Chapter 1

Chapter One

Griffin

W hoever first said the wrong place, right time, was a smart man.

Because here I stand in the wrong place, looking at something very right. Fiery red hair, sparkling green eyes, and the brightest smile I have ever seen stares back at me. Jesus, she is stunning, so much so that I cannot tear my eyes off her. Moments ago, I tried to tell the guys coming here was a bad idea. Now I think this is the best bad idea we’ve ever had.

Standing in the smoky haze of Cutter’s is not how the night was supposed to end. We’ve been here a few times, but tonight Rumi is drunk on love and too much scotch. King, Adriel and I took the bachelor out for some prime Kobe steaks, some expensive cigars, and a cabaret show his blushing bride approved up. I thought we had sufficiently celebrated.

Looks as if Rumi is not done celebrating. We all ignore how the room goes still, all eyes turning to us with mistrust. Who the hell cares what a bunch of crooked fucks think of us? Sure, we stand out, the four of us walking in as if we own the place. All these years later we still move as a unit, clocking the exits, any dangers filling the cramped space, gauging to see if we could handle things if shit goes sideways.

Sharing a look, we all nod. Yes, we could handle this place. Cutter’s might be the roughest joint in Chicago, but after all we’ve seen, this place is comparable to a frat party. Still, it is not where we’re supposed to be. Regan expected us to bring her fiancé home hours ago and I hate upsetting a lady.

“Your old lady will have my ass, Rumi,” I mutter as he heads for the roulette table.

“Nah, she loves you, Gideon. King will take all the blame for this,” he chuckles with a smirk.

Several tables fill the small space, all manner of card games, the roulette table, and even a craps table set up. Each table is full, everyone letting their money ride. I gravitate to the blackjack table not for the game but for the woman dealing the cards with lighting fast precision.

“I accept that. Holler if you need me,” I tell him as I sail past him.

Watching as the hot dealer focuses on the players at her table, I take time sizing her up. Tall, thick, with curves for days and skin that shimmers in her revealing vest and skirt, I am breath taken. It is not just how beautiful she is with that big, bright smile and bright green eyes, but her air of confidence. There is something about her that tells me she can handle herself fine here, or anywhere else, for that matter.

Once a seat opens, I slide into it, letting my eyes trail over her wide hips and full tits. Jesus, she is a work of art. I truly cannot stop eating her up with my hungry gaze. Something she notices, I think, because I see the faintest flush at her beautiful face.

Watching her work is a treat. With fast movements, she deals cards, smiling at each player. Making just the briefest connection with each of us. Her eyes meet mine after I put some cash down, still staring at her. There is a moment where she does her own sizing up, the corners of her pretty mouth quirking up. Sliding some chips at me, she cocks her head .

“New here?” she asks, her voice smooth and melodic, yet laced with an edge of skepticism.

“Not exactly,” I answer with a shrug. “Gideon Tucker.”

“Gemma,” she introduces herself with a slight nod, smiling again. “You know how to play, yes?”

“Enough to get by,” I offer with a smirk, pushing some chips towards the pot.

Blackjack begins and with hand after hand, I become more and more captivated by Gemma. She is a master at what she does, shuffling, dealing out cards, a graceful fluidity to her movements. It is more than her skills that intrigue me; it is the mystery in her eyes, the enigmatic air to her.

“You said you knew how to play,” she mutters as I lose another hand.

Truth is, I am not even paying attention to my cards. Because Gemma is a talker. Between hands, she talks about her yorkie Noodle who she adores, how many famous faces come to Cutter’s, how she hates the cigar smoke but loves to smoke a cigar, and how tonight, just like every other night before it, should be her last night dealing. I watch her in rapt fascination as I hang on to every single word.

“I do. Never said I was good at it,” I answer with a wink.

“No, you’re not good at all. We’re supposed to cut off folks who might be…upset they lost.”

“Do you think I would get upset if I lost a little money to you, kitten?”

Gemma’s green eyes darken as they lock on mine. Her teeth come out to bite her lip and, fuck, I want to know what she tastes like. I have never seen something so pure, so perfect, and so tempting. An ardent desire to ruin her, see her red lipstick smeared across her face, her eyes dark with running mascara as she cries out beneath me, almost knocks me on my ass.

“N-no? Uh, well, yes,” she stammers, straightening her spine as she stands up to me. Good girl.

“Never happen, Gemma. I would spend a small fortune to just sit here and watch you work. That cute thing you do each deal, biting your bottom lip. How you clock each winning hand.”

Gemma blinks, tearing her glance from me before it comes right back. Two other players wait for their cards, growing impatient. I shoot them a look that takes care of that, nodding at her to assure she is fine. Dealing another round, she smirks at me as she flips my top card over.

It is a ten, and I have an ace on the table. I toss in a few hundred-dollar chips, waiting for the others to decide. One of them folds and pushes from the table, muttering about me being a cooler. I chuckle as I sip at the whiskey a flirty server set down for me. Gemma eyes that girl with such spite I have to suppress a laugh. This knockout does not notice I have not taken my eyes off her since I walked in.

“Hush. No flirting, big stuff,” she hisses beneath her breath. “Don’t get me in trouble.”

“Can’t help it, kitten,” I whisper back. Darting a glance around the cramped room. “No one will say a word to you, kitten, I promise. Hit me,” I tell her, tapping my fingers on the table.

Making her eyes big, she shakes her head, nodding at my winning hand. Smirking even bigger, I tap the table again, making her laugh. I am officially done. Tossing back her head, her crimson hair bouncing, she laughs the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. It is a song, its very own harmony. I sit watching her, captivated by her.

Whatever I cared about before I walked in here tonight, none of it matters. It might seem a strong claim, but it is the truth. All I care about the moment she smiles at me, sliding me a card we both know will cost me a hand, is that she is this happy all the time. Nothing else matters.

From this moment tonight, Gemma, her little puppy Noodle, how she talks about loving dance, is what matters to me. Giving that to her, letting her glow the way she is right now, for me. I turn my cards over, careless about how much cash I am losing. I said it earlier, and I meant it, now even more .

I would gladly lose a fortune, lose everything else if I could just have her.

“Tell me, what will make you walk away?” Concerned, she deals to the other player but never takes her eyes off me.

“Give me your number. I will call you, kitten. We’ll talk about trying to get me to walk away from you, then.”

Gemma hesitates before she flips over a card, scribbling a number across it. Sliding it across the table, she gives a small smile, and I quickly grab it, taking what is left of my chips. Winking at her, I do as I promised, and I walk away. Walking out with the groom in one piece, a little less cash than before, and that card with her number on it, I consider the night a success.

Getting that goddess’ number is a win regardless of what it costs.