Chapter 5
Nik
I walk down the back alley of a four-story building, the one named Club Trick.
Just as in football, a trick play is all about deception.
And that's exactly what this place is: a nightclub and bar on the outside, but with a speakeasy room that requires a password to enter.
The one I wear an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up to hide my face, dark jeans, and Timberland boots to. The opposite of Saint Nik.
Besides owning two hotels in downtown Mistletoe Falls and a restaurant on the water by himself, Dante Shivers and I co-own Club Trick.
He and I have a business arrangement that began when I was in high school.
He was the guy running the gambling ring my father was wrapped up in.
The same one he gambled my college tuition money, and more, to.
So when the time came for me to go to school, and the money was gone, Dante paid my way—as long as I worked for him and kept my mouth shut.
I’ll never forget my first meeting with Dante.
I was a young, scared kid who knew nothing about this part of the world.
All I knew was that dad told me he was in trouble, and I vowed to do whatever it took to protect my family.
When I walked into that back room with my dad that night, I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
But when I stood tall, ready to accept consequences for my dad’s behavior, Dante respected it.
He said, “You protect your own, even if it costs you. That’s rare in my world, and it’s why I’m in your corner now.”
I started off with little jobs. I was big, and I was good at getting things I wanted. He’d send me out to collect and make sure people knew not to fuck with him or his business.
But Dante quickly learned I had a really great grasp on the game. I knew plays and expected lineups before they landed on the screen. It started out simply. He’d ask which team I thought would win, if I thought they’d cover the spread. And then it grew from there.
Despite how our relationship began, we’ve become friends as well.
We trust each other with our business. Some days, I want out of this type of life.
I just want to be a football player, but then I remember everything Dante did for me, and I know I'll continue to sacrifice peace of mind to be loyal to him. In a choice this dark, it’s hard to find someone to trust. So when you do, you have to hold onto it.
He’s the only one in this building, besides his security, who knows who I really am when I come here.
Here? Saint doesn’t exist. Nik Papas doesn’t exist. I use an alias on all paperwork that ties to the club.
W. Priestly runs a legit business, but because it’s mixed with some non-conventional means of income, I can’t have any of it lead back to Nik Papas.
I’ve no doubt Dante would make sure that if anyone figured it out, he’d make them disappear. I’m far too valuable to him, so he works harder at covering my tracks than I do sometimes.
The alley reeks of piss and garbage, and I glance behind me before knocking twice, pausing, then once more. A small slit in the rusted door opens, and a pair of eyes stares back at me.
“Password?”
“Fourth and inches,” I mutter.
The door opens, and I step inside. There are two sets of stairs, one leading to the left for the nightclub and one leading to the right for those who know the password. It’s such a cliché, and I find myself huffing a quiet laugh at the absurdity of my life.
All-Star in the NFL has it all but risks it in ways people would never think.
I ignore both sets of steps and walk straight ahead down the long corridor.
The music from the club thumps through the walls, and the smell of cigarettes and bad choices becomes stronger.
I take the steps in front of me, climbing to the top, feeling less like a saint and more of a sinner with each step.
I open the door into a large plush room that is the exact opposite of the shitty outside of this place.
But that’s the point. The double life is a must. Once inside, I shed my large hoodie, smooth down the button-down I have on, and run a hand through my hair.
The two security guards nod to me, and I walk to the front of the room that overlooks the entire downstairs.
The double glass allows me to watch but never be seen.
Looking out over the crowd of writhing bodies, the blinking strobe lights make everyone look as if they are moving in broken waves.
The music is loud, the drinks are flowing, and the women are hot.
The bar that outlines this place is made of smooth black marble with etchings of silver and grey, the bottles behind the bar are lit on each row of shelves, and the hanging lights above the bar all have an amber glow.
It’s meant to give off a classy, rich, smooth vibe.
As you move across the dance floor, the black and white checkerboard lights up like a rainbow as it catches the blinking lights.
Sconces on the wall provide just enough light to know whether you need to pull a coyote ugly in the morning or not.
Or if it’s dark enough for just a quick blow job in the bathroom.
I hear the door open and feel him enter before I see him.
Dante's presence fills the room before he even says a word. He isn’t some shirt half-buttoned, gold-chain-wearing wanna-be thug.
He's a businessman first, well-dressed and precise with everything he does. He’s ten years older than me, still very young to be running such an empire.
He’s smart as fuck and has no problem scoring with the ladies.
But money is his first love, and I’ve seen him toss a girl right off his dick because someone was fucking around with his businesses.
This is why I’ll always keep him on my side.
There are no drugs or trafficking. Besides alcohol and VIP rooms, we’re strictly a gambling house.
Good business and privacy are top priorities for him.
Dante approaches with two drinks, and I accept one, shaking hands with the free one. I sip the tan liquid and say, “Full house for a Monday.”
“Mm. Business is good, on both sides.”
We move to the right side now, looking over the other half of the room —the other half that is whispered about, but which the majority of the city thinks is a ghost tale. Just like me.
