Chapter 22
Maverick
The casino was loud and bright, and somehow, it felt more obnoxious than the one we visited in Brisbane. Mannix was here with his men, off to the corner of the main floor, and effectively ignoring us.
My pulse was spiking, my eyes darting everywhere to try and see where she was. Would she be out here, in the open, or would he have her chained up in a back room somewhere?
“The game will take place on the second floor,” Trojan said. “Your name is Henry Williams, ex-con turned millionaire in the motor business.”
I smirked at him. “Really?”
He shrugged, before I saw his attention divert to someone else in the room. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
I turned to see who he was referring to, only to have my gaze catch on to someone who definitely shouldn’t be here. Fuck.
My eyes cast toward Reaper who had his eyes on his son, now making friends with Ironborne across the room.
Shit.
“Go and talk to him,” I told Trojan. “Before Reaper blows a gasket.”
Trojan did just that, heading over toward our Prez’s wayward son, now making a name for himself as the co-owner of The Pit, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t keep an eye on things from our perspective.
I cast my eyes over the crowd around us, looking for anyone familiar.
Looking for her. My chest was tightening as I searched every woman’s face, that I didn’t notice the boys move about.
Mannix was making a move, and I clocked it.
He motioned with his head for me to follow.
I found Shadow by the edge of the room, watching on at a game of Blackjack.
“Be back.”
Shadow nodded, watching where I was headed before I disappeared down a dark corridor, until I came to the end, a doorway opened with a light on. My hackles rose but I had no option. I pushed the door open to see Mannix in the room, alone.
Closing the door behind me, I waited for him to speak.
“She’s alive, and she’s here,” he said. “Are you sure you can beat him? The men he plays with are world poker tournament enthusiasts.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked him, moving closer.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it over to me. I looked down at the auction site, with several women on the screen but none were Tavi.
“We knew this is what he was doing.”
“Scroll down to the tournament section.”
I did, seeing the poker tournament announcement and special prize of Thomas Charman’s only daughter. The words underneath had my blood running cold.
Proven breeder, compliant and able to come back from choking, degradation, punishment and more. Papers are available upon request for a quick exit out of Australia.
Motherfucker.
“Mannix.”
“My hands are tied. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now, but I couldn’t very well share the link, now could I?” he said, pocketing his phone again. “Now, get your ass to the table and win my fucking sister before she’s shipped off to a trafficking ring, and we never see her again.”
Mannix pushed out of the room before me, and headed back into the casino. My heart was fucking racing, my stomach churning violently with the little I’d been putting into it today while I waited.
What if I lost?
What if I was the reason she was shipped off to a fucking sicko and couldn’t be found again? Would Van ever forgive me?
You can’t lose.
I took a deep breath, composed myself enough to rejoin my brothers outside and looked for the back room where the table would be set up.
“This way, Mr. Williams,” I heard someone say from beside me.
I was about to shrug him off, before I realised that was meant to be my name.
I followed him, with his little iPad and my profile–my fake profile–on it.
That’s how he’d clocked me. I couldn’t see where my brothers were but I knew they’d be here somewhere.
Watching.
Once we headed up a few steps, we walked past machines zinging with that loud, winning sound, before we turned a corner and headed down a darkened corridor, much like the one before with Mannix, and at the end, we turned into a large room, the double doors open.
A large rounded table sat in the middle of the room, with chairs scattered all around.
Decks of cards were piled on the table, alongside little computers at each spot.
I already knew what they were. They were to up the price of bids toward the grand prize.
Men were scattered toward the bar at the opposite end of the room, talking amongst themselves. He wasn’t here yet. I wasn’t sure what he would do when he saw me, whether he would outwardly tell the others who I was, or if he’d play along.
In this room, I recognised a politician, a police commissioner and at least four businessmen that I knew were into kinky shit. I counted five of them. There were eight chairs. If I were the sixth one, that left one chair for Hardy, and a spare chair.
“Gentlemen,” I heard his crackly voice from behind me. “Take your seats. Let’s get this underway.”
He hadn’t noticed me yet. I took a seat with my fake name on the display by the chair and waited. My eyes were on Hardy, never leaving his smug, absolutely punchable face. Slowly, his little buddy, who had grabbed me from the floor, ran through the rules.
