A/N: A big thanks to those of you who read, favorited, or followed this story. Also, thank you so much to guests, chloe.m, JC419, emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl, farahsbc, Newsies73, Yelena89, TiaraRose, SmoakCrazyOliciter, Sakura Crystals, alvirgil, wazo29, Yoruichi89, and LuluDancing for the reviews. Such a nice welcome! I truly appreciate your kindness!
I hope this chapter lives up the promise you saw in the story. It is super long, and I would love to know what you think. As ever, I don't own Arrow, its character, etc.
Warnings: Rape is mentioned in this chapter, though no actual assault/description of an assault takes place either in the present tense of the story or in the characters' pasts. Also, some of the characters have potty mouths. Oh, and Oliver is kind of a jerk in this chapter.
Chapter One: Pride Goeth Before a Fall
Daddy shoved her inside the hall closet when he heard noise near the entrance. He lifted his finger to his lips. "Not a word, Lissy."
No, not this. It was dark. So, so dark.
She whimpered and pushed the door open a crack to let in light. It was enough to allow her to see what was happening, but now she wished she couldn't. She wanted to block out the sights, block out the sounds. Pounding fists were followed by the sound of snapping wood and her mother's screams. She wished she were in her room, that she could dive under her covers. She felt safer under there. Hidden. It was what she usually did when she heard Mom and Daddy shouting, but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn't look away.
BAM.
The door flew open and smacked against the side of the wall. She saw Daddy backing away into the kitchen as three dark shapes moved inside swiftly with purposeful strides. Her heart hammered hard against her chest and she knew that she should stay hidden, or maybe she should run, but she couldn't.
Something was about to happen—something that made the screams catch in her throat. A man grabbed Daddy by the throat and held a knife to his neck. They were shouting things—things that were lost in time, in memories long gone. Everything was a confusing blur, except she remembered well how Mom begged them.
"Please, don't kill him! He'll get the money!"
At the word, 'kill,' Felicity burst out of her hiding place and confronted the three terrifying men. She would beg them to leave her daddy alone, to take her instead. They were so bold that they don't even wear masks, but time had twisted their faces into grotesque masks. They looked like cartoonish villains.
"Daddy!"
Daddy could barely speak with their hands wrapped around his throat.
"Felicity, get back."
He never said her full name. It was always 'Lissy.'
For some reason, she fixated on that detail.
She screamed as one of the men stepped toward her, and the shrill sound made the man holding Daddy jump a little. A thin, red gash opened in his neck as the knife sliced him.
Felicity screamed and screamed. The blood was so dark, almost like syrup. It bubbled from his neck, and he collapsed, grasping his neck as if he couldn't breathe.
Felicity jerked awake in her too-small bed, heart pounding hard as graphic images burned in her head, as clear as they were fourteen years ago. Her chest constricted until she thought she might pass out. Under the covers, she felt like a ten year old kid again. The covers remained over her head, even though she was boiling under the sheets and sweat had soaked through her t-shirt.
She willed her quivering nerves to calm down, but the pain in her chest was sharp. She felt like she was going to die.
You've been through this before.
"You can do it, Felicity. Focus on my voice. Focus on taking slow, deep breaths through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. That's all that matters now. Nothing else."
She struggled to get her breathing under control as shaky breaths rattled through her lungs and a new wave of regrets washed over her.
Whatever happened to Sexy Voice?
Her studio apartment was completely silent, except for the sound of water rattling through the pipes in the neighbor's apartment above. Her head pounded, and she groped around in her sheets for her cell phone. 5:02 a.m. That was longer than she'd managed to sleep the day before.
If only the images would leave her when she woke.
She could still see it… The gaping wound that vomited blood… The color as it left his face and drained out of his neck.
She could still hear that horrible gasp as he looked straight at her, his blood soaking through her pajamas as she knelt next to him.
She swiped her fingers over her eyes again and again. Stop crying. He had died a long time ago. But she couldn't help her reaction because under the cover of darkness, she still felt like that kid. She could feel everything—even smell his blood.
From under the sheets, she reached out to flip the switch on her bedside lamp. A yellow glare washed over the bland walls of the room, over the cheap furniture and worn bedding. There were no photos, not of parents or friends, or anything that might indicate she existed outside of a bubble.
Casting aside the covers, Felicity took a deep breath.
Time to do this all over again. Time to pretend.
Anniversary week. Four years.
It was a morbid anniversary, in her opinion. Not that any of the decision makers at Queen Consolidated asked an IT girl (extraordinaire) for her opinion. Well, they probably only thought of her as an IT girl. The extraordinaire part was just her own description because she could do her job in her sleep. Now that she thought about it, doing her job in her sleep would be preferable to the truly sucky dreams she'd been having.
Funny. The dreams had mostly vanished for years. Only after that ill-fated day when she'd been trapped in the darkness of an elevator with a stranger whom she'd never see again did they return. Usually, they were straightforward, a replaying of the night her father died. Sometimes they were an amalgamation of the two, and the stranger would be the one with his throat slit. And sometimes she was trapped in the dark elevator with her father's killers as his blood slowly filled the metal box, threatening to drown them all.
In the aftermath of the bomb planted in the QC building and all the ensuing chaos, Felicity had been relieved to find no one who met the stranger's description among the wounded or dead. The only casualty, in fact, had been the bomber himself when he inadvertently detonated the device early. If everything had gone according to plan, the devastation would have been far worse.
