Chapter 15 Jagger #2
I scratch the edge of my jaw, careful not to mess up the skull Hawke painted on my face earlier today while I consider our options.
“Let’s get this shit over with. Simultaneous bets.
One round for each activity. No rematches.
And no wet T-shirt contest,” I add, giving Ford a sharp look.
“I know you had that in your back pocket.”
“What? You really think that’s the one she’d sign up for?
” Ford snorts. “No offense, but the girl has no tits. Now her friend on the other hand—” I sucker punch him in the arm, and he nearly falls out of his seat.
Rubbing at the sore spot, he grumbles, “Calm down, man. You really are touchy when it comes to her.”
“I think we all agree you deserved it,” Hawke points out. “Besides, Lexie has enough assholes leering at her. Leave her alone.”
“Maybe she likes it,” Ford offers. “From what I hear, she’s a favorite at the—”
“You sure you wanna finish that sentence?” Hawke growls.
“I’m just sayin’.” Ford’s brows bounce up and down.
“Anyway,” Roman interjects. “People are getting anxious, and the longer we wait, the higher the odds of your uncle showing up.”
“I thought a little bird told you they’re putting on a show on the beach?” I say.
Roman shrugs. “Might be best not to test it.”
He’s right. The less my uncle can intervene, the better. Not that he’d be able to do much if he did show up, but, like Roman said, it’s best not to test it. Especially tonight.
Rubbing his hands together, Ford stands. “Then I say we give the people what they want. Everyone still good with their positions?”
“We’ll take the arcade,” Hawke says.
Roman turns to me. “That leaves us with the haunted house.”
“Haunted house, it is,” I mutter. We’ve already been over everything.
Ford had a presentation and walked us through the game plan for both events.
The arcade’s basically an assortment of carnival games like balloon darts or a ring toss, and the haunted house is exactly that.
A haunted house on steroids. First to make it through wins, where the spectators can watch from Harden provided—and encrypted—tablets.
Honestly, I’m surprised Ford didn’t pick the haunted house since it felt like his brainchild, but I won’t complain.
It’s not like Roman and I really have to do anything.
We just stand there and make sure nothing gets out of hand.
There are a few volunteers who will also help us explain the rules, take bets, that kind of thing.
My presence is just a formality. Even so, the haunted house is the most likely to cause issues, considering the renovations Ford rushed to implement.
But, hey. At least it’ll be interesting.
“Let’s get this over with.” Gripping the arms of the massive throne, I stand, and my brothers do the same.
“Everyone!” Ford booms. “Thanks for coming to our first of many ladies’ nights!” People cheer around us. “As you know, tonight is a special event! People have been begging for us to expand our entertainment selection, and we’re nothing, if not accommodating!”
“Yeah, you are!” a curvy redhead chimes in.
Ford’s mouth lifts. “To keep things running smoothly, grab your drinks and head to one of the following attractions,” Ford continues.
“We’re doing blind bets only, which—for those of you who are new—means you will be betting before the game is officially revealed.
Minimum buy-in is a hundred dollars. That’s one-zero-zero.
Ladies, without giving too much away, your participation is not mandatory, but it is encouraged. After all, it’s ladies’ night.”
“And how do we earn money?” a light, airy voice calls from the crowd, though I’m too disinterested to pinpoint who it belongs to.
“The girl who lasts the longest in the event, or is the first to finish, depending on the activity, gets fifty percent of the pot. That is five-zero percent, ladies!”
“Woo-hoo!” a few girls cheer.
I glance at Violet, too curious for my own good.
She’s still chatting with her friend. Her face is more expressive than I’ve ever seen, but she appears so wrapped up in her conversation, Ford’s instructions are going right over her head.
Not exactly a good sign if she has any hopes of walking away with the money.
Not that I care. I’ve done my job. She got a new place.
She doesn’t have to share a roof with her father anymore.
Or at least, not after tomorrow. My hands are clean.
It’s best I remember that. Turning back to Ford, I hold onto the reminder, refusing to give the girl another second of my time.
Ford lifts his hands, quieting the crowd so he can continue.
“Gentlemen, if you bet on the girl who wins the activity, you’ll split the rest of the pot, minus twenty-percent the game-makers take, with the rest of the gentlemen who also bet on the same girl.
May the odds be ever in your favor,” he adds, quoting Hunger Games as he bows low, reminding everyone of Effie from the book.
All he’s missing is a wig and some white makeup.
Jumping off the stage, he lands on the ground and is almost immediately swallowed by the crowd below.
Hawke follows, stepping off the side of the stage with his hands in his pockets and blending in with the people like a mirage until he disappears completely.
Bending down, I grab a fresh bottle of beer from the cooler on stage and pop off the lid.
If I have any hope of making it through tonight without losing my shit, I’m going to need the buzz.
“What about Morgan?” Roman asks.
I sigh, watching Ethan take a beer from one of the coolers scattered throughout before striding toward Violet and her friend.
When he offers one to his sister, he gives her a hard look and she takes it from him.
Moving on, he hands another can to Violet.
With a smile, she takes the alcohol from him and opens the can, clicking the edge of it against Lexie’s as they cheers to…
something. Ethan moves to Violet’s opposite side.
I can’t see his face, only his back. Violet, however, is still positioned toward me.
She gives him a shy smile and says something back to him, making my gut twist and my fingers dig into my bottle. If only I could read her lips.
“Want me to ask him to leave?” Roman prods.
Morgan. Right.
“Shit’s already tense enough,” I mutter. “Keep an eye on him. If he tries anything, shut it down.”
His brows hitch. “Even if it pisses off—”
“We might be in Drift territory, but these are our events,” I remind him. “Everyone knows the rules.”
“Keep your phone close,” Roman mutters.
Morgan grabs Violet’s shoulder as her pouty lips form indecipherable words. It’s not rough. Or at least, not yet. But it doesn’t stop my fists from clenching. Who does this asshole think he is?
Oblivious, Roman continues. “If shit goes down, and I need your approval—”
As Morgan tugs Violet toward him, I interrupt, “You know what? I’ll be right back.”
“Jag,” Roman starts, but I don’t listen to him. Instead, I weave through the crowd, my muscles vibrating with tension.
Yeah, no.
Violet might be a pain in the ass, but I’m not a fan of these two. Not one fucking bit.