The Strip Ch. 10

"Higher," she croaked, tugging Rosie's head a fraction upwards.

The redhead understood, her mouth seeking out the slippery clitoris.

As she took it between her lips, she looked up with a surge of arousal in her eyes. They asked Carly if she was doing this right and the brunette's answering growls were all the encouragement she needed.

She picked up the pace, licking, sucking, teasing. Her hands went to Carly's peach like ass, steadying the brunette as the spiky haired woman began to thrust back in rhythm with the flicking tongue.

Carly's grip on her hair tightened. She knew she couldn't hold out much longer. Apparently, so did Rosie.

She began to lick with an increasing ardour, pulling Carly down to her as the brunette ground her sex against her face. Her face was red with exertion. She was consumed by her need to take the spiky haired woman to orgasm.

Carly's growls grew and grew. She tightened her thighs around the redhead's face as she blew by the point-of-no-return. Rosie's willingness was mind-blowing. She humped the girl harder, her hands tightening in Rosie's silken hair. Her body stiffened. Her moan caught in her throat. She shook. Electricity surged. One shock after another ran through her. When her orgasm finally erupted, she made no attempt to stifle her screams.

***

"Well?" Grace asked, when Lauren emerged from the changing rooms. The Carolina Herrera exclusive store in the Forum was as impressive as it was expensive.

"Which do you think?" she asked Grace with a mischievous smile. "Which do you think I've chosen?"

"I know exactly which," her sister laughed, ignoring the green number in Lauren's left hand and nodding at the other.

"Exactly," her younger sister giggled. "The red one's ideal… I'm buying the red one."

"I knew it," the brunette laughed. "The dress looks perfect on you. So sexy, too! It shows more flesh than the other, so important when you're going to an orgy, don't you think?"

Both women laughed out loud.

"I love it," Lauren confirmed. "Besides, I had to come up with something special to compete with your purchase."

"Mmmm," Grace laughed. "We're two sexy bitches, right? Want some more good news?"

Lauren's large eyes stared at her sister. "More?"

Grace held up her mobile phone. "Lisa's a definite for tonight. And she's invited Samuel, too. I'm assuming that's okay?"

***

Holly saw Samuel Smith beaming at her even as she walked beside the guy carrying her chips across to her new seat assignment. Having to move tables was a pain, she was in a nice rhythm. "Hey, honey," his deep voice boomed. "I heard you were still in the tourney. How's it doing?"

"Mm-kay," she smiled at the African American. "I guess my luck has stayed with me, Mr. Smith."

He looked at her closely. There it was again. Something so familiar. But what? Her face? Though that was mainly hidden behind those dark shades. Her voice? Mannerisms? There was something there. And something important. It made his skin tingle. What the hell was it?

Reducing the tables to two was standard with only eighteen players remaining. Smith had wondered if he'd meet up with the blonde again, though he'd also have liked the Englishman at his table. He could tie him in knots with his mind games. That man was his fish.

Smith's chip stack was extremely healthy—third place overall. He realised he wasn't the greatest of players, but the cards he'd been dealt throughout the tourney had been exceptional and had suited his normal aggressive style of playing. The blonde's stack looked very good, too, he thought, though not as good as her tits. That woman was hot!

If it weren't for the party at Kay's, he'd have offered to take her back to his club when they were finished for the day.

Hmmm… the party! He knew what that meant, he'd been invited to one of Kay's 'do's' before. That woman knew how to throw a party. Sex, drugs and drink—He'd be indulging himself until he was sated. And with his appetite, that could take quite some time—

Grace would be there with her sister, and Lisa Welles, too. He'd fucked two out of those three, maybe he'd try the sister out? The blonde had looked a sexy little thing when she'd visited his club.

He idly wondered what time they'd finish tonight. The party would start late, but they'd be here until there were only nine players remaining. That could well be two or three in the morning. The African American decided not to play the last hand of the session. It would give him the chance to get some fresh air.

Pocket Nines changed his mind. He made the normal raise.

Everyone folded around to the big blind. The blonde. "Thinking of taking me on, honey?" he asked, when she sat considering her options. "Not wise."

