The next hand is dealt. My boss bets the “Banker” and loses. Sergey wins his bet. The dictator’s son immediately begins to laugh at Mr. Peak. “Ah, your girl won’t f**k you if you keep losing money like that.”
I can see my boss’s face getting red. I can’t tell if he is acting or if he really is getting pissed. Mr. Peak puts 400,000 Euros down for his next bet. Sergey puts down 500,000 Euros. The next hand is dealt. Mr. Peak loses. Sergey wins.
“Ha! Ha! I have made over four million Euros in thirty minutes! I love Monte Carlo!” Sergey yells as he slaps a co**cktail waitress in the as**s. I laugh and smile. Sergey looks at me. The dictator’s son wiggles his tongue out at me. My boss balls his hands into a fist. Oh f**k. I think Mr. Peak is going to go after this guy!
“Hey faggot!” Mr. Peak booms at Sergey, as the rest of the table freezes. “Go ahead and wiggle your tongue out at my woman again. Go ahead and try that young man.”
Sergey stands up and yells, “Fuck you, f**k your mother. She is a whore. I take your money and I take your bitch if I want!”
At this point even Sergey’s bodyguards are trying to calm the dictator’s son down. My boss is gritting his teeth. Dammit. I wish I knew if Mr. Peak is putting on an act. He looks like he is about to go thermonuclear.
The arrogant Sergey places five 100,000 plaques on the table. Mr. Peak takes ten plaques and slams them down on the “banker” bet. Has my boss lost his mind?! A million Euros is one and a half million dollars. This is insane!
Sergey gets to deal the cards. The hand is dealt. My boss loses. Sergey wins. “Ha! Ha! You lose, motherfucker!” the young Sergey yells at my boss. The dictator’s son looks at me and smiles. I’m supposed to seduce him. My boss looks like he is ready to kill the dictator’s son.
My head is ready to explode. I’m too scared to move.
“Hey, woman. Your man is going to be sucking di**ck for his dinner at the end of the night. You better come with me,” Sergey says as he looks directly into my eyes.
The entire table looks at me. My boss looks up at me. I take a step and walk towards Sergey. The dictator’s son laughs. I continue my charade. Mr. Peak’s eyes are burning at both Sergey and me.
The arrogant winner grabs my arm and spanks my as**s. “Your bitch is now my bitch!” Sergey yells to Mr. Peak at the top of his voice. I stare at my boss who balls up his fist and slams it down on the table, sending 100,000 Euro betting plaques flying. Women jump back. Sergey’s bodyguards rush towards my boss.
Mr. Peak eyeballs the four monster bodyguards. He looks like he is ready to throw down. A handful of worried Casino execs come between them. My boss grabs his betting plaques and storms off.
I awkwardly stand there for a moment. Sergey looks up at me and grabs my hand, positioning me right behind him. “You will be my good luck charm tonight,” the dictator’s son says as he places a 700,000 Euro bet on the next hand.
Alright, I know this is going to make me sound like I am completely insane. But I actually find myself complimented by the fact that this nutjob wants me to be his good luck charm. I look around and see six very attractive women in Sergey’s “circle” along with a dozen or so bodyguards.
One of the women in particular is glaring down at me with scorn in her eyes. She is about six feet tall, with brown hair and a very strong looking body. My guess is that I just supplanted her as Sergey’s “favorite bitch.” This is starting to get uncomfortable.
The next hand is dealt. Sergey wins. He grabs his winnings and throws his hands up in the air. Then he pulls me down and kisses me on the mouth. Now that is f**king gross. I almost slapped him. That would have certainly made the evening more interesting.
As I try to get back behind Sergey, that tall blonde woman shoves me out of the way. She grabs the back of Sergey’s chair and just locks herself in behind the young man. I can’t allow this to happen. But what the f**k am I supposed to do? This woman is about seven inches taller than me. She could snap me in two.
I stand to the left of the dictator’s son. He wins a couple of hands and loses a few along the way. Sergey is beginning to get a little bored. Between hands, the young man starts to count his betting plaques. “I have made 2.5 million Euros in the last hour. I f**king love Monte Carlo!” Sergey bellows.
The dictator’s son looks around and yells, “Where is General Zhukov?! I want to show that f**ker that I just made his entire annual salary in one hour.” Oh f**k! Sergey can not discover that the General is nowhere to be found. If his bodyguards start to search for the General, then they may find Zhukov with Mr. Peak. All of our lives are in danger.