ADDICTED TO YOU (Book 4)
Prologue
Amy
I was only 18 years old when I left home and never turned back.
I couldn't handle it anymore: the pain, the lies, the deceit. All of it had become too heavy on my shoulders, the entire world I lived in built upon the suffering of others.
As I grew up I began to realize that the city of Branton held nothing for me. My mother dying: that was the final straw. When it was just me and my dad I'd had enough, so decided to move on.
I remembered the day well; the day that I left. For 6 months my dad had been pushing me into doing what he wanted. No, not just 6 months, that had happened my entire life.
He wanted me to go to college, do what he never did and get a full education. But that wasn't something I'd ever wanted. I didn't want to be tied down to one place. I didn't want to have a boring career. I wanted to do what I loved and live the life I wanted, and that was to play poker.
I knew that my parents would never understand. I was a decent student, but never got straight A's. I could have gone to college and maybe got myself into a decent career, but I didn't want to settle for that when I had this skill in my hands. So I said “f*ck it” and kept playing, despite what my parents told me. I didn't regret that at all.
By the time I finished high school my mom was already dead. Those last 6 months almost killed me. I was told that I'd need to retake the year to get the grades I needed to get into college. I was never going to do that.
I wanted to leave and never come back. My mom had been my rock, my best friend. Poker was the only thing we didn't agree on, but she was never as vocal about it as my dad. He would shout at me, that was always his way. His job, if you could call it that, made him into someone people feared, someone people would never want to mess with. But I didn't care. There was nothing he could do to me.
So I left.
I packed a bag and walked away.
It was incredibly liberating, getting out from under his iron rule. I'd grown to resent him more and more since my mother died. It was all his fault really. It was all because of his 'work', all because of his life. She'd never had died otherwise. Never.
I remembered every moment of my leaving so clearly: my dad standing in front of the door, locking it and refusing to let me leave; me crying so much about mom and everything that I could barely see through my eyes. It was summer, and warm out. I was planning to get into my car and drive all morning, find a hotel and go from there.
I had money, I had a plan. I didn't feel nervous about stepping out from under his wing. No, I felt the opposite. I felt alive, more alive than I'd felt since mom died. I felt like I could finally get away and move on. That was everything I'd planned for, and he couldn't stop me for long.
I pretended to stay and went back to my room. I knew he'd have people watching me, so I escaped from my balcony instead, climbing down a vine outside. I didn't even bother taking my car. I knew he'd track it.
Instead I just ran through the garden and into the patch of wood at the back of my house. There was a road on the other side and I hitched a ride into town. I bought an old run down motor from a used car seller and went from there.
I must have been only 5 miles outside of Branton when I felt the weight already begin to lift. I think I smiled for the first time in 6 months that morning as I drove off down the highway, the wind in my hair, the bright sunshine on my face.
That was over 3 years ago now, and I'd never returned before today.
Now I was driving back into Branton, the wide track of the highway thinning as I rumbled closer. I wasn't in the same car: no, that had died after only 7 or 8 months. I'd upgraded since then, and was now cruising in in a white Porsche convertible. Once again the wind was in my hair and the sun on my face, but that smile had vanished.
I was returning to old memories, old places that I never wanted to see again. But it was time now: time to forgive, time to forget, time to repair old wounds. I was back here to see my father, to mend our shattered relationship. I hadn't seen him or even spoken to him for more than 3 years, and maybe that was long enough?
Maybe now I'd be able to look him in the eye without seeing my mother's face?
Maybe now I could forgive him?
Chapter 1
Amy
“All in,” I said, pushing my chips into the middle of the table.
I watched the man's eyes closely. They flickered, showing a lack of confidence. I saw the same twitch before the last card came out, that's why I was bluffing. He was showing weakness, showing that he doesn't feel good about his hand.