She answer, her face trained on his. He'd like to know what was going on behind those dark shades. He didn't flinch as she stared at him. She had a hand—that was for sure. A pocket pair, perhaps? Or Ace-paint?

It was one or the other and she was evaluating how much to raise. He decided to try and get her to lay it down. "C'mon, honey. Last hand before the break. You know I've got a good hand here. Just fold and we'll all get an extra couple of minutes break."

"Can't do that Mr. Smith," she drawled. "But just for you, I won't raise."

Her attitude confirmed his thoughts. Ace-paint almost certainly. That made the flop as bad as it could be. Ace-King-Queen. All hearts.

He had to find out where he was. His raise was half the pot.

Holly sat impassively as she contemplated her next move. It took her some time. With a soft sigh, she announced, "All-in."

The African American shook his head. "Now there's a surprise," he thoughtfully muttered, tapping his fingers on the green baize.

The noise in the room stepped up a couple of levels at the possibility of another player being knocked out. The club owner snorted. He knew when he was behind. Even with his superior chip stack, he'd be badly damaged if he called and lost the hand. No heroics.

He turned his pocket nines over as he threw them away. "Good flop for you, honey," he told the blonde. "Two pair?"

"Good read," she smiled, flicking over her Seven-Two and raked in the chips. It was the same hand Smith had bluffed Daniel with yesterday. The Englishman was standing behind her chair, having been attracted from his table by the all-in announcement. She sent him a huge smile over her shoulder.

"Nice move," Samuel Smith snapped, his tone implying anything but. He was seething inside, but he could be patient. His time would come.

"Thanks, Mr. Smith."

"Samuel, honey. Call me Samuel. And those chips are mine," he told her, watching her exchange glances with the Englishman. He'd read the stories about those two. "They're just on loan, remember that," he added with a meaningful glare. "I'll take them back before too long…"

***

"I… I'm sorry," Rosie apologised to Big Eddie. It had taken all her nerve just to enter his office. The drugs still in her system helped. The marijuana and the hit of coke she'd taken afterwards. Carly had said it would help her face Big Eddie. But had it not been for her very good friend standing by her side right now, she would have turned around and ran out again

"You're fucking sorry," the gangster snarled. "I should fucking think so—"

It was Carly's flashing eyes that made him pause. The spiky haired woman had already told him how to play this. Told him? That was a laugh—no one told Big Eddie anything. But her suggestions had made sense.

He liked the redhead's contrition. And the fact she was clearly terrified. That was good. Scared people invariably did what they were told. "Okay," he continued, suddenly softening his tone. "Your friend here has intervened on your behalf. She's vouched for you. So don't just do what I say, you do what Carly tells you, too. Okay?"

"Yes, Eddie," the nervous redhead agreed. Her wide green eyes told him she'd agree to anything right now. The proof would be in the pudding.

"Okay," he snapped, pushing back in his chair and clumping one foot, then the other, onto the top of his desk. "You've got your job back."

"Than… thanks, Eddie. I won't let you down."

"Too fucking right," he snapped. "And I've added some extra interest on what you owe. For all the fucking aggravation you've caused. Understand?"

Rosie nodded, but he wasn't looking for a response.

"Now, get back on stage," he told her. "You can put in an hour immediately. Then you've got a private party tonight. Carly told you 'bout that?"

The redhead nodded again. This was worse than she thought. Just let her get out of this office. Please! She'd never cross him again.

"Good. And no fucking running out on it like you did last time. I lost those fucking customers for ever."

Running out? What would be the point? Where we she go? Who would help her this time? Without Daniel, there was no future other than this life. At least, for as long as she owed the gangster.

Carly was right—she was cut out for this work. This was all she was cut out for. Her body was still humming after their lovemaking session. The private party tonight would allow her to do what she did best.

***

The call from Samuel Smith came during the break. Holly had been expecting to hear from him all day all day. The period covered by his retention fee expired at midnight and he'd just run out of time if he wanted to renew.

Her problem with his timing had nothing to do with any possible renewal. It was that the intermittent sound of that tannoy would give away her location. It irritated her, but what could she do?

"You took your time," she told him, before he had a chance to speak.