In the bomber's rambling manifesto, later retrieved from his apartment, he excoriated the company, blaming it—and the Queen family in particular—for everything from the decline in the Glades (home sweet home) to the global warming epidemic.
The bomber would have been pissed if he'd known the attack would end up helping QC stock prices. The Queen family went from being billionaires to gazillionaires. Not that there was any such thing, but dang, they were wealthy. Felicity couldn't even imagine what it would be like to not have to worry about money. On those rare occasions when she allowed herself to eat out, she only ate half her meal and took the other half home for later. But the Queens? They probably spent more on floral arrangements in a month than she made in an entire year.
Not that they totally sucked or anything because they didn't. She was grateful for her job, even if it wasn't the dream job she'd imagined in Applied Sciences. And the Queens did give back to the community through their various charitable trusts.
Anniversary week became part of that charitable endeavor. Each day during the week, employees were encouraged to volunteer in their community, and QC subsidized the effort by allowing them to volunteer while they were on the company's clock, so to speak. The week culminated in a gala at Starling Grand Hotel's ballroom, a fundraiser for a local charity.
Not that she would be attending, of course. Anything she had in her closet would resemble Cinderella, pre-makeover. And the only mice Felicity had in her apartment weren't the type that would sew a dress for her, not even a designer knock-off.
At her desk, Felicity nursed a cup of (formerly) piping hot coffee from the break room Keurig when Regina Pardini tapped on her office door and walked in without an official invitation. Not that Regina needed an invitation. They started at QC around the same time, endured the scrutiny of their supervisor Ralph 'Smile? What's a smile?' Jameson together, and in general had each other's backs. Over the years, Reggie had become one of her closest friends.
"How do you always get here so early?" Regina asked with a sigh as she set down a small paper bag in the middle of Felicity's desk. Her dark, delicate features held a grimace on this particular morning, as though the fluorescent lighting in the office had the same effect on her that the sun had on a vampire.
"You know me. I like to get an early start."
"Couldn't sleep?" Regina asked knowingly.
But Felicity didn't answer. Instead she looked at the mystery bag, her nose answering the question that she gave voice to. "What's this?"
"Breakfast."
"Oh, I ate before I came." Stupid pride, she silently cursed herself.
Regina gave her a look that told her she knew otherwise.
"But I'd hate for it to go to waste," Felicity added feebly as she felt her stomach rumble. The truth was she hadn't had anything to eat since supper last night. Even that had been pretty meager. Ramen noodles. Salty goodness complete with MSGs. "Thank you."
"What are you doing after work today?" Regina asked as Felicity began to unwrap an English muffin sandwich with egg, cheese, and turkey sausage.
"Freelancing."
Felicity took on extra work after hours. It started with non-IT co-workers who needed technical assistance with their personal electronics rather than with QC issued laptops and such. Then she started getting calls from friends of co-workers. It was an easy way to make a little extra money.
Regina tsked. "Not tonight, okay? Tonight we're going to blow off some steam. Get margaritas."
"Wish I could." Except I'm flat broke, she wanted to add.
Oh yes, she was living the dream.
This was what she'd gone to one of the best universities in the country to do: pinch pennies while trying to keep her head above water.
Even in college, she had worked ungodly hours to sent money to her mother. Such a reverse situation from all of her friends who were frequently getting cash infusions from their wealthy parents.
And to beat all, she was still supporting her mom.
Everyone always said, "college is the best years of your life." That hadn't been the case for Felicity. While in college, she'd built up the idea of getting an actual grown up job as leading to the best years of her life. So far, she still wasn't feeling it.
Regina pulled a deck of cards from her messenger bag. "Want to play a game?"
"I really need to work, Reggie, if I'm going to make it over to the animal shelter later."
"This won't take long. It's simple really. I'll shuffle the deck and we'll each draw a card. If my card is higher than yours, you come out to play tonight."
"I'll shuffle the deck," Felicity relented. The tension in her shoulders eased as the plastic coated cards slipped around her fingers effortlessly. She studied their beautiful simplicity, the tiny printed hearts and spades.
A smile twitched over her face as she remembered all the tournaments she won in high school. When Texas Hold'Em swept through her school, everyone played cards. She had quite a league going. Ten dollars to buy in, and more often than not, she won. That well dried when her reputation as a card shark preceded her and her classmates decided it just wasn't fun to lose anymore. That—and the school administrators didn't approve of her enterprising methods of moneymaking.
Felicity shuffled and set the deck on the desk for Regina to cut. Once she had, both women drew a card.
"Five of diamonds," Regina revealed.
"Four of spades," Felicity grumbled. "Unbelievable. Statistically speaking, I had a far higher probability of getting a card greater than five."
"You can't always win," her friend replied triumphantly. "I'll be by your apartment with a dress for you to borrow at 7:00 p.m."
"A dress? There's really no need. We can just go down the street after work to grab a drink."
"Yes, there is. We're going clubbing tonight."
"I thought we were getting margaritas."
"Two birds. One stone," Regina replied coyly. "And don't start planning your escape. You're stuck with me. Plus, I've heard you don't want to miss Verdant."
Felicity's phone began to vibrate on her desk. She frowned immediately as she leaned over the screen and recognized the number. Taking it in her hands, she let it ring a few more times before answering.
