Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

43. Clara

Chapter 43

Clara

P layers and plus-ones mingle in the decorated space, elaborate masks and bright colors dominating the room. Only my guys and I are decked out in black and gold, and it feels like a uniform—the kind of uniform that says you belong on the team, not the kind that you’re forced to wear at a fast-food restaurant.

I was hoping to see Summer around, only Jansen said she never comes on New Years. He didn’t have time to say why before Trips motioned him over, so I can add that to the ever-expanding list of things I don’t know about Summer Jones.

The crowd of plus-ones has Trips on edge, and he’s convinced something feels off, so he’s started Jansen on picking pockets. Having never been to one of these things in an official capacity, I have no idea what the vibes are supposed to be, but I’m still paying attention. Just in case .

Walker’s behind the bar, the gold of his mask and vest making it easy to pick him out. He’s already sent me a delicious concoction, and Jansen added a plate of morsels that he’s been popping into my mouth at odd intervals. He’s so sweet about it, I have no choice but to chew and swallow. It almost tastes good, too. Maybe I’m getting better?

Trips flicks open his black book across the room, his watch the only gold he’s wearing, Jansen beside him in yellow pants and a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled back. Trips stops whatever he’s saying, brows low as he pulls his phone from his pocket, then hurries down the stairs. Trouble?

Less than a minute later, one of the guests comes up, searching the room, and I mark him as someone giving off odd vibes. He’s so nondescript that I’d struggle to pick him out again, and if that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is.

Glancing at RJ’s mask, I force my hand into a fist, so I don’t drum my fingers against my leg. Why do I feel so strange? Is it because RJ isn’t here with me?

Could I be any more needy?

Instead of letting my thoughts pull me under, I inspect his mask. The sweep of gold and black is similar to Walker’s, as it’s also built to cover one side of his face, only the opposite side of Walker’s. That’s where the similarities end. It looks like there’s a start of a beak and a curved almost horn reaching up and back. It must have been made after Walker finished his, because this one covers nearly all the forehead, and I can imagine it on him, giving him a dignified, owlish appearance.

Hopefully, it can give me wisdom tonight. I’m going to need it. Better yet, maybe it’ll fly RJ back from wherever he went .

Jansen hovers at the top of the stairs, and I want to gesture him over. Just for comfort, which is why I keep my hands down. A guest stops him, saying something, and Jansen shakes his head at the man, then tilts his head like he’s thinking. This guest is a little taller than Jansen, with broad shoulders and closely cut natural hair creased by the band of his mask.

Jansen gestures with his hands, and the man’s shoulders slump a bit before he turns away, walking to a gorgeous middle-aged Black woman. He takes her arm, but she looks around like she’s uncomfortable before she goes with him.

Huh.

I glance at the time; the game is supposed to start in less than five minutes. With Trips missing, who gets the ball rolling?

Walker seems to notice our missing illegal poker master, and after a quick consult with Jansen, pulls a glass out and taps it, and it rings like a wedding request for newlywed kisses. The interruption works, and he directs everyone to the table.

One by one, the players take their seats as the dealer the guys pay well to work the games opens a fresh deck of cards.

The gorgeous woman I noted earlier goes to take her seat, but the man she was with stops her. After a whispered conversation, she steps away, letting the man take her seat, and she moves to the bar, Walker handing her a glass of white wine as she stares at the man, something apprehensive in her eyes. The man, however, looks happy to be at the table, excited, laughing with the woman beside him. Something about him feels familiar, but I can’t place it. Maybe he’s been to the coffee shop?

Jansen must have gone to consult with Trips, because he comes up the stairs right as the dealer wishes everyone good luck and starts the game.

They collected the buy-ins as the guests entered the attic, so each player already has an epic stack of chips to work with. No one told me what the amount was, but I can see how this cash business helps the guys get clean-ish money in their accounts.

Cash is almost impossible to trace. And if you don’t move around too much of it at once, no one bothers to try.

Hands are played, bets made, but without Trips to guide Jansen’s lifts, he comes to feed me another morsel before perching on the arm of my chair. “What happened with Trips?” I whisper, not wanting to be accused of distracting anyone.

“He got a call but hasn’t told me what it’s about. He looks stressed, though, so it’s probably not good.”

Maybe his vibe check was right, just pointed in the wrong direction. My own gut twists, and I don’t know if it’s from sympathy or from forcing myself to eat. Instead, I watch the players, my gaze pulled back to the older Black man, so familiar but unknown. “Say, what do you know about that guy?” I ask, pointing from behind my laptop so it’s not rude.

Jansen shakes his head. “Nothing. He’s not even supposed to be playing. He was a plus-one. That’s Donna’s seat, and the guy was supposed to wait for me to talk to Trips before he took it. ”

“Donna didn’t look like she wanted to let him take her spot, but he talked her into it.”

