In the curious way that Dan Wirth categorized his universe, fury came off more as an entity, being possessed of its own shape, essence, and form. At that particular moment, Dan bathed in its red-raged glow. Let it run up and down his bones, and felt it surge along his muscles, tensing them, drawing them tight. Like a pulsating knot, it burned in his belly.
Walking down the avenue toward The Jewel, however, he maintained his iron control, kept the mask in place that had served so well to keep the swells, the gawking marks, and the smugly superior investigators completely clueless.
“Never give the bastards a hint as to what you’re really feeling, boy.” His father’s words echoed down deep.
This evening, as never before, he fought the battle. Hot as the fury burned inside him, he kept his expression beneficent, an amicable smile on his lips, a lightness in his stride as he passed the few pedestrians on the street who hadn’t been in the inquest.
Not that they might yet know of his drubbing during the proceedings, or how he’d been forced to climb up on that table and make that toilet-water-sucking speech. Offering fucking consolation? A bonus? Those three cretins had put him in the position of looking like a thumb-fingered fool. Him. Dan Wirth!
Top that off with the fact that no sooner had he been contemplating just how he’d get revenge on his wayward indentures than that Corporate slit, Aguila, stepped up front and chopped him off at the knees. The silly bitch couldn’t have humiliated him more if she’d slapped him in the face in front of the whole damn place.
Her and her starch-assed marines.
“Well, I don’t have to eat your shit, you twitch-legged, Corporate slick.” The fury burned as Dan nodded politely to one of the school teachers who herded a batch of fifteen little kids toward the education dome. He even managed some mindless platitude about the weather, cheery as could be.
Yeah, bull-goddamn-shit.
He waved, glanced at the setting sun, opened the door, and stamped into The Jewel. The rest of his people would be coming posthaste to open. After the depth of his defeat, no doubt there’d be a flood of curious people rolling through the casino in an attempt to suss out just what kind of response Wirth would give. Hoping they’d see the great man sulking, plotting, or better yet, exploding in anger and vowing vengeance.
“Oh, what a woeful price to pay for a profitable evening.” He stopped short, glancing around the now-quiet room. The tables waited, the stocked bar ready. All the wood polished. The door leading back to the cribs was open and awaiting customers. The cage, too, seemed to be holding its breath. The bars and counter reminding him of a curious face awaiting his response to this day’s humiliation.
“Assholes,” he muttered, considering the soon-to-arrive crowd. “Tonight the house gets fifty percent.” Wouldn’t take but a moment to reset the machines.
That’d be a start anyway. Just a slight psychological edge for tonight. Hopefully the marks would take away the notion that he was still a winner, that the odds forever favored him. Even though Howe, Valerie, and Kung waited in shackles aboard the Supervisor’s shuttle.
She god dammed swiped them right out from under me!
He hadn’t known a rage like this in years. Not even when Nandi threw him naked out of her personal quarters aboard Turalon.
He stopped dead still in the middle of the room, closed his eyes. Let the fury explode within him. Felt it hot in his blood as he clenched his fists and flexed every muscle until his entire body shook.
“Nobody does this to me.” He laughed at the depth of the rage. “Valerie, Kung, Howe, you pieces of sucking snot, you’ve got to be made an example of. You get away with this, others will try. Nobody chaps my ass like that.
“And as to you, Supervisor? You think you’re delightfully safe down there in your little mine? Happily protected and insulated? Think you’ve got nothing to fear from an operator like me? This isn’t Solar System, you skinny slit. You don’t have a clue of what I can do to you.”
Even as he said it, the door burst open, Art Maniken at the head of his crew. As they filed in, all eyes fixed on Dan, as if anxious, fearing the extent of the explosion.
Instantly Dan’s façade fell in place, the easy smile and dimples lighting his features.
“All right, people. Let’s get ready for a busy night. I want you all on your toes. Marching orders are to make this a party night. Art, spike the drinks. Just enough mash to give the marks the merest hint of a high. Not enough that they know they’ve been dosed. We want laughter tonight.”
“Yes, boss.” Maniken flipped him a salute.
“The rest of you. Joyous. I’ll be adjusting the odds as the evening progresses. We want the sounds of revelry floating out into the community, so the doors stay wide open.”
“Right,” Schemenski called back.
Finally he turned his attention on Allison, tall and regal, dressed in form-fitting finery. Her dark blue eyes fixed speculatively on his, an anxious twist, half smile, half worry, hovered on her full lips.
By all that was holy, she was a beautiful woman.
And all his.
His, damn it! To do with as he liked. No contracts. No strings.
That sense of authority redirected the fury, sent it tingling into his pelvis.
“Allison, my love.” He spread his arms wide. “You and I have business in the back.”
He took her hand in his, seeing the widening of her dark pupils, the slight parting of her lips. The faintest red flush appeared at the base of her neck.
“Come, my love,” he told as he led her toward her room in the back.
He could feel the tension in her body. She knew it would be rough. And, knowing that, he wondered if she’d drug herself, or just play along, ride the tiger he was about to unleash on her. Sometimes she did that, as if she were punishing herself, meeting his violence and savagery with her own.
Those nights, the sex was the best.
Absently he wondered if he was going to get the dress off of her in one piece, or if he’d have to find her a new one.