"Hey," he growled, "Just remember who's employing who."

"Who's employing whom," she corrected in her thick Irish accent. The blonde couldn't resist taking the arrogant prick down a peg, just as she'd done with the cards. "And you employed me 'til midnight. That's expired."

His annoyance at her audacity was evident from his change in breathing. The accompanying silence told her he was struggling to contain his annoyance. Fuck him! It made no difference to her if he employed her again or not. She could make more money at poker than in her chosen profession. Without the risk.

Once she closed the book on Samuel Smith—that was it. Her career as an assassin was at an end. Her job as a poker player was just beginning. Maybe Smith would tell her he didn't need her again? That would seal her retirement.

He didn't.

"Understood," the deep voice reluctantly told her. "I don't need to retain you for now, but I may need to call on your services again."

"You can see if I'm available in the usual," she answered, knowing she wouldn't be. The tone in her voice was the equivalent of a shoulder shrug.

"No…" he began. The message over the tannoy stopped his response. He heard it in stereo. The woman was at the Rio, too! Watching him? He swung around, his eyes looking for any clue he could find. There weren't any. "Where are you?" he asked.

Holly understood the reason for the question. That last announcement had given her location away. Close the call, she told herself. This is too dangerous. "Doesn't matter," she quickly said. "You and I have concluded our business."

"No, wait," Smith hurriedly told her. "I don't want to retain you, but I do need to know you're available when I ask. How much would that cost?"

"A one off fee?"

"That's it," he answered, his eyes still searching around him. "Something to guarantee you're available when I need you."

Think of a number, Holly thought. Something to put him off. Then she could be done with him. "A hundred thousand," she responded. "Up front. Then the usual fee if you want to arrange a contract."

She heard his intake of air. A hundred grand was a lot of cash. She knew instantly she'd pitched the figure at the right level. But his answer surprised her.

"Ok…ay," he slowly replied. "It'll be in your account inside two days. But that means when I call, you come running. Understand?"

"Until the end of the year," she threw in. Let's get a time limit on this. "It'll buy me until the end of the year. After that, all bets are off."

"You drive a hard bargain," he snapped.

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

"I take it," he reluctantly said. From previous negotiations, he realised there was no point in trying to barter further. "But…" he added. "For that money, you come running. Wherever I call you, you're there. Understand?"

She did. With her location exposed, there was nothing more to be gained from the conversation. "Mm-kay," she answered, ending the call.

Samuel Smith's face turned into a smile at her final words. The grin grew until it spread across his face. Everything clicked into place. Well, well! The 'Mm-kay' unlocked the assassin's secret. Who would have thought?

***

Daniel's phone call to Holly brought a response as he took his place at the table. It was a text message. Fourteen words that made his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Stop calling. Can't speak. Don't want to speak. You lied. It's over. Love you.

It's over? Love you? That made no sense at all. He instantly called her again. She cut off the call halfway through the second ring. Cut off the call? Or cut him out of her life? Forever.

He didn't play a hand for the next forty minutes. How could he? His mood had come full circle during the day and now he was feeling morose again.

The twelve remaining players were evenly divided across the two remaining tables. It would stay that way until two more players were eliminated. Then the ten remaining players would battle it out until one more player was removed. The nine finalists would then return in three months time, to accommodate the TV schedule.

The 'November 9', as they'd be known.

Daniel, Holly and Samuel Smith were the only remaining amateurs. And no one was betting against the nine remaining pro's all reaching the final table. There was certainly enough experience. Gavin Smith, Josh Arieh, Dan Harrington, David 'Chino' Rheem, Sam Farha, Allen Cunningham, Humberto Brenes, Hoyt Corkins and Huck Seed. Harrington had won the 1995 Main Event whilst Seed was the rather anonymous champion the following year.

So close to the pot of gold, everyone was playing much tighter than usual. The prize of being one of the final nine was glittering. Only Gavin Smith at one table, and Sammy Farha at the other, were taking advantage of the conservative play. Both were slowly advancing their chip stacks.

The good-natured Chino Rheem was the next to go, surprisingly overplaying his pocket Jacks when Sammy Farha hit a set on the flop. Huck Seed went half an hour later, frustrated at being ground down and pushing his remaining chips in with an Ace-King that failed to improve.

