3. Stranded
THREE
Stranded
CARTER
What was I thinking? One look into Sage’s eyes and I realized I couldn’t do this.
Those warm, curious eyes that lit up when we talked about plants… they saw too much. Or maybe they saw me—the real me hiding behind the new-cowboy act—and that scared the hell out of me more than anything.
I wasn’t a good liar by nature to begin with.
Living without my money and the Magnus last name would be a challenge. But to stand there in front of a pretty and innocent woman like her, pretending I fit into her world, surrounded by small-town people?
Made everything a little too real.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and got lost in the crowd, but her voice kept echoing in my head. That easy, genuine sound had cut through the noise of the barn dance like nothing else tonight.
My fingers curled around the keys to the Ferrari, still in my pocket since I’d followed Chris on the drive over her. Without another thought, fear took flight. I ran straight to it.
Fuck it.
One night. Just one more night to be the old Carter, then tomorrow I’ll figure this mess out.
My joy ride tearing down the curvy road eventually led me to a bar, with a bunch of motorcycles parked out front—which should have been my first clue to stay away.
When I entered, all eyes landed on me. All eyes belonging to the grungy, leather-wearing, long-haired, and bearded members of the Raisin’ Hell MC Club, according to the patches they wore.
They all took one look at me, from Chris’ Stetson on my head down to his rich Lucchese buck leather boots, and practically snarled.
The ginger-man at the bar shook his head, eyes narrowing. “You’re in the wrong place, man.”
I swallowed. But one stiff drink was all I needed. Then I could head to the nearest airport and get as far away from here as possible.
“Bartender… drinks on me,” I shouted, pulling out my black card and holding it high in the air. That was the only way I knew to make an entire MC club my new best friends. And thank fuck Chris hadn’t taken my wallet away from me yet.
The ginger-man patted the empty barstool next to him, suddenly sporting a toothy grin. “Well, hell, we’ll accept your hospitality. Where are you from, friend, because I can tell you’re not from around here?”
“Just passing through,” I responded. The bartender put a beer in front of me in a frosted mug. “Can you add a shot of your best bourbon on the side, please?”
“Yes, ol’ chap, please give us all a finger of bourbon, compliments of my new pal here,” the ginger-man mocked my accent and roared with laughter, along with all of his followers around the bar. He must be the ringleader.
That was how it went over one drink with me talking, and him making fun of me talking, until the second round of drinks where we reached a subject we could both agree upon: playing poker.
I shared a couple of stories of playing famous poker players around the world. He seemed particularly fascinated by my time at the casino in Monaco, and how I’d once lost to the Prince of that small principality.
“I play like shit, but I love to play,” I finished with a wink, along with the last sip of my beer. My mind raced over how to bring this to a close and escape the bar.
He elbowed me and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Say, if you’re in the mood for a game tonight, I know a very discreet place for distinguished gentlemen such as yourself to indulge in a few hands…”
I checked my phone. It was late, maybe too late to get a flight out tonight or to arrange the family jet. The lure of a local poker game suited me fine to pass the time until tomorrow. Why not?
I could add this Montana experience to my repertoire of stories, maybe someday sitting on the other side of the world telling some billionaire at a bar in Monaco about this rough Montana crowd.
“It seems you and I speak the same language after all, uh…”
“Amos… Red Amos. My twin over there is Bud Amos.” He pointed at another man who waved, his gold tooth winking at me from the neon behind the bar.
“Carter… Carter James.” I wasn’t about to tell him my real name. The Magnus name with our music label, Magnus Music, usually turned people feral, thinking they could land tickets or meet celebrities.
Minutes later, in the Ferrari, which I let Red drive because he asked and I wasn’t about to risk telling him no, we followed the bikers to a ranch, where we entered some sort of underground bunker by some boulders, leading to a cave.
I might have been scared if not for the fact that several other cars were there, from SUVs to trucks and a few black sedans as well.
After parking, we entered through a set of doors into a large, cavernous space.
Once my eyes adjusted, I could see various forms of gambling, from craps to poker, were taking place at the tables.
More neon lighting in various shades from pink to blue bounced off the stone-carved walls.
Even some columns of stalagmites were lit up impressively among the tables.
Hunting trophies of animals and antlers of all kinds covered the walls.
“I’ve been to many venues, but this one is unique,” I observed.
“My father discovered this place on our ranch years ago,” he explained. And naturally, he turned a cave into a homegrown casino? Made sense in some wild Montana way.
