before leaning back in his chair. He showed up at the warehouse on his Harley, wearing jeans, a dark Henley, and his cut. And while he was stunning in a tux, he’s mouth-watering in his normal attire.
Tattoos cover his arms and are visible where he has his sleeves shoved up to his elbows. The top two buttons of the Henley are open, and I want to trace my tongue along the ink there.
“Mistress?”
I whip my head toward Malcolm, who’s standing to my left, where he watches over the players and game. “What?”
He nods at the table as he leans close. “The hand is over,” he whispers.
Shaking my head free of my thoughts and returning my attention to the game, I gather the cards.
Poker clears his throat. “So, how’s business, Martin?” he asks the man to his right.
Martin is the head of the largest private cybersecurity firm in Austin, and not a fan of the biker. “I can afford to be here,” he sneers, barely sparing Poker a glance. “More than I can say for you.”
“He’s got a point, Mistress,” Mr. Neero agrees. He came alone tonight, which only serves to make his tongue sharper. “Hell, he couldn’t even bother putting on decent?—”
“That’s enough!” I snap, moving my stare from one player to the next until I’ve taken in each one. “If you don’t like the way I run my fucking games, you can see yourself out.”
Malcolm bristles beside me, braced for whatever might come from my outburst. When no one speaks, Poker stands and leans his palms on the table.
“If anyone has a problem with me, ” he seethes. “Then take it up with me, not her .”
The deadly tone of his words sends shivers down my spine, but not in a bad way. Poker is defending me, and that feels… good. I mean, I can take care of myself, but I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.
“No problem,” Stefan states, leaning back in his chair. “If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m quite happy to watch the man no matter what he wears.”
Stefan is gay and has made no bones about what he thinks of Poker. The way he stares at him when they’re both in attendance is intense enough to make me feel like a third wheel in a non-existent relationship.
“Thanks,” Poker says. “I think.”
“I apologize, Mistress,” Mr. Neero says, his tone clipped. “It is not my intention to cause trouble. It just seems like there may be more to Poker being here than for a simple poker game. Especially when he’s the only player who gets away with breaking your rules.”
I breathe deeply, knowing he’s right while simultaneously not giving a damn. My game, my rules, my exceptions to make. And I’ll be fucked if I’m going to let any of these rich bastards try to guilt me into changing the way I do things.
“As I said, if you have a problem with the way things are run, you know where the door is,” I repeat. “Now, either shut up so we can continue or leave. I don’t give a fuck which you choose, but you’ve got five seconds to make up your mind before I make it up for you.”
Silently counting in my head, I get to one, and disappointment slithers through me when Poker turns and walks to the exit and out the door. It’s all I can do not to flinch when it slams behind him, echoing in the large space.
“I see the trash took itself out,” Mr. Neero mutters, and my blood boils.
“Get out,” I say, rage bleeding from my tone.
“Excuse me?” the man scoffs indignantly.
“You heard me,” I snap. “Get. Out.”
When he makes no effort to move, Malcolm shifts to stand behind him, ready to force him out if necessary.
“You can’t be serious.” Mr. Neero halfheartedly chuckles. “You’re a rich woman because of me.”
My brows hit my hairline almost as quickly as I reach beneath my dress and yank my gun out of the holster to point it at his head. I’m grateful that my arm isn’t shaking from my barely controlled anger. I’d hate to put a bullet in the wrong person.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“You heard her,” Malcolm says.
Grant finally makes his way from the bar toward the table, his hand on the weapon at his side. He doesn’t say a word, instead acting like a silent predator coming upon his prey.
Mr. Neero shoves back from the table and rises to his feet, buttoning his Armani suit jacket as he does. His face is a mottled red, and if it were possible, I’m sure smoke would be billowing out of his ears.
“You haven’t seen the last of me,” he seethes.
“You’re suspended for one month,” I tell him, regretting my three-strikes rule. This is only Neero’s second, so my hands are tied. “The next time you accept one of my invitations, I’d appreciate it if you only bring your money and not your judgment.”
With narrow eyes, he spins on his heel and storms out of the warehouse. Grant follows him to make sure he leaves, although I know Conrad would ensure it from his position at the exit.
“Any other grievances before we continue?” I ask, willing my heartbeat to return to normal.
For a moment, it pounded against my ribs hard enough to crack my chest wide open. Not from fear but adrenaline. As much as I hate confrontation, being Mistress Green gives me confidence and bone-deep knowledge that I can handle myself.
When no one speaks, I gather the cards and put them in the automatic shuffler. The last two hours of the game pass without a hitch, and Stefan is the big winner of the night, walking out with over a hundred grand in his pocket. I leave with thirty thousand after giving my security team the ten thousand each I pay them for each game.
Not bad for a few hours of work.