Page 5 of Ace's Winning Hand
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 abreath 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.
CHAPTER 3
QUINCY