So what do I do? I put all my chips into the middle and show strength. I force him to equal my bet – over $2,000 – if he wants to have a chance of winning the pot. I know he'll crumble before I even make the move. This guy's no pro – he's just a regular man who's come down here to blow a month's wages. I know the type well. They make me a lot of money.
The man continued to twitch and sigh loudly as I stared at him. I wasn't going to look away. No chance. I'd show steel in my eyes, an unwavering show of strength that he can't handle. It's a look I've perfected over the years, one that often bails me out of trouble. And not only at the poker table.
Eventually the guy gave in, throwing his cards down.
“What did you have?” he asked, desperate to know whether he made the right call.
I just shake my head at him and keep my cards face down. That's my secret.
It's Friday night and I'm home. For me the poker table is my home. It's somewhere I feel safe, it's somewhere I feel in control. When I play poker I am the boss of my own destiny. There's no one ruling over me, no one telling me what to do. That's the way I like it. It's the way it's been for years now.
I vaguely remember this casino from when I used to live in Branton. I never actually went there because I was too young, but I knew it was the biggest one in town, the only one in town. Logans – that's the name. Owned by the Logan family. I knew their name well, as did everyone else in the city.
I remember my dad used to do business with Charles Logan, the head of the family. No one ever told me any specifics but I began to work it out when I grew up. Organized crime, vice, prostitution, drugs, and just about everything in between. That was the world I grew up into, the world my mom always tried to shield me from.
I hated all of it, and yet it was a world I'd been drawn into as well. I remember how I used to play poker with some of my dad's men when he wasn't around. They'd treat me like a little princess and I'd take $50 from each of them, but I'd probably have beaten them even if they hadn't let me win.
That was all until he caught me playing with a couple of them and had them both beaten for it. After that none of them played with me ever again.
He ended up sending me to dance class and acting class and anything else he could think of to stop me from playing poker. All that did was drive me further towards it. I guess it was ironic that he was trying to make sure I had a normal life and yet the more he tried, the more I got involved in this world of gambling and addiction that consumed so many people.
Now my life was spent in casinos and underground poker dens. Some of the people I played with were real low-lives, the sort of people you didn't really want to win against. As a young girl moving from place to place it made me hard, made me street smart. And I needed to be when living in this world.
For a while I'd lived in sleazy motels as I worked my way around. I had credit cards but I didn't want to use them. I knew that dad would track me down as soon as I did and have me taken back home. So I was frugal with my cash, keeping my costs down. Those early days were the worst, but also the best. They helped me build my character, appreciate the value of money more than I ever had when I could buy anything I wanted.
Now, though, I lived on money I'd earned. I stayed in nice hotels, ate at nice places, bought a nice car. I'd done that all myself, achieved all of it without going to college or following the path that my father had set out for me. That was one of the reasons I'd come back: to stand in front of him as proof that he was wrong.
I sat at the table and looked out over the casino floor. The flashing of lights and incessant noise was so familiar to my eyes and ears. You'd see elated faces and grumpy faces in equal measure, people winning and losing as their dreams came true and crashed in front of their eyes.
Most were pure gamblers. That wasn't how I saw myself. I was playing a game of skill, a game where I could stack all of the odds in my favor. No, I wasn't a gambler, I was a professional, and this was my office.
The hours were ticking by when my table began to clear and thin. Maybe it was the sight of me taking everyone's money that was putting people off. My experience had told me that men hated being beaten by a pretty girl, or any girl for that matter, so I guess that was forcing them elsewhere.
But one guy caught my eye as he sauntered forward. He had this swagger about him, like he came to this casino a lot, nodding and smiling to people as he walked by. He caught eyes with me from across the room and began migrating towards me.
He looked to be about my own age, his face lit with a smile. He had this square jaw lightly peppered with stubble around the lips and chin, and wore a light tan. His skin looked like it could carry a deeper tinge of golden brown if the sun caught up with him.
