Farrah

 

I was feeling great. I hadn’t even had any drinks and yet I felt buzzed. This was my element. Big, tough men thinking they were so smart, losing all their money to me in a matter of minutes. I was careful never to bleed too much from one single guy. I didn’t want to start any fights or make them think they needed to protect their own masculinity. But a couple hundred here and there, added up over time, went a long way.

 

After a while, I grew bored with blackjack, and decided I wanted to try my hand at roulette. It didn’t have the same strategic attraction blackjack had for me, but I thought it would be fun to try. So I took some of my spare money—I had plenty of extra now that I’d been able to earn some for myself—and squeezed in at the roulette table. I put down my money and prepared to make a bet.

 

That was when I got a good look at the man sitting next to me.

 

Tom Minghelli? I thought, fear coursing through me. But, no. A better look showed that it was not him at all, but a man who looked an awful lot like him. This man was younger, with a bent nose from being in too many fistfights, and a large scar running off his jaw line. I’d never seen this man before but I could easily guess who he was. Not just from the family resemblance but by the way everybody seemed to be steering clear of him. He had a five foot radius in which no one but pretty young women (probably paid) would venture.

 

Calvin Minghelli. Tom Minghelli’s nephew. He had the same reputation for brutality as his uncle, but not for cleverness. In fact, he and President Montengo had more in common. Prone to anger and dirty whores, Calvin was a force on the street to be reckoned with. Aunt Venus had even banned him from our whorehouse.

 

Quickly, I looked away, doing my best to hide my face behind my hair. Had he seen me? And if so, would he recognize me? They’d mistaken Honi for me once, but after the mess at the Minghelli estate, who knew what rumors about me were circulating? They might even have finally dug up a picture and sent it to their men on the ground, just in case one of them ran into me in public.

 

At the casino, for example.

 

I didn’t know what to do. It would look really suspicious if I just got up and walked away. I’d already put money down and was pretty sure the house wasn’t going to let me just retract it.

 

I glanced down at the wad of bills on the table. It was a lovely, fat, luscious wad of bills, and it pained me because I knew exactly what I would have to do.

 

I placed my bet. Even before the ball went rolling I knew that I was going to lose. I’d done it intentionally. I wanted to get as far away from that table as quickly as possible.

 

I predicted well. The ball clambered about the roulette wheel and landed far from my number. Around me I heard collective groans that I pretended to share. I shoved my money towards the dealer, and got up, faking a frown.

 

“You poor thing,” a slimy, patronizing voice said from behind me. I felt a massive hand close around my elbow. It had the hard, roughened texture of dried cement. Without even turning around, I knew to whom the hand belonged. It forced me to rotate as he crooned, “Poor, poor thing.”

 

“Hello, sir, can I help you?” I asked, doing my best to keep my gaze down and my eyes hidden behind my hair.

 

“Actually, darling, I was hoping I could help you,” he answered. From my bent gaze, all I could see were his heavy combat boots, stained with dirt, oil, and a mysterious brown substance I guessed immediately was dried blood. Rumor had it that those boots were not only steel-tipped, but steel reinforced. Many an enemy of the Minghellis had met their death at the impact of those terrible, studded boots.

 

“That’s very kind, sir, but I think I’m all right.” Still without looking at him, I tried to maneuver away. I hoped the smoky haze that filled the room from all those cigarettes and cigars would hide my face.

 

But he didn’t let me go.

 

“All right?” he said. “You just lost a fuck ton of money. If I were you, I’d be pretty upset.”

 

“Nah, I’ll make it back it some point,” I insisted. “Just need a break first. Maybe a drink.”

 

“Ah, well maybe I could get you one—”

 

“No thanks! My date will … He’s over there.”

 

I pointed to Connor.

 

“Suit yourself,” Calvin sighed, looking disappointed. I was worried for a second that he might try to go over to Connor, challenge him or some such thing. After a harrowing second, however, he let me go, and I was gone as quickly as money from a drunk idiot’s wallet.

 

I dashed right over to Connor and took him by the arm. “Come on,” I whispered, “we need to get out of here!”

 

“What?” he demanded. “What’s going on—”

 

“There is no time! Just, please, come with me – ”

 

“Princess,” he interrupted suddenly, looking behind me. “Who is that?”

 

I glance over my shoulder. “Oh, shit.”

 

It was Calvin. His gaze had followed me from the roulette table, and he was still very clearly studying us. Even as we watched, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. Then, with a wicked smile on his face, he dialed and began to speak.

 

“Wait a minute,” Connor muttered, dawning realization in his gaze. “That’s Calvin Minghelli, Isn’t it? Calvin Fucking Minghelli—”

 

“Yes!” I hissed. “I think he’s after me.”

 

“But why would he be after you—Christ!”

 

Calvin had risen from the table and was slowly wending his way towards us through the crowd. I knew that Connor was brave, and strong, and rarely afraid of anything. But I saw fear in his eyes as Calvin Minghelli approached. He was a brutal man who made Tom Minghelli look merciful.