Moving calmly, I sat where Red gestured, when my pulse was anything but. I handed my black card to the dealer, getting a stack of chips and being dealt into the game. Introductions were made around the table, all names I completely forgot as we started playing.
I folded or lost on the first few hands, mainly to get a feel for the players and who I was dealing with.
The man with the biggest stack of chips in front of him was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, from what I could tell of the conversation.
Another man, a famous actor, one I was sure I’d seen in a movie at some point, joked with him about some actress he’d bedded recently.
The rest were apparently wealthy men from around the region: big landowners, successful ranchers, and lawyers.
An hour into playing and losing, Red finally left my side when a man in a well-tailored suit entered the cave.
The CEO shouted a greeting, addressing the man as Congressman Brewster.
I didn’t care who he was, just noted the scowl on his face and the way he growled at Red and took him behind a door into another room.
“Somebody isn’t happy,” the actor smirked.
“Fucking Brewsters. He and those sons of his are pieces of shit,” the CEO replied.
“And yet here you are, playing poker in his establishment,” a rancher snidely commented.
“What can I say? It’s the shitty people in the world who throw the best parties.” The CEO laughed.
“Gentlemen, are we playing poker, or gossiping? I call.” I moved a stack of chips to the center.
Everyone showed their hands. With each reveal, I held back a smile until it was my turn. I laid my cards out one by one. “Royal flush.”
The table erupted. Some slapped my back. The dealer shoved piles of chips my way.
After several rounds and multiple wins, the chips piled up in front of me, but the victory felt hollow.
A few hours ago I’d been at the start of a thirty-day journey that would earn me millions.
Hell, a few hours ago I’d even been trading plant puns with a woman who made me forget about money entirely.
Now I was back to the same old games. Same old Carter.
I read the table. The CEO became irritable; the actor frustrated. They were exhibiting signs of anxiousness about my style of playing. It was time to collect and call it a night.
I needed to get my ass out of Montana and back to my world, anyway. I took my chips and met Red at the bar as he waved me over to cash out.
He slid a glass my way with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “How about one last shot?”
“Sure.” I downed it. Big mistake. My eyesight grew fuzzy in an instant. The room swayed. The mounted antlers on the wall pointed like sharp knives. “Did you put something in my drink?”
Red’s brother and another big man appeared on each side of me.
“For someone who claims they play like shit, you certainly cleared the table. Some of our regulars aren’t pleased. They think you were hustling us.” Red nodded, and the two men took hold of my arms, leading me out. “You're a hustler, aren’t you, Carter?”
“Wait. Wh-what’s happening?” I couldn’t move my limbs. The men dragged me along. They carried me out to a large, black SUV.
“Here’s the thing. Since you’re passing through, we’ll let it go this time. But I suggest you quickly forget all about this place, don’t even think about telling anyone about it, and go back to wherever you came from,” Red seethed.
Before tossing me inside, he plunged his fist into my stomach. My lungs practically collapsed. I bent over, heaving, but the thugs threw me in back and I blacked out.
I woke up gasping for air. Almost total darkness enveloped me. Was I buried alive somewhere? I shifted onto my back, my eyes landing on the big sky of stars above.
“Thank fuck.” My teeth chattered though as I lifted my head and looked down at my body—I was only in boxers and boots on a chilly night in the middle of nowhere with not a single building or house or person in sight.
“Those assholes,” I croaked, pulling myself to sit upright. Oof, my ribs ached.
I patted the ground in the dark. No phone. No wallet. Nothing around me. They’d stripped me of everything. Ironic because wasn’t that what my father’s instructions were? Live with nothing for thirty days.
Thanks to that asshole Red Amos, I truly was living my worst nightmare.
“Oh, shit!” I shouted into the void. I got to my feet and moved out of necessity, or I’d freeze. On a moonless night, surrounded by mountains, I had no sense of direction at all. The only guide was the largest star above, which I hoped was the North Star.
Funny how walking in the dark had me regretting all my life choices—especially running from Sage, the one bright spot I’d found tonight.
As soon as I found civilization again, I’d gladly leave Montana behind me… or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.
Dad was probably laughing in his grave. “Knew you couldn’t do it,” he’d say. None of my brothers needed to hear about this either, or Chris. “Another fuck-up for Carter,” they’d roar.
That assumed I survived this and didn’t freeze to death first. What would be the odds someone would drive by to save me before that happened?