He came closer, eyeing me up as he walked further forward. I could tell, even from a distance, that his eyes were a clear blue, shining against his white teeth and light brown skin. His hair, though, was short and neat, crafted to the side. It was a darkish brown, and cut fine to match his strong jaw.
I kept looking at him as he walked forward, unwilling to turn away. I was used to staring people down, so wasn't going to lose this contest. He strode forward until he reached the table, by which point I was the only one still seated.
His eyes kept burning into me, a smile inside them, as he approached and began speaking.
“Playing by yourself are you?” he asked with a wry smile.
My facade cracked slightly, not at his words, but the way he delivered them. He had this disarming way about him, a natural charm infused in his voice and tone.
“I don't think there's anyone here who can match me,” I said back, trying to keep my poker face on.
“That's a challenge,” he said, pulling out a seat and sliding into it. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a rolled bundle of money, casually unbinding it from its elastic band and counting through the bills.
“How much are you playing with?” he asked, looking first to my stack of chips and then to me.
I looked down, pretending I didn't know, and started to fake-count. I knew exactly how much I had, I always did.
“Looks like about $4,500,” he said again, “that sound right?”
I nodded, without saying a word. This guy was cute, but this was business. I wanted to make him think I was just a little girl playing with daddy's money.
He flicked through a few more notes and dropped them down in front of the dealer. “Deal me in,” he said, turning his eyes back onto me.
We stared at each other for a moment, trying to feel each other out, before a smile slowly cracked in the corner of his mouth. Against all my desires, I couldn't help but follow, my usual frosty exterior beginning to thaw.
“So...I haven't seen you here before,” he said. “You new in town?”
“Not exactly. I used to live around here.”
“Do you have a name....or shall I just call you pretty poker player.” He smiled again before turning towards a waiter and waving him over. “I'll have a Bud...do you want anything?” He had turned back to me.
I didn't usually drink when I played, but one would be fine. “The same, thanks.”
“A lager drinker. My kind of girl.” He smiled again before slipping the waiter a note.
“So...your name?” he questioned again, arching up his eyebrows as the dealer slid two face down cards towards each of us.
“You can call me...Ace,” I said with a light smile creasing my lips as I checked my cards.
He checked his own before looking up at me. “Ace? OK....nice to meet you Ace, my name's.... Spade.”
We both laughed conservatively across from each other. It was obvious we were both teasing.
“So, Ace, what brings you into town?”
“Family,” I responded.
“Like a birthday or a wedding or something?”
I shook my head. “Nothing as exciting as that, no.”
I think he could tell he wasn't going to get much out of me. Frankly I didn't want anyone knowing my real name. They might just put two and two together.
We talked for a while as we played, and it became clear to me that he was quite experienced at the game, just as I was.
“You've been playing a while, haven't you?” he asked me as I took a few hundred dollars off him.
I nodded. “This isn't my first rodeo, no.”
He smiled. “Well if someone's gonna take my money I'm happy they're as pretty as you are.”
“Really? Guys don't usually like being beaten by a woman.” I retorted quickly.
“That's because they're not real men,” he said, his eyes catching mine with a glint as he turned back down to look at his cards.
“Tell you what,” he continued. “Let's place a wager, how about that?”
I looked at him, my eyebrows dropping into a frown. “Aren't we kinda already doing that?”
“Sort of. But let's up the stakes?”
“I'm listening.”
I was always wary of people doing this. They might lose a few hands and appear weak and then place a greater wager only to show their true colors. I'd been hustled once before and it didn't feel good.
“Let's play for 30 minutes straight, just the two of us, and see who can take the most money off each other....”
“OK...what's the catch?”
He reached for his bottle of beer and took a swig. “If I win, you agree to go on a date with me, right after we're finished.”
“And if I win?” I asked.
“If you win you can take all the money I've got here, whether you've won it off me or not.”
He was smiling confidently at me, leaning back in his chair and casually tilting the beer to his lips. Frankly, it sounded like a win-win to me.
“All right, you've got a deal.”