"Hi, Mom." She cringed at the sound of her weary voice. "I'm at work. Now really isn't a good time."
"Felicity, I need to ask you a favor."
Straight to the point. Whatever could it be? "Yeah?"
"They're gonna cut off my electricity."
Felicity sighed into the phone. How many times had she heard it? I can't pay my phone bill. My mortgage payment is due. I owe my friend two hundred dollars. They're going to cut off my gas. It's the middle of December; I'll freeze to death. Do you want your mother to die?
Newsflash. You live in freaking Las Vegas. Even in December, you won't die from cold.
"I can't keep doing this forever, Mom. I really can't." She took off her glasses and began to rub her eyes before she realized she had smeared her makeup to the point of resembling a raccoon. Why did her mom keep asking? It's because you keep paying, she reminded herself. She finally had the credit card payments down to a manageable level, but there was no room for error.
"What's the big deal? I'm just asking for eighty dollars. Eighty bucks will cover it! You have that fancy job in the skyscraper—"
"And after the bills, I literally have nothing left over."
"You have credit cards," her mother reminded her.
"Those are supposed to be for emergencies," Felicity exploded, "not to pay for your screw-ups!"
Regina whirled around to look at Felicity with a raised eyebrow. She knew all about Donna Smoak.
Felicity waved her off.
"How dare you speak to your mother that way! After all these years and all I've done for you. I cooked and cleaned everyday, washed your laundry—"
Felicity held the phone a foot away from her ear, having heard the speech many times before to the point that she could quote it if pressed. Yes, it was terrible to be disrespectful to your parents, but she'd had it. "I'll send the money, but if you ever call me again asking for more, I'll hang up. No more, Mom."
She had said, "no," so many times that it didn't really sound like a word anymore. It had lost all meaning.
Her mother's sobs crackled through the speaker as she thanked her. "I wouldn't know what to do without you, Felicity. I know I'm a terrible mother, but I do love you."
Felicity pursed her lips together. Donna Smoak was a terrible mother, and Felicity wouldn't argue otherwise, but hearing her mother crying over the phone still tugged at her heartstrings, even though she had pulled this same act more times than Felicity could count. She knew how much money she had in her bank account, down to every last dime. The eighty dollars that she would have to subtract from her account and then budget around that loss for the month ate at her like a disease. She pressed "end call" on the screen before letting the phone drop from her hand onto the desk.
"Felicity," Regina began delicately, "you know that you can borrow from me any time."
But Felicity blistered at the suggestion. She would never be her mother, mooching off friends and acquaintances. "Thanks, but I'm fine."
Reggie's doubtful eyes looked away from Felicity. She bit her lip as Felicity gathered all the cards back into her hands, running her fingernail along the edge of the stack.
What a great way to start the day.
"Yes, Mr. Queen! Yes!"
The brunette's keening as her inner walls clenched his cock urged Oliver to chase his own orgasm. With two more deep thrusts, he grunted harshly as he came, the pleasure of the release washing over him in waves.
The pleasure was all too brief.
Warmth gave way to emptiness.
He pulled back slightly, studying his partner. She was pretty, if not a bit obvious looking. She wore heavier makeup than he preferred, but her body was toned and her tits were gorgeous. Tommy would be pleased to know he was right about her breasts; her plastic surgeon had done a fantastic job. When she'd walked into his office that morning, braless with her nipples perfectly erect under her thin cotton shirt, Oliver had not been able to resist, especially when she brushed up against him. And the reason he'd wanted to meet with her in the first place fell by the wayside almost as quickly as her clothing had.
She looked up at him sheepishly from where she was spread eagle on the leather couch in his office. Her hair was mussed, and her skin flushed a deep pink. Those perfect tits still stood at attention.
"What a great way to start the day! Fucking Oliver Queen," she exclaimed in awe, still slightly breathless.
Oliver withdrew, walked to the desk, and got a tissue to envelop the used condom that he removed from his softening cock. Once he threw it away in the wastebasket under his desk, he began to tuck himself back into his boxer briefs and fasten his pants.
"Thank you, Melissa. I enjoyed that."
"Maybe next time you'll even take off your clothes," she cooed as she watched him lustfully.
He smiled at her tensely, the smile not reaching his eyes. There wouldn't be a next time, as far as Oliver was concerned. She'd stolen from him, and that wasn't something he took lightly even if the sum was paltry. Besides, being naked with a woman was intimate, and all he'd wanted was a quick lay, something to take the edge off, to relieve tension. A woman's willing pussy or mouth was so much better than getting off by his own hand.
"I still can't believe I just fucked the Oliver Queen!" she marveled as she searched around for her panties.
The Oliver Queen. The label was cringe inducing. If only she knew what he really was, she wouldn't be so eager to spread her legs. Or maybe she would. Some women got off on danger.
"When you called me here this morning, I…I have to admit I was a little nervous."
Oliver looked down at his feet and saw the tiny scrap of fabric. He bent down, picked up the panties, and tossed them to her. "What do you have to be nervous about?" Oliver questioned. He toyed with her, much the way a cat toys with a mouse.
She at least had the good graces to get flustered. "I…well, I, I mean, you're you. I didn't even think you knew my name." She pulled the panties up her slender legs, followed by the tight jeans she'd worn there that morning.