 

“Act casual,” he murmured, taking me by the hand. “We don’t want to cause a scene. Then we’ll have the mob and the casino thugs after us. Let’s go.”

 

He marched forward, dragging me in tow, right over to the table where Joey was still playing. Joey frowned as Connor tapped him on the shoulder, but he was a good enough biker to sense when the shit had hit the fan. He was up in an instant, ignoring his money still on the table, and fell in line right behind Connor.

 

“Where are we going?” he muttered to us.

 

“I don’t know yet,” Connor snapped back. His eyes were scanning back and forth across the massive halls of the casino like a hawk searching out prey. “Someplace dark and private … Someplace we can hide.”

 

I, too, looked around. Connor and I spotted it at the same time.

 

“The strip club!”

 

Without second guessing ourselves, we dashed right over to the entrance and slunk inside. The dim lighting swept over me like a warm, comforting blanket, and the loud, throbbing music hid our voices from anyone trying to eavesdrop. Careful not to draw attention to ourselves, we slithered over to a table in the farthest corner of the club.

 

Connor glanced around, making sure that Calvin hadn’t followed us. He seemed satisfied, for after a moment he turned and glared at me.

 

“Princess,” he growled, “what is going on?”

 

Suddenly, I realized how much I’d just exposed myself.

 

“N-nothing. I just got a bad vibe from that guy. I thought he was going to grope me or something—”

 

“Bullshit!” he grunted, cutting me off. “You knew precisely who he was, and you thought that he was after you. We’ve been through this before, Princess. There’s no more time for bullshit. Now tell me: what the fuck is going on?”

 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” I whimpered, and that at least was true. Why would Calvin Minghelli be after me? The Minghellis thought Honi was me. Unless …

 

Unless Honi had finally revealed her true identity to save herself. Unless she had sold my hiding place to the mob for her own safety. She had seemed so against it, but with Honi, you could never tell. Maybe my words had finally gotten to her. Or maybe—I felt a chill just at the thought—the Minghellis had somehow forced her real identity out of her when she was their captive. So far, I hadn’t been able to learn anything about the time she’d spent there. Who knewwhat could’ve happened?

 

Overwhelmed, I slid as far down in my seat as possible, wilting before Joey and Connor’s collective glare.

 

“You still don’t want to talk, huh?” Connor needled. His tone sounded angry, but I was surprised by the amount of control there was in his voice. Clearly, he was in this for the long haul. “Fine,” he continued. “If you don’t want to talk, then maybe I’ll talk. Let me tell you some of the things I think are going on, and you can tell me how right I am.”

 

I looked up at him. Ever so hesitantly, I gave him a nod.

 

“All right, Princess,” he started. “Ever since we met, Farrah Michaels has been acting very strangely. Not caring about the whorehouse. Wrapping her legs around Montengo. Even Tom Minghelli thinks something is up. You know what I think is up? I don’t think that Farrah Michaels is who she says she is. I don’t know why she would lie, or what good it would do. All I know is that I feel in my bones that that woman is not Farrah Michaels. I think her real name is Honi, and she’s nothing but a whore.”

 

It took every ounce of myself control not to gasp. I fought to keep my face and eyes blank. Poker face. Poker face. It wasjust like a game. For several long seconds, Connor stared at me. Obviously, he was waiting for a reaction. At last, Joey, who could take the tension no more, leaned forward.

 

“I admit there’s a lot of strange things going on,” he said, “but why would Farrah Michaels—r Honi, if that is her real name—lie about who she is? The Minghellis are obviously interested in her. Why would she want to pretend to be somebody the mob was after?”

 

I came within a millimeter of shouting out, “Thank you!”

 

Connor scowled. Joey had made a good point. I could practically see the gears clicking away in his mind. “That’s true, Joey,” he said. “Unless being Farrah Michaels was somehow less dangerous than being the real Honi. What do you think, Princess?”

 

I could not meet his gaze. Stay as close to the truth as possible, I thought. That’s the only way to fool them. Finally, I said, “Who knows what she could be thinking? Desperate women tend to make desperate choices, and after the death of her aunt, I bet she would be desperate.”

 

Connor growled. I could feel his rage and frustration welling up in him. He tensed in his seat, and I realized that he was pretty close to lunging across the table at me.

 

Joey must have sensed this too, for he put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Chill, dude,” he whispered. “We don’t want to cause a scene.”

 

Connor nodded to him and relaxed. I wondered what was making him so upset. Obviously, no one liked being lied to, but he seemed to be taking it personally, as if my unwillingness to talk was a direct insult to him. Maybe it’s because he actually likes you, I thought, and he wants you to trust him.

 

I gazed at his hard, scowling face, then at his rippling, tensed muscles, visible even through the leather of his jacket, and told myself, Don’t be ridiculous. This is not a man who cares what a whore like me thinks.

 

“Shit,” Joey interrupted suddenly. “That’s him, right? That’s him? Calvin Minghelli?”

 

I whirled. There, just muscling his way in through door, was Tom Minghelli’s nephew, determined, savage, and mad.

 

“Heaven help me,” I whimpered, as a terrible fear washed over me, pinning me to my seat.