Essentially, I’m two different men. I’m the one on the field, the one you bring your kids to see and seek autographs from. But once the sun sets, I’m the one you’d cross to the other side of the street to avoid.
A dealer flips cards at the nearest table, while men and their dates surround it, laying down more money and chips. Two bartenders fill drinks quickly while others line the front of the bar, staring at the many televisions hung around the room, changing with numbers and stats from the sports world.
“This week’s game schedule is shaping up to bring in some good money, if all goes according to stats.”
I smirk. “Public stats and my stats are quite different, though, aren’t they?”
He chuckles. “That they are, sir.”
I watch the betting room. I sip again, letting the alcohol run through me, and study the men sitting at the bar.
I’ve never been a drinker, but since coming into the league, dealing with that pressure while still running with Dante at night, I’ve found that a glass here and there is needed to keep me even.
I eat clean, work out, but that extra bit of scotch or vodka to calm the nerves is key.
“Away game this weekend?” Dante asks.
“Yeah, I’m traveling north for Thursday night. Should be an easy win.” I sip again. “Soba’s playing home.”
“He give you anything good?”
I nod. “Two of their starting offense have injuries not reported, and second string can’t run like they can.”
“So, what are you thinking?”
I tilt my head back and forth in question. “It’s a home game, so they’ve got the crowd, but an injury is an injury.”
Dante says, “They've got a nine-point spread.”
I think for a moment. “I think Rage will win, but they won’t cover.” My gut twists as I say it, hating that I'm betting against my best friend, but knowing what I know about his team, I have to make it work for me.
“Alright. I’ll have it pushed,” Dante states.
I watch as a waitress makes her rounds around the bar, probably making more money tonight than most do all week.
Dante clears his throat. “Rhett was here earlier. Made a delivery for me, but I’ve a feeling he was here more so to look around.”
Rhett Daniels. Someone who should have only been a teammate.
For whatever reason, he ended up here in Mistletoe Falls.
Word is he’s got family here, so after school, he landed here.
I didn’t like it. It was too close for comfort.
He’s someone I never should have crossed paths with, but now I’m tied to him forever.
Dante uses him as a runner every now and then, just enough to keep him interested in the money but afraid enough to keep his mouth shut.
He lives for the adrenaline rush like I do.
A lot of guys in the league get that rush from drugs, alcohol, and women.
But no dollar amount and no girl could keep me from that high I got from placing a bet.
And winning.
“He say something to you?”
“No, but we keep track of him. Heard he got a job with a new guy, but no one's giving names.”
Rhett, Dante, and I share a tangled past. It started with money, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a different kind of gamble.
I never thought I’d betray my love for the game enough to rig its outcome, but at the time, it felt like the only move I could make.
I only crossed that line once, yet I kept going with Dante and the business.
How could I walk away from someone who had risked everything, too?
Rhett Daniels, though, could be the one to topple it all. So, we keep him close.
“How'd he act? Still afraid?”
Dante downs his drink, places it on the table beside him, and rubs a hand over his jaw.
“That’s the thing. Fear’s a currency. Like money, it eventually runs out, ya know?
Kind of like, the more you use it or the more it’s in your face, the easier it is to think you can beat it, and that leads you to doing something stupid. ”
“What are you getting at?”
“He came in with a different attitude. A little more ballsy than usual.”
I continue to stare into the crowd. Something feels off.
Dante continues, “Could all just be a bluff, though. You and I both know the empty threats that come through this place. There’s always someone out there ready to try to take something from you.”
“Boss?” Jake, one of the security guys, steps forward. I watch as he taps the almost invisible earpiece. “Trouble on the floor.”
Dante stands at full attention. “Tell me.”
Jake steps to the glass window and points.
We see two guys crowding three girls. They definitely look like the hipster scum that hangs around this place, flaunting daddy’s money, trying to score a date, but can’t because their personalities are so treacherous and their attitude so arrogant, they can’t get out of their own way.
We all watch as the girls try to move away, but they continue to follow.
“Handle it. Assholes like that will give our club a bad name. If girls leave here feeling creeped out by the other guests, we get a bad reputation for being a sleazy joint.”
Jake nods, speaks low into the mic on his shirt, and within ten seconds, two very large bouncers who I didn't even know were there step into the light and forcibly move the two men out the side door. It’s quick, clean, and only the three girls notice that something just went down.
I stare a bit longer at the one girl; she seems familiar. Dante comes to my side and watches quietly. “As long as they’re dropping daddy’s money into our pocket, we’re all good. But a scene like that? Not worth it in the least.”
“Last thing we need is the authorities poking around these walls.” I let out a breath as I grab my hoodie, sliding it back on. “Keep an eye on Rhett, but do it quietly. I want to know who has him on payroll, who he fucks, and who he uses to get high.”
Dante nods. “I’m on it.”
I move toward the door. “Thanks, man. I’ll catch you over the weekend.”
“Win big, Saint.”
I raise a brow at him, and he chuckles. I throw the hood over my head and head out the way I came in, knowing in a few hours, I’ll be back on the field, running drills and signing autographs like tonight never happened.