We both turn to Donna. She’s still by the bar, an empty wine glass beside her as Walker hands her another, whisking the dirty one away.

“Donna’s been a reliable player. She doesn’t come often, but she always follows the rules. And she’s never brought a plus-one that I remember.”

I look back at the man. “Does he feel familiar to you?”

Jansen looks at him for a beat. “Nope. But during the first break, I’ll lift his wallet, and then we’ll figure out who’s at our table.”

We’re silent the rest of the first section, and when the dealer calls for a break, cordoning off the table, a few players have much smaller piles of chips, while a few others have noticeably larger piles. The unknown man is one of those with a bigger pile.

Trips still hasn’t returned.

Jansen hops up, weaving through the crowd, grabbing the wallets of the two players who are losing the fastest, glancing through them before slipping them back in their pockets. I learned enough from my pick-pocketing lesson to understand exactly how hard that was. He does it effortlessly. When he gets to our newcomer, he lifts the wallet right after the man bought a drink, amber liquid in a tumbler, so he shouldn’t miss it for a while.

Once back, Jansen gives me the names of the two losing guys, and I mark them in the spreadsheet RJ shared with me so I can look them up after we deal with the new man.

Jansen drops the wallet into my hand, and I can immediately tell that it’s not what I’d expect at this kind of event. It’s canvas, not leather, the stitching stretched and frayed. Opening it up, there are a bunch of store credit cards and one unbranded Visa. Things aren’t looking good for Donna’s plus-one if he ends up needing a loan.

Sliding the ID from the pouch, I begin to type it into the search, then pause. “Jansen, this guy’s last name is Moore, the same as RJ. You don’t think…”

We stare at each other. Then we stare at the man, inspecting him more closely as the players settle back at the table.

“Maybe?” he says, squinting across the room.

“Look at the shape of his eyes, the angle of his chin,” I say.

“Beautiful, I’m sure you’ve spent a whole lot more time staring at RJ’s jawline than I have.”

I scoff and turn back to the computer. There’s only one way to know for sure.

A few clicks later, it’s obvious. A photo of the mystery man with Trish and another girl, most likely Jade, is his profile picture. “Shit.”

Jansen’s face crumples. “Damn it. We need to call RJ. Get him here soon.”

“How bad is it that we’ve let Maurice Moore join our table?” I ask as the dealer calls everyone back, a new hand dealt while Jansen and I confer.

Jansen deflates, not getting up. Eventually he answers. “Once he gets going, he ends up betting enough to lose the house. RJ’s parents’ house. Every time.”

As if he can hear us, I watch RJ’s dad as he peeks at his cards, tapping a chip against the edge before pushing most of his pile to the middle of the table. I glance at Donna, her expression horrified.

“How does he know Donna?” I ask, suddenly worried about RJ’s mom.

“No idea. I’m going to go get Trips up here, then call RJ. I’ll text Walker so he knows what’s up.”

I nod, turning back to RJ’s dad as he holds.

Time dilates as I watch RJ’s dad play, only breaking my attention when my phone buzzes. I pull it out, finding a message from Walker.

He’s leaned across the bar, chatting with Donna. The message has one word: work.

That makes sense. At least she didn’t say they were dating. Even so, I’m worried. This is the opposite of helping RJ’s dad.

I text Walker back a thumbs-up, then pull up RJ’s number. After a breath, I message him, using the code they set up.

Does your dad like hot coffee?

Not the clearest message, but hopefully dad plus danger will get his attention.

Nothing comes back, my foot tapping against the floor.

A shadow falls over my shoulder, and I click the laptop closed. The exceptionally bland man I noticed earlier perches on the arm of the chair, his mask a scarf style like Zorro, and I tense.

“How could they put such a lovely creature to work?” he asks .

I stand, already moving to the bar. “Because there’s more to a woman than her looks,” I bite back, leaving the strange man behind.

Walker’s ready for me, pulling a stool behind the bar for me to sit on. I slide my laptop onto a shelf and perch there, keeping RJ’s dad in my line of sight, the other man blending in well enough that I’ve already lost him. Walker wraps himself around me like a blanket and a little tension leaves me. Not much, but it’s something. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers in my ear, and for some dumb reason, I feel like crying.

“Will it?” I ask, not turning.

“What do you know about RJ’s dad?”

“That he has a gambling problem. A bad one.”

Donna slides to our side of the bar with a smile. “Hello, dear. I disappear for a few months, and they find a new addition.” She holds out her hand, and I take it. “I’m Donna.”

“Clara.”

She seems to have caught where I’m looking. “Don’t tell me you’re curious about my plus-one, too.”

“Why aren’t you playing? It didn’t look like you wanted to give up your seat.”

