Page 14 of Texas Hold Em’ (The Devil’s Luck MC #3)

CARRIE

W hile Tex slept beside me, I counted his breaths.

One in. One out.

He breathed deeply, the way a man might who didn’t worry about the noose tightening around his neck.

Two in. Two out.

I shifted slightly, my yellow daisy-printed sheets rustling softly beneath me, and cupped my hand under my cheek while I lay on my side and watched him.

He slept on his back with his face turned away from me.

The moonlight pouring in the warehouse windows over our heads painted his skin a moody dark blue, and he looked like a movie character basking in the waning light of night.

Somewhere outside, an early morning bird sang, and Tex’s eyelids fluttered in a dream.

Three in. Three out.

What did a man like him dream about?

I smiled and drew the blankets up under my chin. Racing motorcycles and drinking beer, probably.

In sleep, he hardly looked like the man who’d just fucked me senseless in the kitchen the night before last. He’d been animalistic then—a primal force of lust and reckless abandon unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

Our energy felt as though we were made for each other.

He gave me something I had never felt before and I wished I had the words to define it.

Unfortunately, I did not, and I knew nobody from the outside looking in could ever understand the magnetism I felt between us.

Four in. Four out.

Hell, I wondered if I could ever explain it to Tex.

Did he feel it, too? Or did he just crave the superficial layer of what we were?

Surely, he didn’t think anything real was forming between us.

For lack of a better word, our affair was taboo.

Jackson would never approve, and since Tex was part of such a tightknit MC, I found it hard to believe he’d go against Jackson’s wishes if push came to shove.

Five in. Five out.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the exposed pipes in the ceiling overhead.

What is wrong with you?

It didn’t matter if he picked me over Jackson because that wasn’t how this story was going to end.

I knew the ending already. Bates had to go to prison, and so did his daughter, who I still wasn’t sure whether or not she was a psychopath, sociopath, or both.

Once that was done, I’d hop on a plane and head back to Austin and leave Reno behind me where it belonged.

I’d go back to my old life and so would Tex.

At least, that was how it should end.

I hated waiting. It felt like it was all I was doing these days. I’d confronted Caroline in the salon over forty-eight hours ago and had yet to hear a peep from her or her father.

Perhaps I needed to make myself more accessible. Perhaps I needed to remind them that I was still a valuable player on the board.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled the blankets down, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and rose to my feet.

The mattress creaked softly beneath me but didn’t disturb Tex.

I found my pistol, where I kept it hidden in my suitcase, and strapped it to the inside of my thigh before stepping into a shin-length dress.

I’d bought it for a friend’s baby shower years ago and hadn’t worn it since, but it worked perfectly for what I needed tonight.

I dropped a pocketknife in my purse, threw my hair up in a ponytail, and snuck out of the bedroom to fetch the keys to the Chevelle.

There weren’t many bars open at this time of morning in Reno.

The only place I happened upon with a red neon sign flashing “Open” was a place with a sign that read “BAR” over the awning above the front door.

As I approached, the bouncer stood up a little straighter and looked down the length of his wide nose at me.

“Evening,” I said, knowing full well I looked out of place there.

He looked me up and down before stepping aside to let me pass.

“Thanks,” I muttered, treading over the carpet in the foyer of the bar.

It smelled like calamari and sour beer. I scrunched up my nose as I looked around.

It was dingy, that was for damn sure, and looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the seventies.

The carpets were a deep burgundy brown with little burnt-yellow diamonds on them.

Wall sconces provided dim, amber light that didn’t penetrate the corners, where clusters of men in leather jackets and hats stood shoulder to shoulder, most likely dealing.

Charming place, I thought as I waded into its depths. I couldn’t linger at the door too long. I’d draw too much attention.

I moved to the bar at the back, where a man in his sixties wiped out cocktail glasses with a stained rag. He peered up at me from under his mop of gray hair. “What can I get you?”

I licked my lips as I settled onto the barstool and set my purse down on the open seat beside me.

I wanted the knife within reach just in case.

The leather seat was cracked and poked at my rear end.

I wished they had a menu so I knew what I could order in a bottle or a can.

A joint like this gave me the creeps, and the last thing I wanted was a mixed drink from a guy who looked like he had a criminal record longer than my hair.

“Corona?” I asked .

He snorted in judgment but fetched me a bottle of beer anyway. I shook my head when he asked if I wanted a lime wedge.

After he handed me my beer, I turned in my stool to get a better look at the place.

On the opposite side of the bar, near the only window in the place, was a pool table. Three men and a middle-aged woman stood around it, leaning on their pool cues. Two of the men were looking in my direction while the third leaned over the table to take his shot.

