CHAPTER 2
ACE
The lighting is a mood in and of itself in the private poker room of Elysium.
People seem to love it, it makes them feel like they’re in some underground game instead of in a high-end casino.
We pride ourselves on discretion; our clients love the anonymity we protect, while knowing it’s all backed up by a motorcycle club.
What can I say? People love danger and getting as close to it as possible. They see us as dangerous, and it’s not like we’re out here petting kittens or anything. There is blood on our hands and ruthlessness mixed with leather and chrome in our blood. That’s just how it is.
I’ve always liked overseeing the poker rooms. Cards are my thing; I didn’t come by my road name by mistake. When I first came here, I was young and too fucking cocky because it was the only shield I knew. But I could hustle at the table if anyone was willing to play with me.
Playing with guys older than me, especially when I was given the opportunity to prospect at 17, made me feel like I was something. It was a tremendous change, considering for most of the first 17 years of my life I felt like nothing. Finding the Steel Sinners saved my life.
It’s something I know down to my bones.
Before the Sinners, I had been in the system almost my entire life.
I only have snippets of memories of my mom, and I never saw what a real family was.
Sometimes I would get glimpses when around friends and their families over the years.
It always felt like stepping into some fairy tale filled with magic; things I already knew weren’t real.
The only skill I ran away with was being able to read people and use it when playing cards. Which is why I watch the people at our tables more than the cards. They tell the story and they hold the secrets.
People come through here and play because they have the money to blow. The reality of it still twists in my gut. I almost want to reach for them, to stop them. Then I remember they’re suckers.
Because the house always wins.
One way or another.
My eyes drift toward Donald and Bruno, two regulars. Donald’s local and hosts his own game, a secret he tells everyone about. Bruno frequently visits his friend from out of town and likes the atmosphere of Elysium. He’s probably only tired of Donald’s variety of pussy at his games.
I’ve heard it gets stale. But Bruno doesn’t expect that shit here, and he’d be right to adjust his expectations because we don’t peddle flesh. He will get some top fucking shelf whiskey, though.
Whenever the two of them are in my room, I keep a close eye on them. Donald thinks he’s a card shark, one who is too slick to be caught. He’s ridiculous. I could take all his money while black out drunk and bleeding from a through and through.
The fucking mouth on him. I tend to go with the flow, which served me well almost everywhere I landed while growing up, but Donald gets under my skin. Not like I’d ever let him know it.
When he catches my eye, his glass halfway to his mouth, he grins from ear to ear and nods like we’re old fucking friends. I lift my chin and dissolve along the edge of the room. He won’t look for me again, he already thinks he impressed Bruno.
I know Bruno isn’t easily impressed. He simply finds his friend entertaining. I’m not surprised Donald never notices. Or maybe he does.
“You know what’s going on this weekend?” Donald’s voice is attempting to sound conspiratorial, but it misses the mark, considering he loves putting on a show.
“No fucking clue,” Bruno grunts, his focus on his cards instead of his friend. “It’s not like this is my town.”
Donald chuckles like Bruno just said something hilarious, and I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. “You visit here often enough, I thought you might have heard about it already.”
When all Bruno does is shake his head, Donald doesn’t seem to mind at all. He folds his cards with a huff and drains his drink. Then he focuses completely on his friend.
“There is a celebrity poker tournament at the Bellagio this weekend,” Donald’s voice is filled with too much glee.
I keep my face stoic, but I cringe internally. Whenever there’s a celebrity tournament, we have a few of them coming through Elysium because we’re discreet when it comes to our members and their movements. When you’re a celebrity in a town like Vegas, discretion is hard to come by.
They’re pains in the ass, and more entitled than I want to deal with.
I’ve been dreading this tournament since they announced the dates.
Honestly, I haven’t bothered looking any deeper into it and have no idea who will be playing.
It doesn’t matter who is coming into town as far as I’m concerned; I’ll deal with whoever shows up if they step foot in our casino and leave it at that.
“Those tournaments are a joke,” Bruno’s voice is bored. “They think because they’re actors or got a few minutes of fame for some bullshit then they’re going to be good poker players.” He scoffs, “It’s an insult to everyone who plays the game and takes it seriously.”
I can’t say I disagree with the man. Still, I get why these types of events keep getting hosted and televised.
Donald just shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’m hoping to get a few of them out to my game. For most of them it’s just another chance to get in front of the camera, but there are some celebrities who know how to play. Could you imagine one of those entitled celebs at my poker table?”
The laugh that comes out of him is boisterous and borders on maniacal. The hair on my arms stands on edge. Bruno gives the man an epic side eye while keeping his face stoic.
I bet Donald is the reason Bruno doesn’t live here. How the fuck can they be friends?
While I’ll never ask them, I have so many questions about their friendship. How the hell did they even meet? It wouldn’t be surprising to find out they’ve known each other since they were kids or some shit. Honestly, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
And Donald is the one who keeps holding on to the friendship.
But I’ll never satisfy my curiosity. It’s not worth asking those questions out loud. I’ve found it’s better to keep a wall between me and our clients; it’s better for everyone.
“Sounds like a headache to me,” Bruno grumbles the words.
Internally I’m nodding in agreement, but nothing shows on my face, even though they’re not looking at me. My brothers know me as someone who lives with a smile on my face. When I’m working, I use all the tools I spent my youth perfecting.