She shrugs. “I’ve been trying to cut back. I was worried playing might become a problem. But a masquerade? How could I turn down that invitation? And Maurice has been bugging me to try out your game for a while. So I asked. I was surprised his wife was okay with him coming out on New Years, but who am I to judge?”

Nodding along, the knot in my stomach tightens. Trips and Jansen should be back up by now. Zorro mask slinks up to the bar. My skin feels like it’s stretched too tight, and I drum my fingers against my thigh, not even trying to hide it while Walker goes to take his drink order.

Donna eyes me and grins. “I wouldn’t mind playing against you, darling.”

I huff out a laugh. “I don’t play.” Lifting my right hand, I shrug before dropping it back to my lap. “And this is only one reason.”

“What is your role here?” Zorro asks, cutting into our conversation.

“A little help here and there. Nothing special.”

Donna eyes Zorro, interest sparking in her eyes. “And what about you? Who was lucky enough to have you on their arm tonight?”

Zorro keeps his eyes on me. “Just a friend.”

Walker steps between the two of us, handing a drink to Zorro. Something makes me study this stranger. He’s weirdly persistent. Do I know him?

He has a few gray hairs mixed with the dark ones on his head, and his mouth has deeper creases around it than anyone my age. Walker steps aside, taking up sentry behind me, holding me close, and I’m left looking at Zorro’s multihued hazel eyes.

Not so plain after all. I’d remember kaleidoscope eyes like that, I’m sure of it.

Movement at the door has me sighing in relief, Trips and Jansen pounding up the stairs. They both look my way, and Trips tilts his chin. I point to myself, and he nods.

Sliding from the stool, I note that Zorro’s slinked back into the crowd, Donna’s smile falling from her face. “Another?” she asks, and Walker kisses me on the cheek before going to help her.

Inching to Trips, it’s hard to ignore the hardness of his eyes. Something is wrong. Really wrong.

He pulls me to a corner, Jansen giving a signal that has the dealer nodding.

But the next hand’s already been dealt, and I watch with growing unease as RJ’s dad takes his much larger pile of chips and pushes the whole thing to the center of the table.

“Clara, I’ll need you to get RJ’s dad out of here.”

“Trips, what’s going on? Is RJ okay?”

He stares at Maurice, and I want to whip off the beautiful mask Walker made for him so I can see more of his face. So I can tell exactly how bad things are.

“He’s fine. But he won’t be back tonight. And Jay’s going to be out a car for a bit. It could have been worse, but he’s safe.”

“You’re not making me feel any better, Trips.”

He glances down at me. “If you want hugs and comfort, go see Walker or Jansen. Even RJ. Not me.”

“Don’t pretend you’re some ice statue, Trips. We both know you’re not.”

His hand on my elbow feels hot, his thumb making a few circles on the fabric. “Do you think you can do it? I don’t want to cause a ruckus by hauling him out by the back of his neck. Makes people stingy and cautious,” he says.

I force my brain to remember what we were talking about. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m the best bait for one of my boyfriends’ very-much-married father's, but I’ll do what I can. Where am I bringing him?”

“The living room. I’ll be down there. Jay and Walker can hold down the fort for the rest of the night. And don’t worry about verifying lending. That’s the least of our problems right now.”

A collective groan sounds from the table, and I turn. RJ’s dad’s head hangs, and even without having seen the hand, I know he lost it all. The dealer calls for a break, and I cover Trips’ hand with mine, needing just a moment of connection, my insides a tangled mess of half information and worry. “That’s my cue,” I say.

Trips pulls his hand from under mine. I twist away, blinking back the hurt. But before I take two steps, his large palm presses against mine, squeezing my hand so tight for a moment that I can pretend he needs the comfort as much as I do. When I look back, he’s already left the attic.

Weaving through the crowd to RJ’s dad, I catch up to him in front of the bar.

What should I say? What are my strengths?

Lying. That’s the one thing I have perfected. Thanks, Mom. That and customer service.

Me and my shitty talents.

When I’m beside Maurice, I lay my hand on the sleeve of his suit coat. Courtesy of Summer, I know it’s polyester. Useless knowledge rushing through my mind, everything on edge. Focus, Clara. “Excuse me, sir. I’m Clara, and I saw that bad turn in luck you just had. Would you be interested in learning about options to buy back in?”

He looks down at me, and this close, it’s easy to see that he and RJ are related, even with the plain black costume-store mask he’s wearing. “Unfortunately, I’m out of liquid assets. ”

“We have other means of funding a buy-in.” Don’t say yes, I chant in my mind, even though I know this is the best way to get him downstairs.

Because even with the sparse knowledge I’ve got, I know he’s lost before. Lost enough that Jansen knows about it, that Trips knows about it, that it endangered his home, his family.

I want him to say no for RJ.

Instead, he smiles. “You know, young lady, you were exactly who I was hoping I would find when the break was called.”

Damn it.

“Then come with me, sir.”