"I make it my business to know what goes on around here. I wouldn't be much of a businessman if I didn't." His eyes still zoomed in on her breasts, which jiggled as she pulled her t-shirt over her head. It was a shame to cover those up, but all good things….
Oliver walked to the office door, turned back to her, and said, "Let me show you a few things."
She nodded and followed him out onto the catwalk that overlooked the dance floor and bar area of Verdant. The club had an almost eerie quality in the daytime, as though it were a ghost town. "With the lights, the music, and the crowd, sometimes it's easy to overlook the cameras. There," he pointed. "There…there….and there…and those are just the ones that should be obvious."
Melissa's face blanched, his meaning sinking in. "I can explain. It wasn't much. Just a few dollars here and there."
"That's not the point. I can't have employees around that I don't trust. You're fired, Melissa. Be grateful that's the only consequence."
She gasped. "You can't fire me after what we just did! I will sue you for sexual harassment. Or…or…I'll have you arrested for rape!"
Oliver's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew harsh. "What do you think the camera in the office will show? I sure as hell didn't force you to unbutton my pants or drop to your knees and suck me off. I didn't force you to do a strip tease or sit on my couch with your legs wide open while you touched yourself."
She visibly trembled as his handsome façade slipped away, replaced by a sneer and coldness she hadn't seen before and couldn't have imagined. "Mr. Queen, please."
"Funny. That's what you said when you rolled that condom on my dick and begged me to push inside you. You've gotten all you're getting from me. Give my regards to your fiancé."
Tears streamed down the brunette's cheeks as she rushed from the club catwalk and past Tommy who had just emerged from his own office.
"Didn't you used to actually have game with women?" Tommy asked as he marveled at the young woman scurrying past.
Oliver shoved his hands in his pocket. "We're going to need a new bartender. I fired Melissa."
"What? She's one of our best! She knows how to flirt with men…and what's even hotter is when she flirts with women. Come on, Ollie. The customers love her."
"She's been skimming money from the bar," Oliver explained bluntly.
"Shit," Tommy wiped his hand over his face and stared in the direction Melissa had fled. "Now I'll never get a chance to cozy up to her and find out for sure if her rack is real or fake."
Oliver cleared his throat. "Implants."
"And you know this…how?"
"Because I just fucked her in my office before I fired her."
Tommy's eyes widened. "That's cold. Even for you."
Oliver's jaw tightened. "Don't feel too sorry for her. She threatened to cry rape until I pointed out the cameras we have all around here that capture everything."
"But there are no cameras in your office…for…" Tommy cleared his throat. "…obvious reasons."
Oliver clasped Tommy's shoulder and squeezed it, a genuine smile crossing his lips. "She doesn't know that."
"But you didn't force her, did you?"
Oliver's smile faded. He'd been many things in his life, most of which weren't good. A bastard with impeccable breeding. A cheater. A ghost. An enforcer. A killer. A survivor. A капитан, a captain of the Bratva. A prick. The one thing he'd never done, would never do, was force a woman to do anything sexually she didn't want to do. He knew men that got off on overpowering women, but he'd seen enough in the last few years—human trafficking, the aftermath of sexual assault—to get physically ill at the thought. Besides, Oliver had a preference for strong women and enjoyed the give-and-take, not just taking.
"Tommy, did you roofie that girl back in college?"
"Of course not. I like my women to be willing."
"Exactly."
"Sorry, buddy." Tommy looked at him shamefacedly. "So a new bartender it is. But her breasts…"
"It's good to see you two are hard at work." Moira Queen's voice cut through the empty space of the club. Oliver looked down to see his mother, standing on the dance floor wearing a tailored skirt and blouse framed by a stylish silk scarf, poised as always, and yet looking completely out of place in her surroundings.
"Mom. Hi. What are you doing here?" Oliver ambled down the metal stairs and greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek.
"You aren't returning my calls," she admonished.
"I've been busy."
"Yes, I could see what has been occupying your time when I arrived. I wish you'd settle down."
"And I wish you'd stay out of it," came his clipped response.
"Oliver, I didn't come here to argue with you."
"Then why are you here?"
"I just wanted to make sure you would attend the gala on Friday night. I know you were…away…when the bombing occurred, but it's important for us to commemorate the event and show the resiliency of-"
Oliver interrupted. "Practicing your speech already?"
"Will you be there?" Moira persisted.
"I have a club to run," he reminded her.
"This vanity project?" Moira asked looking around her.
Vanity project? If only she knew. "It's a profitable club."
She sighed. "I know that being back hasn't been an easy adjustment, but the family needs you to make an appearance. We don't want anyone digging into your absence if you fail to attend."
Her words hung in the air.
Oliver's balancing act was a precarious one. The nature of his position required secrecy, yet he had been a public figure all his life, the object of interest, speculation. But his mother was correct; a necessary evil in keeping the different parts of his life separate was making sure he periodically gave the public what they wanted. The Oliver Queen.
"All right. I'll be there."
"Excellent." Her lips curled into a triumphant smile before she squeezed his hand and turned to leave.
"Since when do you let yourself get guilted into doing anything?" Tommy asked from the balcony above.
Oliver ignored the question. "Have the shipments arrived yet?"
Regina dug into what she had dubbed her Bag of Magic Tricks and pulled out a makeup bag, flatiron, and round brush, all of which she set on Felicity's bed. There wasn't much room for maneuvering around in the studio apartment, but she was afraid that if she left it up to Felicity to meet her at the townhouse she shared with her boyfriend Maxim, Felicity would be a no-show.