Most of the eyes in the place wandered toward me. Without a doubt, I was not the kind of customer they were used to seeing.

Perhaps I should have thought this through a bit more.

No , I thought sternly. You can handle yourself, and this is better than sitting around waiting. Someone here will be connected to Bates. Finish your beer and sit tight.

It was easier said than done.

The strangers in the bar didn’t waste energy trying to conceal the fact that they were talking about me.

Groups in booths bowed together and cast wary glances in my direction.

Solitary men pulled out phones and looked over their shoulders at me while they spoke in hushed tones.

Women scowled through smudged-mascara eyes.

Still, I waited.

When a hush fell over the bar, my back was turned to the door. I had ordered a second beer a couple minutes prior, and I knew as I heard the muted thud of high heels across the thin carpet that the person I was waiting for had arrived.

My plan worked.

Caroline Bates sat two stools down from me.

As per usual, she wore all black, and tonight or this morning, whatever time it was, she looked particularly menacing.

She sported her usual slicked-back ponytail and red lips.

Her red nails clicked on the bar as she drummed her fingers, and the bartender fixed her a martini without her having to speak a word.

“What are you doing here, little mouse?” Caroline purred and leaned back in her stool as she took her first sip of her martini.

The bartender watched with wide, fearful eyes.

I wondered if he’d made her this drink a hundred times over and feared her wrath if he fucked it up.

She seemed to enjoy it because she sipped it again before fishing out the tiny plastic sword and plucking one of the three olives off between her perfect white teeth.

“I got tired of waiting for your father to reach out,” I said.

“You think your time is as important as his?”

“I think not wasting his or my time is important,” I said.

Caroline smirked. “You play with words like I play with little girls who think they’re tougher than they are. Like your friend, Suzie.”

I knew Caroline was trying to get under my skin by referencing how she’d crashed her car into Suzie’s truck one night. After the crash, Caroline promptly, and for lack of a better word, kicked the shit out of Suzie on the sidewalk and left her there.

Just because she could.

I decided to shift gears on her and change the subject. “How’s your martini?”

Caroline’s lips formed a smile as she pressed them to the rim of the glass. “About as satisfactory as it could be in a place like this.”

The bartender winced.

Caroline tipped her head back and drank the rest of her martini like an animal. “Finish your beer and come with me.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Had this really worked? I half expected Caroline or her father to come find me tonight, but I didn’t expect them to want to talk—or do something else. What if she wanted to kill me and officially get me out of the way?

I drained my beer and reminded myself that I had a knife in my purse and a gun strapped to my inner thigh. If things went bad, I had resources—enough to get the hell out of Dodge if I needed to.

Caroline moved languidly through the bar, but she didn’t go to the main entrance.

Instead, she took a dimly lit hallway that broke off into men’s and women’s washrooms as well as a storage room.

I followed her as the darkness thickened, and we eventually reached a metal door with an exit sign over our heads.

She pushed out into the night, and I found myself in a nearly empty parking lot.

To our right was an overflowing garbage and recycling unit.

It looked like this place didn’t bother to use the recycling, and everything went in the trash.

Around the side of the garbage was a pearl white Range Rover.

Caroline stalked toward it like a bird of prey.

With my head on a swivel, I brought up the rear.

As we got close to the SUV, two men got out of the front seats.

One opened a back door, presumably for me, while Caroline stopped in front of the driver’s door.

She accepted a pair of black leather gloves from one of the men while I stood at the back door.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He merely gestured for me to get in.

I eyed the interior of the car suspiciously.

For all I knew, I wouldn’t be able to get out once I got in.

From my time as a Ranger, I knew for a fact that the best advice for staying alive as a woman was to never get in the car with someone you didn’t trust. Once you got in that car, your odds of getting away alive were greatly reduced.

And yet I needed to get in that car. I needed to talk to Bates. I needed to get the ball rolling.

With a heavy sigh, I stepped forward.

Something slammed into my back. I yelped in surprise and stumbled forward, tripping over my own feet.

I landed hard, half my body in the back seat of the Rover, and smashed my nose on the side of the back seat.

My eyes burned with tears as someone grabbed hold of a fistful of my hair and dragged me out of the car and back into the lot.

Caroline released me with a shove before winding back and slapping me hard across the face with the back of her hand.

I reeled and pressed a palm to my stinging cheek. “You bitch ,” I hissed.

Caroline grinned as she tugged her gloves higher up her wrists. “Show me what you’re made of, Ranger.”

I rolled my shoulders.

She wanted smoke?

I’ll give you fucking smoke.