They were each as debaucherous as you’d expect.
I ignored them for the most part. We didn’t play for chips.
We played with our wealth. Trojan had loaded my “account” with as much fake money as he could get his hands on, so I was good, but I wouldn’t need it.
I knew how to win this game. I just had to make sure I didn’t let my emotions get the best of me.
Hardy’s eyes were drawn to the empty seat.
“Who’s missing?” he asked, his tone taking on a menacing note.
“Ah…James Quinn.”
My eyes shot from Hardy to his man with the iPad. James Quinn? No…it couldn’t be.
“Sorry, I’m late, gents.”
Fuck. It was.
Why didn’t he tell me?
Vegas moved to the empty seat, across from me, his eyes on Hardy and the others, before they shifted to me. A slight incline of his head, an acknowledging tilt, to let me know he had my back. If I failed. He’d win her for me.
He was going to keep me on track.
Keep me focused.
He was here for me, even if his real identity was revealed. A true brother.
Hardy’s eyes moved over to me, widening for a moment, before a slow, wide smirk landed on his face. I made no effort to give him what he was hoping for.
Weakness.
I had entered my Maverick mode. Expressionless. Emotionless. Just pure strategy and skill.
He had no idea what he was in for.
“Well, I think I’ve kept you all in suspense long enough,” Hardy said, clapping his hands together. “How about we see what we’re playing for tonight, shall we?”
A door behind the bar opened and a man was dragging a woman inside.
She wore a tight gold dress and strappy heels, but I’d know those curves anywhere.
I’d mapped them with my mouth and hands countless times.
I looked up at her face, and saw her faraway stare.
She hadn’t taken in anything in the room. Had they drugged her?
Taking in her appearance, I noted the slightly faded bruises on her wrists and arms, but the handprint around her neck was unmistakeable.
Fury laced through me, my fingers itching to suffocate Hardy in front of everyone for daring to lay a finger on her.
Vegas cleared his throat, breaking me from my internal plan to ruin this fucker.
“A prize indeed, Bainbridge, stakes?”
Vegas knew how this worked. His old man was one of the nastiest pieces of shit out there, but at least he did one thing right by his son.
He taught him the game, how to withstand your opponent in the face of death, even in a game of chance.
The one time Vegas opened up to me about his old man, he told me when he was fifteen, his dad played a game of Russian Roulette with him.
It took five clicks before his father had passed out from his drink and he’d been able to breathe. Five times he’d heard the click next to his ear, wondering if he’d be killed in the next second. Five times he held his breath.
It had been torture, he’d said. Your body goes through all sorts of trauma from it, and it took him years of therapy to overcome it. Even now he still awoke with nightmares of those times his father had tried to toughen him up.
“Stakes are, two hands lost, you’re out, despite the buy in.”
“And when we win, we’ll be escorted out of here?” one of the politicians asked. I was already planning his death in my head as well.
“A helicopter is waiting on top of the building to take the victor with his prize to wherever he wishes, as well as papers to travel.”
A murmur fell over the table, and Hardy looked back at me, his head cocking to the side. He wanted me to say something. He wanted my reaction.
He wasn’t getting it.
I was this close. I had to play the game. I had to win her, or I’d lose her forever.
And that wasn’t an option.
“Shall we start?” Vegas asked, taking Hardy’s attention away from me. I settled my nerves by looking over at her, eyes glancing off into the distance, her body posture tight, controlled, like she was being held up by a stand rather than standing on her ridiculous heels.
The cards were dealt, as I kept my eyes on the other players. These men wouldn’t be easy to read, seasoned players, corruption in their veins. They knew how to tell a story to those who looked too close to the surface.
But I’d been doing this a long time.
Picking up my cards, I looked over my combination.
Not a bad hand for the first deal, but I couldn’t give too much of that away.
My anger was simmering away as I looked over at Tavi every now and then to see her shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes on the wall ahead.
When she shifted to the other foot, I saw a wince in her expression, and the darker purple bruising on the sides of her throat from where he had obviously strangled her.
She needs you. Push it back. Push the anger aside, and win.