After a short break, the ten remaining players took their place at the same table. All were feeling the pressure. No one wanted to be the one going out 'on the bubble.'

And still Daniel hadn't played a hand since the break. He wasn't thinking of the cards, he was focused on Rosie's words. More accurately, he was thinking of four of her words.

It's over? Love you?

Holly spoke to him before the ten players restarted play. She saw the text, felt the way he was reacting, and tried to help. Her words were supportive, wise, but they bounced off him. You don't need to play. Keep folding. Stay out of trouble. See it through. Nothing stupid at this stage. Let one of the short stacks knock themselves out.

Even during play, she continually tried to make eye contact. Daniel didn't see her. He was in his own world. A world that was frayed at the edges and unravelling quickly.

When he saw the suited Ace-King, there was only one thing in mind. Aggression. The only question was whether he got his money in now or later in the hand. But it was going in. If he went out in tenth place, he wouldn't need to return to Vegas in November. He could happily forget about the place, about the final table.

He never wanted to see Vegas again.

Make a sizeable raise, he told himself. Get a call. Or perhaps one of the short stacks would come over the top? If he stuck all his chips in now, everyone would likely fold. He'd had enough. Put an end to this.

His raise was 80,000.

It did the trick. Humberto Brenes and Hoyt Corkins both called. Good! That made two chances for him to be eliminated, to put an end to this misery. Fuck, he was one place away from the final nine of the WSOP and all that was on his mind was to get out of there! All this was unreal.

He glanced across at Holly. She was reading his mind and shaking her head. Don't do it… don't do it… don't do it…

Her reaction jerked him back to reality. Did he really want to throw all of this away? What he'd spent the last four days building up to? The dream that had been in his mind for longer than he could remember!

The flop answered for him, as if someone was guiding him through this. King-King-Queen.

Should either opponent have pocket Queens, he was all but dead. In that case, fate would have decreed it was his turn to leave. The odds were long. Should either of his opponents have a King then they were all but dead.

He almost checked, but the colourful Costa Rican and the Alabama Cowboy would be suspicious if he didn't follow up on his pre flop raise. He gave them what they expected. The question was how much. In the end, he decided on half the pot, carefully selecting the chips and pushing them into the middle.

The mischievous looking Brenes thought for some time, singing to himself in that usual fashion of his. He picked up his shark card protector and waved it in the air, before settling it on top of his chips, signalling he'd had enough of this hand. With a player behind him, his reluctant fold was the wisest move.

It was different with the Alabama cowboy. He had the shortest stack and therefore not much room to manoeuvre. Daniel glanced at him. Under his traditional black cowboy hat, Corkins was staring intently at him. The Englishman returned the stare, as if it was a battle of wills.

It wasn't a battle he could lose. Not in his state of mind.

Corkins saw something in Daniel's eyes. Or thought he did. "Okay," he said in a matter of fact tone, as if asking for a beer. "I'm all-in."

A buzz ran around the table and the surrounding rails. Even before the other players' eyes had swung around onto him, the Englishman had called. Daniel caught Holly's eyes just before he turned over his hand. There was tension there he hadn't seen before. She really was worried for him.

Corkins stood up, flicking over Ace-Queen. He was virtually dead. Only runners could help. The remaining two Queens would win the hand for him. Jack-Ten would split the pot.

The Two of diamonds on the turn sealed the Alabama Cowboy's fate. Amidst cheers that threatened to blow the roof off the casino, Daniel silently walked around the table. He placed one hand on Corkin's broad shoulder and shook his hand with the other. "I'm sorry," was all he could think of to say.

"You played the hand really well," Corkins smiled, ever the gentleman. "Congratulations and good luck."

The other players slapped themselves on the back, shook each other's hands, congratulating one another on their achievement. Daniel accepted the congratulations being showered on him without a word. He was numb.

Holly hugged him. "Want to go for a drink?" she asked. "Get away from here and talk about how you're feeling? It'll help."

Daniel's glazed stare seemed to cut through her. Then his eyes blinked and he could see her again. "Please…"