“I was right,” Hunter said, practically hopping in righteousness.
Julia clamped her lips shut so she wouldn’t shout, “What did you think it was? What the hell else could this game possibly be?”
“Charlie told me it was an executive game, but it’s not,” he insisted and he must have been the ballsiest VC in the Valley because he wasn’t leaving.
Stevie waved the gun. “Was there something unclear about what I said? Because it sounded clear to me. But if you’re having trouble hearing, I’m happy to head on down to the local precinct tonight and make sure my friends on the force know that you put your f**king hands all over this woman here,” he said, gripping Julia’s shoulder with his free paw, in a gesture that felt both strangely protective and thoroughly invasive. “And I’ve got witnesses who’ll vouch for me, right?”
The chiseled-cheekbone guy nodded along with the sporting goods fella.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she was oddly grateful for Skunk, and disgusted at the same time. He’d protected her, but he’d really protected Charlie’s investment. And he’d done it in the same way Charlie had subverted her for his uses—by betting on her being a woman. By betting on men underestimating her at cards, and now by suggesting she was a helpless little lady who’d been manhandled.
Hunter grabbed his few remaining chips. “I’m cashing out.”
“No you’re not. You’re getting out. That’s your penalty for disrupting the game. Out,” Skunk said in a low and powerful tone, pointing to the door.
Hunter held up his hands, huffed out through his nostrils. “You won’t be seeing the last of me.”
He left, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he clomped down the stairs.
* * *
Charlie glared at her. “What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“What did you say that made him figure it out?” Charlie pressed, dropping his chopsticks next to his plate of pork dumplings at the Chinese restaurant underneath the apartment where the game was held. The restaurant was empty. It had closed an hour ago.
“I told you. Nothing.”
“I don’t need all of the VCs knowing our game is rigged. He and his friends come to my restaurant every Friday for lunch. Their employees eat here too,” he said, stabbing the table with a finger. “I had some of his friends from Steiner Hawkins coming to the next game. They just sold a social media startup they backed for $50 million. They are flush with cash. You know what that means?”
Julia shook her head, fear rippling across her chest. “No.”
Charlie pushed back from the table and rose. He stalked closer to Julia, forcing her to back up against the wall. He crowded her, caging her in with his hands on each side of her head.
“Let me explain what it means, Red,” he said, spitting the words on her face. “It means they’re not coming. They’re not playing my game. It means I won’t get their money. And that also means the next time you play, you take a fall.”
“What?” She furrowed her brow in disbelief. “How does that help any of us?”
“It sends the word to the street that my games are fair. You take a fall. And you are in my debt, Red.”
“I won tonight,” she said, trying to insist. “I won $6,000. I’m close. I’m almost there.”
“You didn’t win $6,000,” he said breathing on her. The scent of fried pork coming from his mouth curled her stomach. “You cost me $6,000.”
She wanted to sink to the ground, to crouch down and hug her knees and curl up in a corner. She felt like she’d been smashed with an anvil. Every time she got closer, he moved the finish line.
“It’s not even my debt,” she said, her voice bordering on begging.
“It is your debt. I have seen your pretty little bar, with your pretty little bartenders, and my pretty little money that you put into it. And let me remind you of what happens if you ever think I will forget that you owe me.”
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked. She stifled a scream, and her mind flashed to how different it felt when Clay pulled her hair or boxed her in against the wall. When he did those things it was fair and it was wanted, and it was part of the way they played with each other. There was no game with Charlie. He played to hurt, and he gripped her hair so tight she believed he had the strength to tug it right off her scalp.
He jerked her through the empty restaurant, out the door and into the foggy night, then down the block, stopping in front of a pub. He let go of her hair, and she wanted to cry with relief. “This bar? See this bar? Picture it as yours. It’s Cubic Z, and if we’re not clear by the end of the next month, it’s mine.”
“No!” she said, trembling from head to toe. She had employees; she had a co-owner. She was responsible for them all, for their livelihood, even for the little baby growing in Kim’s belly.
“Yes,” he said with an evil smile as he nodded vigorously. “Yes, it will be mine, and I have not decided if it will be Charlie Z or if I will simply take great pleasure in running it into the ground and then having my way with you.” He stopped talking to coil a strand of her hair around his index finger. “I might be starting some new businesses with some very pretty women who can make money for me the old-fashioned way. Would you like that, Red? To be on your back?”
Every cell in her body screamed as fear plunged its way through her veins. “No,” she said, her voice shaking.