I listen more than I say. I don’t show any emotions because they can be used against me. I don’t talk about my love for the game being played in the room.
Because none of it matters when it comes to my job.
When I’m with my brothers? When I don’t have to play a part? I’m a different guy.
“Nah,” Donald insists, “not a headache. A goldmine.”
He leans back like he’s expecting someone to feed him grapes directly from the vine. My lip tries to curl as I watch his performance.
“There’s one person coming to the tournament that I have to meet,” Donald sounds downright giddy. “Quincy Wells is playing.”
Fucking hell.
Quincy Wells.
Talk about a sexy fucking woman. And she is all woman. I have no idea how she manages it, but she is incredibly fuckable, sinfully so, while managing to be innocent with a lot of girl-next-door energy.
What I wouldn’t give to have her looking at me with a coy smile on her lips while she blinks up at me with big, round eyes.
Her lips would look fucking amazing wrapped around my cock.
The thought of it has my dick twitching and thickening.
Now isn’t the time, but that’s what thoughts of Quincy do to me.
I’ve had a crush on her for years.
The thought of her coming to my town is intriguing. I wouldn’t mind playing a few hands of poker with her. It wouldn’t be a hardship, and I can’t help but wonder what I could get her to bet. I’d do just about anything to get her into my bed.
Bruno’s voice is gruff, “She’s made some good movies.”
“She’s a stunner,” Donald tosses out. “I’m going to get her to my game.”
He says it with glee and with a certainty which doesn’t sit right with me.
My gut twists and an anger ignites in response to his sleazy tone, which isn’t like me.
I want to punch the man, and while I have blood on my hands, I don’t usually fall victim to my anger.
There were far too many years of my life when anger was the only thing driving me; it’s an exhausting way to live.
And you never feel safe because you’re always ready to fight.
“She probably can’t really play,” Bruno points out as he shoots his friend a skeptical look. “Why waste your time?”
Donald grins, the gesture is sleazy as fuck. He leans toward his friend, but he doesn’t lower his voice, “I bet she’s a firecracker in bed. If I can get her to my game, I can get her in my bed.”
He sounds sure of himself, but I have no doubt that a woman like Quincy Wells is adept at handling men like Donald. Still, the whole thing doesn’t sit right with me. All Bruno does is grunt out some sort of response. Can’t say I know the man well enough to know what the sound means exactly.
But Donald changes the subject smoothly. I slip away, because the thought of him getting anywhere near a movie star, especially Quincy, has my gut twisting in a way I learned to listen to a long time ago. This feeling kept me safe.
Maybe it’s the same for her.
By the time I make it to Pope’s office, the feeling is buzzing under my skin. My Prez looks up, surprise written on his face for a moment. He masks it and seriousness takes over when he sees the look on my face.
“What’s going on?”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath and run my fingers through my hair.
I look at my Prez, a man who gave me a family when I wasn’t sure what that meant.
“I don’t know if it’s something or nothing, but it doesn’t sit right with me and I feel like I need to do something about it,” I blurt the words out, tripping over them while trying to align them into something that makes sense.
From the bewildered look on Pope’s face, I have made very little sense.
No surprise there.
I huff out a breath and slump back into the chair. “Donald and Bruno are in my room,” I explain and his face smooths out into something like understanding.
Everyone knows how Donald is. And about his top-secret game.
Fucking shameless.
With a shake of my head, I go on to explain, “Donald was talking about some celebrity poker thing at the Bellagio. Quincy Wells is going to be there, apparently, as a player. He wants to get her to his poker game.”
“She’s an adult,” Pope says while leaning back in his chair. “If she wants to go to Donald’s little game, it’s her choice.”
“Donald’s scum. He won’t even try to make sure she’s safe or take care of her.” My lip curls as I sneer the words, “He wants to get her into his bed. It’s all he cares about. He might be harmless here, but there? Where he feels like he has power? Who knows what he’ll do to ensure he fucks her?”
Pope arches an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s my problem, Ace,” his words are laced with annoyance.
“Donald makes no secret of his game, even though it’s not exactly on the up and up.
” Pope nods at my words and makes a motion with his hand for me to get on with it.
“I’m sure he makes no secret of the fact that he plays here.
Will some shit going down with an actress, one with the kind of spotlight on her she has, blow back on us?
Probably not in the long run, but it could jam us up enough to be something we should avoid. She’s too high profile for that shit.”
He leans over his desk, resting his forearms on it as he does. “You bring up a good point. There’s no reason for anyone to waste our time asking useless questions if nothing happens to the girl.”
I bite my tongue, because she’s more than a girl, but now is not the time for me to point it out. From the amusement on Pope’s face, I don’t hide my feelings very effectively.
“I take it you’re willing to keep an eye out and show up at his game to make sure nothing happens?” I can hear the challenge in his voice, but I’m not backing down.
“I’d rather make sure she’s safe than for some shit to go down,” I agree with a shrug.
“I doubt Donald can even get her out of the Bellagio, but you can keep an eye on things” he offers.
With a chin lift of acknowledgement, I leave his office. It’s a good thing I know people who can let me know when Quincy Wells rolls into town. Part of me hopes I can get a glimpse of her in person.