"Just out of curiosity, do you have any panties that don't say Hanes or Fruit of the Loom on them?" Regina asked eyeing Felicity sideways.
"You're the only one who ever sees them," Felicity threw back saucily.
A groan from the other side of the room sounded loudly. "Do you have any idea of how hot that sounded?"
"Keep your head turned, Max," Regina warned her boyfriend, who waited (not so) patiently for Felicity to get 'decent'. She turned back to Felicity and said, "If anyone could make them look good, you could, but we really need to at least take you to Victoria's Secret. Now try this dress."
"Bossy," Felicity teased as she took a garment bag from Reggie, unzipped it, and removed the dress from the hanger. She fingered the black, stretchy material before pulling it on over her head. The fabric was smooth but thick, almost like a bandage. It was tight around her chest and stomach. She reached back but couldn't manage the zipper. Regina came to rescue and gasped as she stepped back and looked at her friend.
"Is it safe yet?" Maxim called from across the room.
"I'm pretty sure it's never going to be safe again," Regina grinned proudly. She turned Felicity around to look in the full-length mirror on the wall next to the sink.
A woman with messy blonde waves stood in front of the mirror in a black dress that accentuated her every curve. Felicity turned to the side to see the back of the dress, and the girl in the mirror turned as well, exposing the sheer lace that dipped down to the middle of her back. There was lace over her breasts, too. The sweetheart silhouette barely covered them up. The woman in the mirror blushed violently.
"Regina! This is way too much!"
"Are you kidding me? It's perfect! You look amazing!" Regina practically strutted as she went back to her Bag of Magic Tricks and retrieved a pair of strappy black pumps that she demanded Felicity put on immediately.
"It's so tight." Felicity spread her hands over her stomach. The dress was flattering; it smoothed out any bumps she would have and stretched with her.
Her feet slid into the pumps Regina offered, and she wobbled a bit on her feet, feeling like she might tip over. "Regina, I don't know if this is me."
"You're right, it's not you. That's why it looks so amazing."
Felicity threw a bundled up pair of dirty socks at her head, but Regina casually stepped aside to avoid them, still grinning.
"Please, Felicity. Let me take care of everything." Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Felicity could almost feel the giddy waves rolling from her body. Regina liked this sort of thing, though Felicity found the attention embarrassing.
Reggie flitted around like a butterfly, making Felicity sit down as she applied makeup. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Felicity asked her not to apply too much, but it occurred to her that her pleas might have fallen on deaf ears. Next, Regina attacked her hair with a brush and spritzed a floral scented conditioner over her head. She took the flatiron and went through every strand of hair carefully. Finally, she let Felicity get up to look at herself in the mirror.
Felicity's jaw dropped because the girl in the mirror was so not her; she was the woman Felicity had always admired at clubs, the girl who knew exactly how to show off her beauty. She was stunning. She had flawless, shining hair and the moisturizer Regina used made her skin dewy and fresh. And to her surprise, there actually was not too much makeup, but what little there was made a huge difference. Her blue eyes popped. No way this was her.
Regina uttered another squeal and grabbed her hand. Felicity squeezed it back.
"Regina, you're amazing. Thank you."
She fussed a little bit. "I wonder if we should put your hair up, actually. You have such delicate features. We could show off that long, slender neck. No, I don't want to overdo it. All the men will want you, and where would that leave the rest of us?"
"It will leave you stuck with your boyfriend," Maxim reminded her from across the room.
Felicity reached for her glasses, but Regina snatched them from her hand. "Oh no you don't. Contact lenses. Now."
Max drove them to Verdant, but parking was a nightmare. They found a garage four blocks away and walked. It was still fairly early—only about 8:00 p.m., but the Glades weren't particularly known for safety. Still, the trio encountered nothing out of the ordinary as they made their way to the club. Actually, now that Felicity thought about it, she'd been hearing less and less about violent crimes in the Glades lately.
The line that formed outside of the club was another matter altogether.
"If they let all of us in, there's no way they'll be in compliance with fire codes," Felicity muttered.
"That's why we aren't waiting with the masses," Maxim explained. "We're meeting Roman here—he knows the owners, and we can bypass this mess." He had his phone out, texting.
Felicity glared at Regina, smelling a rat. "And who's Roman?"
"Maxim's brother. Didn't I mention that? Ooops. Must've slipped my mind." Regina shrugged innocently but leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to get you laid if it's the last thing I do."
"I do not need help with that!" Felicity gasped.
"Your shabby cotton underwear suggests otherwise."
Maxim looked from his girlfriend to Felicity, realizing he'd missed part of the conversation. He held up his phone to show a text. "Roman's inside. He left our names with the bouncer."
Within a couple of minutes, the three were inside the club. Felicity could feel the music pulsating through her body as they moved among the throng of clubgoers dancing and grinding. Some couples moved to the perimeter, to the shadows, to explore their attraction.
"Oh, there he is," Max said pointing to a tall, dark haired man whose resemblance to him was unmistakable.
Maxim waved him over, and Felicity could feel the newcomer's eyes scour her. Once the man approached, he and Max clasped hands firmly in greeting, engaging in a playful tug of war.
"Men," grumbled Regina. "Always trying to show off."
