Lucky Streak (Lucky 2)

“Since everyone’s here, let’s get started,” Marshall said.

Bobby Boyd, a used-car dealer from Texas with a ten-gallon hat and enough bluster for one hundred men, nodded. “Texas hold ’em, boys. No one beats King Bobby at his favorite game.”

He’d called himself King Bobby at least a dozen times since their initial introduction. Bobby Boyd owned a number of used-car dealerships throughout Texas or so he claimed along with the title of millionaire. Google would tell all…if she cared to find out. She didn’t.

“Remember, little lady, if your boyfriend here wins, King Bobby will hook you up with your choice of one of the finest vehicles in all of Texas,” he said to Amber.

He let out a huge guffaw of laughter, presumably because nobody beat King Bobby at Texas hold ’em. Ergo, she’d never see one of his cars.

“Ain’t my man sweet?” Emmy Lou, a Dolly Parton look-alike, only older, asked.

“He’s a…king,” Amber managed to say with a smile.

Emmy Lou preened and hugged King Bobby tight. “Give me room, woman. The King needs to breathe if he’s gonna win.”

What happened next passed in a blur of shuffling, dealing and big and little blinds. Amber needed to pay attention so she could signal Marshall, but she was having trouble focusing on anything but Emmy Lou. The woman had probably been beautiful once, even if it had been in an overdone way, but age and lifestyle had obviously taken their toll. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face lined and dry, makeup caked in the cracks, while her breasts drooped so low, her cleavage had long ago stopped being an asset. She appeared oblivious to all these facts as she clung to her man, one who obviously took her for granted.

Whether she was his permanent squeeze or his bimbo of the night, Amber didn’t want to know. Either way, the woman’s life was sad and pathetic. And as Amber looked from her own cleavage across to Emmy Lou’s and met the other woman’s red-rimmed eyes, she saw a glimpse of what her future would have been—would be—if she didn’t stick to her plan to get away from Marshall as soon as this one last game ended.

“Whoo-wee! King Bobby caught himself a nine on the river!” Bobby swooped forward and gathered the pot of winnings from the middle of the table.

Amber cringed. When she glanced around the table, she realized she’d spaced out on more than just one hand.

During a break, Marshall stormed over and grabbed her arm. “Get your shit together or this is over. And if I go down, you don’t get your hundred and fifty grand to pay your husband back, either,” he ground out under his breath.

“I’ll be fine.” She jerked her arm away, her stomach cramping.

“You’d better be or your father won’t.” He tossed out that little reminder before rejoining the table.

The game restarted and Amber kept her attention where it was supposed to be. Soon, Marshall was raking in chips. He didn’t take every hand or else King Bobby and the rest of the table would know something was up. She didn’t overdo her signals to Marshall until the men grew drunker and louder and the stakes rose higher.

Grateful they’d passed the halfway mark and knowing she was due for a performance, she strode to Marshall. “Baby, you’re winning!” she cooed. “Don’t forget that gorgeous diamond necklace I saw in Aladdin’s. Just think how that piece will look around my little neck.” She wrapped her arms around him, letting her cleavage nearly spill from her slinky dress to display exactly where the necklace belonged. And to distract the other men from their hands.

“It ain’t over yet, little lady. King Bobby’s just warming up.” The heavy man rubbed his hands together and tipped his hat backward off his ruddy face.

“Come on, King Bobby, give a lady a break.” Amber deliberately pouted at him.

Marshall cleared his throat. “Move over, baby. Let the men play.”

Sulking, she stepped back.

“Hey, you look familiar.” Howard, one of the men at the table, said, staring at Amber. “I recognize you from Beverly Hills.”

For a split second Amber froze. She and Marshall had one hard-and-fast rule. If something seemed off, they cut their losses and ran. The money wasn’t worth their lives if they crossed the wrong people. Nothing that extreme had happened. Yet.

Catching herself, Amber gave her best bimbo giggle and said, “Isn’t that funny? He thinks I’m from Beverly Hills. I must look like a star!” Amber said in her ditziest voice.

Marshall rolled his eyes. “I’m laughing, baby.”

“Because I don’t look like a movie star?” she asked, insulted.

He shook his head. “Because you’ve never been outside Vegas.” Marshall turned to the dealer. “Are we going to play?”

Howard didn’t appear satisfied, but the antes began and he refocused on his cards.

She let out a huge sigh of relief. When she saw a chance for Howard to win, Amber let Marshall’s opportunity pass in order to keep Howard’s mind on his cards and not where he’d met her once before. She didn’t need her real world colliding with her fake one. Not tonight, when the stakes determined both hers and Marshall’s future.

Over the next half hour, Marshall’s pot grew larger, King Bobby grew nastier, and Howard kept passing her covert glances that made her uneasy.