"Regina. Lovely as always." He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before turning to Felicity. "You must be…"
"Felicity," she supplied.
"Roman," he introduced himself. "I'd really like to drink you a buy. Er, buy you a drink." He shook his head at his flustered reaction to her. "Damn, you're gorgeous."
"Flattery gets you everywhere," Regina said pushing Felicity toward Roman until she was literally half a breath away from him, her body pressed against his. Felicity turned to glare at her friend. "Ooops. It's crowded in here," Regina added.
Felicity turned back to Roman. While she didn't appreciate Regina's shenanigans, she had to admit that Roman was attractive. His dark hair fell in front of his expressive brown eyes with a casual elegance. His teeth were not perfectly straight, but they were white and when he smiled, he went from attractive to devastatingly handsome. He was lean, and his suit fit him perfectly, though he seemed a bit overdressed for Verdant's more casual atmosphere. "Lead the way."
Roman extended his hand, and Felicity took it so they wouldn't get separated as they wove through the crowd. As much as she hated to admit it, it felt nice to hold a man's hand. Once they made their way to the bar, they huddled together almost out of necessity, both for the lack of space and to be able to hear one another better. Felicity found herself not minding the nearness too much.
"Regina was painfully obvious, wasn't she?" Roman laughed. "But I'm glad to finally meet you. Regina and Max talk about you quite a bit."
"All lies," Felicity deadpanned.
"What can I get you?" the barkeep asked.
"I'll have a Baltika Dark," Roman spoke up. He looked to Felicity. "You?"
"Rum and Coke, please." She and Regina had a pact that they did not drink margaritas without each other.
A moment later, they were being passed their drinks. "I'll just put it on your tab, Roman," the bartender said.
"Thanks, my man."
"Cheers," Felicity said.
"Cheers," Roman replied tapping his bottle of beer against her glass.
Felicity took a sip, appreciating the sweetness and effervescence of her cocktail. "I was actually thinking of that t.v. show from the 1980s. Cheers. You know, the bar where everyone knows your name, but your version of cheers works, too."
"Sorry. I didn't grow up here in the states. Sometimes American pop culture goes right over my head."
"That's right. Maxim mentioned your family is originally from Russia."
"Yes, Volgrograd, but we've been here for years."
Felicity nodded. It made sense. She couldn't detect an accent with Max and very little of a Russian accent with Roman. "So do you come here a lot?" Her eyes widened realizing she had just recited one of the most clichéd pick up lines ever. "I know that sounded really lame, and I so did not mean that as a come on. Not that I would never come onto you, just that the bartender knows you by name."
"Like Cheers," Roman replied, his dark eyes twinkling. "I work with the owner. I actually have to go to work in a little while."
"What do you do?"
"A little of everything," Roman replied vaguely. "So my brother mentioned you grew up in Vegas. What was that like?"
"About like you'd expect."
"One endless party?"
"Okay, or about the opposite of what you'd expect then," Felicity laughed. "There's the Vegas strip, of course, but that not real life. That's escape, which isn't to say it's not nice to escape every once in awhile…"
"You go to the casinos much?"
Felicity scrunched up her face. "That's a long story."
"You can't quit there," he urged her on.
"I was actually banned from the Sands when I was eighteen. I had a nasty habit of counting cards in Blackjack. They didn't like that too much. It was a shame, really. Blackjack wasn't even my favorite game."
"Aren't you supposed to be twenty-one to gamble in Vegas?"
"That's what my ID said," she replied with a smug grin.
"So you are a player."
"Not so much these days."
"But what would be your game of choice?" he asked.
"I always liked poker."
"Oh, but you can't rely on card counting for that. It's about how well you can read your opponent."
"Which is why I like it."
"Are you good at reading people?" Roman asked.
"Not always," Felicity admitted, "but I'd like to think I'm better than I used to be."
"You should come to work with me tonight," Roman said spontaneously.
Felicity looked at him, puzzlement written across her features. Sure, she'd heard of 'Take your dog to work day' or 'Take your son or daughter to work day' but never 'Take the woman you just picked up in a club to work day.'
"It's an odd invitation, yes?" Roman acknowledged. "You like card games, and I can show you quite a game."
Felicity hedged, "I'd hate to leave Regina and Maxim behind." Roman was good looking and flirting with him was fun, but she didn't know him well enough to just leave with him.
"We'll invite them along," Roman offered, sensing her reluctance.
A little while later, Roman led Felicity, Regina, and Maxim down a side corridor. It had been blocked off to prevent the casual clubgoers from wandering in the wrong direction.
The further they moved from the main dancing and bar area, the more the building took on an unfinished, industrial feel, reminiscent of its old Queen Steel days. Finally, Roman went through an exterior door, which led into an alley that ran adjacent to the building. They walked down the winding alley, which took them further from the action of the club, until Roman stopped outside a heavy, metal door with flaking paint.
"So, I probably should mention that this card game we're going to is not exactly—ah—legal," Roman admitted.
"What?" Regina shrieked as she reached out and smacked her boyfriend's older brother on the arm.
"It's no big deal," Roman shrugged. "Just don't mention this to anyone else, okay? I can bring guests, but my boss doesn't want any other outsiders."
The two women exchanged looks.
Illegal card games? Regina looked horrified, but Felicity was intrigued.
Besides, standing outside the alley entrance, it was too late to turn back.
A couple, dressed to the nines, stopped in front of a huge bouncer who guarded the door. He checked their IDs and a list on his phone before letting them in. The door opened, allowing the sound from within to filter through. Laughter. Music. It was different from the pulsating lights and grinding bodies in the club, though the first sight Felicity caught of the interior was an industrial-looking set of metal stairs, in keeping with Verdant's industrial theme.
The bouncer was an intimidating guy, at least 6'5" with a bald, shiny head. He was more fat than muscle, but at the same time, it was clear that one swipe of his ham-like fists could knock all of them back to last month.
"Name," he barked.
Roman laughed nervously. "You know me, Vince."
"I still have to ask," the burly guard replied gruffly.
"Roman Belikov."
The bouncer studied the ridiculously small screen in his hands and nodded. His eyes roved over Regina and Felicity appreciatively. Boulder-man offered a small smile as he backed up and opened the door for them.
Once they went inside, they quickly saw that the stairs opened into a massive space with tables and tables of hors d'oeuvres. The industrial feel was still evident from the exposed beams and pipes of the ceiling, but the trappings—the chairs, the tables, the rugs—all looked incredibly high-end, opulent even. A divider was set up, separating the main space from a smaller room. The one where they currently stood gawking was packed with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Well, they weren't all gawking, Felicity realized as she looked at Roman. He looked quite at home there.
"Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?" he asked.
"Sure."
"Just help yourselves to refreshments," he instructed the group, playing de facto host.
"Look!" Regina pointed. There was a three-level tier filled with chocolate truffles and petit fours. "It feels like we've stumbled into the witch's house in Hansel and Gretel."
Immediately, Felicity's mouth began to water and she fought the urge to scoop it all into her purse. Regina grabbed a few nibbles and bit into one of them, making an ecstatic moan. "This is orgasmic."
"Hey," Max lightly fussed.
There were also tables of little baked tarts, smoked salmon, glasses and glasses of champagne, and even a man standing in front of glossy, dark wood bar preparing drinks. His white tuxedo jacket looked impeccable, as did the concoctions he mixed.
Felicity's mind tried to catch up with her eyes saw. How could all of this be underneath Verdant?
Around all of the tables laden with food were guards standing at the perimeter. Their rigid stance distinguished them, as did the earpieces they wore to communicate with one another. A tiny sting of fear bit at Felicity's skin as she looked at them. There was something about them that was downright ominous.
Her palms sweaty, she leaned her head and gazed into the next room, which was significantly quieter and occupied by far fewer people. There must have been at least five felt tables set up. Older men that she recognized as dealers were settled behind them, except for one table, which remained empty.
In that room, a group of men smoked and drank as they occasionally looked back into the main room. The poker tables drew Felicity closer, but she felt another tiny prick of fear as she watched them. There were small heaps of chips on the tables.
"It's five-thousand just to sit in," Roman hissed in her ear.
Felicity almost jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn't seen him approach again.
If it was his way of reminding her that there was no way she could afford to join, he needn't have bothered. She was all too aware of her financial limitations. But it didn't hurt to watch them play, did it? After all, poker was an art form.
Most of the players were much older than Felicity, and they occasionally glanced her way as if wondering why she was staring at them when the other women were busying themselves with eating, drinking, and idle gossip.
One of them, a man whose skin hung off his neck, spoke to her. "Come inside, sweetheart. Don't be shy."
Felicity stepped into the room gingerly. Regina joined her, though her mouth was still stuffed full with hors d'oeuvres, and looped her arm through Felicity's elbow. Felicity breathed a sigh of relief.
The two women moved further into the room. The old man's smile was so encouraging, so friendly; Felicity felt more confident and even grazed her fingertips over the green felt of the game table.
"What are you doing in here?" Regina whispered.
Like Felicity, she felt the need to keep quiet.
Felicity shrugged. "You know I like cards. It reminds me of my dad. I think I'm going to stick around and watch their games. You can go back if you like." She felt a small twinge of guilt. When Regina had practically dragged her out, Felicity was quite sure this wasn't what her friend had in mind.
"Okay. I'm going back in the other room to mingle for a little bit," Regina replied.
Felicity swallowed hard when her friend's warmth disappeared from her side, but the men in the middle of the room weren't really paying attention to her anymore. She could catch snippets of their conversation.
"I don't fucking understand, what happened? The Avtorityet said there would be five dealers."
Closer and closer, she migrated toward the empty table, so neatly set up with chips and cards, which beckoned to her. Her hands slid across the deck of cards, even as she continued to listen to the conversation.
"One of them called in sick."
"Well, what are we going to do now? The boss has invested a lot of money in this thing."
"We have players coming in from San Fran. I can't just tell them that we fucked up."
They were missing a dealer? She could do that in her sleep. It was easy.
"I can deal." The words slipped from Felicity's mouth before she could wrangle them back in. No. No. No! Well, yes, she technically could deal, but why would she offer to deal in an illegal casino? Just no!
Her worries over jumping the gun needn't have mattered when the two men discussing the dealer no-show turned to stare at her as though she was an idiot.
"Who the hell are you?" The voice came from a beefy forty-something man. Felicity found herself staring at the man's nose. It had obviously been broken more than once and had healed back in a most…interesting…way.
"I'm Felicity." Oh, why did she offer up her name?
"I suppose you're an expert poker player?" His mocking tone set Felicity on edge. He looked to his companion, a man far less beefy who had a lean, edgy look to him, and their angry faces dissolved into amusement.
It was their disbelieving condescension that made her step forward, better judgment falling by the wayside. "I am actually. And I can deal for you. It's no problem."
Dammit. Pride goeth before a fall.
"All right, sweetheart," beefy nose man said in a complacent tone. "Why don't you just run along and join the rest of the women in the other room?"
The dismissal made Felicity so angry that she slid into the empty dealer seat and picked up the deck of cards. Unbelievable. She graduated from MIT and could hack with one hand tied behind her back. How dare they talk down to her because she was a woman!
Felicity shuffled the cards a dozen different ways, all the ways dealers do at casinos. They approached the table angrily, almost as if they wanted to pull her off the chair, but she gave them a small, polite smile.
"Believe me, I can do this." Even she was surprised at the confidence pouring from her voice.
Surprisingly, nose man, the one who had snapped at her, crumbled first. "What the hell, why not?"
"капитан will be pissed," said the lean man.
Felicity furrowed her brows. When he spoke, it sounded almost like he said cappytan, but what kind of name was that?
"So? What else do we do? We'll watch the girl for a bit and if she does well, who gives a fuck?"
The lean man looked at Felicity with his eyebrows raised. He didn't strike her as the type of man to go with the flow. "You know how to play Blackjack?"
She smiled at him. Stupid question.
"All right. My name is Dimitri. Just shout if you need anything."
In the background, Felicity saw Regina watching from the other entry with a slight worried look on her face. There was no time to think about it, though, because men filtered into the room once they saw everything was ready for another game.
Their eyes zeroed in on her with raised eyebrows, and suddenly there was a crowd around her table. They want to sit at my table, she realized in horror. It was one thing to know how to deal, quite another thing to do it in a high-stakes game. And an illegal one, at that. Felicity's hands shook a little bit, so she kept shuffling. Finally, the seats were organized.
"How you doin'?"
"Good, thank you." Felicity looked up at the man addressing her, another one in his fifties. "How are you?"
"Can't complain."
His admiring gaze made her face hot. None of them seemed perturbed that she was the only female dealer. In fact, the fight over seats at her table suggested otherwise.
The game began and she dealt out the cards smoothly, entertaining herself by counting the cards while they flew out of her hands. The first game ended with a win for the house. She could feel Dimitri breathing down her neck as he made sure she wasn't screwing up the game, but he relaxed as game after game went without incident.
The man who smiled at her won, and he tossed a chip in Felicity's direction. Stunned, she grabbed it. A tip?
She glanced at Dimitri, and he nodded.
The guys started to loosen up. Cigar smoke furled around the table, choking the air. Half of the crowd from the other room filtered in to watch. There were explosions of laughter at other tables, groans, but all of it disappeared as she focused on the game.
"Yes! Yes, thank you! Here you go, honey." Another few chips flew Felicity's way.
"Thank you, sir."
The players seemed to be from a mixed crowd—ranging from rich businessmen to married, middle-class men who looked like they were on the lam from their wives.
The ones supervising the games were a different sort completely. Eastern European looking, if she had to guess. Rigid.
Something nagged at the back of her mind, but she didn't want to confront it yet. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. This was dangerous. She didn't know how she knew, just that she did.
There was a slight commotion in the other room. Felicity heard voices lift up in greeting and Dimitri tensed next to her.
He was gone in a flash.
"Oliver, there was a slight problem…"
Felicity didn't look up because she was still focused on the game. It was none of her business anyway.
Whoever this Oliver was responded in Russian. At least, she thought it was Russian, but she wasn't entirely sure. All she knew was that his voice was young and angry, arrogant and authoritative. And sexy, she added begrudgingly. It cut through the calm energy at her table like a knife, and the man sitting directly in front of her flinched. Felicity tried to keep focused on the game, but the voices were getting louder and angrier. She heard them walking across the room until finally someone stopped next to her chair.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Felicity lifted her head to the voice to tell him to calm down and to be quiet, but all the words caught in her throat when she stared up into a pair of fiery blue eyes, eyes that widened slightly when they met hers.
The intensity of his stare shook her, and she averted her eyes to assess the rest of him. One brief look and she could tell that this guy was gorgeous. He was older than her by maybe a handful of years, but he practically buzzed with a deadly, seductive energy that gave her the feeling that his life experiences were far more varied and extensive than hers. His light brown hair was cropped short, his nose straight, his jaw chiseled, his lips utterly kissable. No, not kissable, she mentally corrected herself. There will be no kissing.
He wore a well-cut suit jacket over a crisp white button-up shirt left open at the neck. The jacket stretched perfectly over his impressive physique—broad, muscular shoulders, a trim waist. His package was eye level with her, and she forced her gaze upward rather than focusing on how impressively he filled out his tailored pants.
This man was hot, that was for sure, even if—from the looks of things—he hated her already.
Figured.
But as she met his eyes again, the heat once again threw her.
"Excuse me, sir," Felicity said in a cold voice, "we're in the middle of a game."
One of the men sitting at her table chuckled and Felicity froze. Behind him, she could see Dimitri waving his arms around to get her attention. His face was pale, and he shook his head violently.
Uh-oh.
"I asked you a question," he ground out. "Who are you and why are you dealing at my card game?"
Thoughts? Hit me up! I'd love to know what you think so far. :)