The Plaything Plays Them All

The neon lights in the bar pulsed in sync with the crowd's movement, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The bass thumped so loudly it felt like it could rattle the bones in one's chest. Catherine flipped over her cards—eight of diamonds, six of clubs, and nine of hearts. "Twenty-three points! You lose." The bearded man across from her, down to nothing but his underwear, let out a triumphant whoop as the crowd around them jeered. Predatory eyes from every direction zeroed in on her, cutting through the dim, flashing lights. "Take it off! Take it off!" they chanted. Catherine's lips twisted into a mocking smile. With a shrug, she slipped off the fishnet top draped loosely over her shoulders, exposing the sequined tube top beneath. Along with the tube top, her smooth, pale waist came into view, along with the teasing curve of her cleavage that had been hidden just moments before. The men pressed in closer, their eyes hungry. She bent forward, her fingers moving deftly to deal the cards again. Blackjack. Simple, classic. But when one was gambling with clothes, every turn had an edge to it. "I'm almost out of things to take off. How about we change the stakes for this last round?" The bearded man grinned. "Catherine, sweetheart, are you scared?" She raised a brow. "Scared? Hardly. But for the final round, I'll raise the bet. If I lose, I'll sleep with one of the men here." The cheer that followed drowned out the music, a sound so loud it seemed to shake the very walls. Men came swarming from every corner of the bar, eager to get in on the spectacle. At Moonlight Bar, raunchy bets like this were not uncommon. But what made tonight special was the woman making the proposal. They stared openly, drawn in by her curves, her sharp features, and the wild, shameless attitude she carried like a badge of honor. The kind of woman any of these men would love to conquer, if only for one night. Someone dealt the cards. The bearded man flipped his over first: eight of diamonds, two of hearts, three of clubs. Thirteen points. Not great, not terrible. Catherine's turn. The men crowded around her leaned in eagerly, practically shouting the results. "Seven of spades! Ace of spades! Two of spades!" Ten points. Catherine lost. Cheers erupted again, but this time they were followed by a tense silence. The bearded man's face flushed as excitement surged through him. "Don't forget who's been with you all night. Now it's time to choose." Catherine's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. But of course, he wasn't there. 'He's the reason I came here tonight,' she thought, her gaze drifting over the leering faces surrounding her. 'Not for these idiots and their stupid games.' "Pick one! Pick one! Pick one!" The crowd started chanting again. "I said I'd sleep with one of the men here, but I didn't say it'd be one of you..." Her thumb jerked downward in disdain as she raised her brow. The room tensed as the men realized she wasn't intimidated by their growing anger. "I'll pick..." She extended her finger, pointing toward the VIP lounge on the second floor. "The man up there." "Don't be ridiculous, Catherine. No one here can mess with him! You better pick one of us, or you might find yourself gang-raped by the bouncers tonight," one man sneered. "Yeah, and then dumped in the alley to spend the night with the homeless!" another chimed in. "Shut up, you cowards." Catherine shot them the finger as she got to her feet. "Just watch. I'll be spending the night in that room, and you can go crawl back to your garbage heaps and hang out with the rats." More boos followed, but the bearded man waved them off, looking disgusted. "Just a spoiled little slut. She'll get what's coming to her." Catherine swayed slightly as she made her way to the stairs, ignoring the hateful glares. The intel she'd paid good money for had told her exactly what she needed to know: Louis Anderson, the owner of this bar, would be in that VIP lounge tonight. She was sure by now someone had already informed him of her little bet. The security guards didn't stop her as she walked into the lounge. Inside, a small glass lamp cast a soft, almost ghostly light, barely illuminating the figure lounging on the couch. Catherine could only make out the tousled blonde curls and the sharp, angled lines of his profile. "Making someone the subject of a bet without their permission isn't exactly a fun game." His voice was low and raspy, laced with warning. The carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps as she walked closer. "If you think I'm rude, then why let me in? Sir? I'd say you're pretty interested in the game yourself." The lighting was too dim to make out his full face, but Catherine was certain it matched the photo of Louis she had memorized. 'It's him,' she thought. 'He's the one I'm after.' "Or maybe I'm just pissed off," the man replied evenly, "and looking to punish someone for dragging me into this ridiculous game and ruining my night." There was a calmness to his voice that sent a chill down her spine, an undercurrent of danger that was hard to miss. Catherine wasn't stupid. She quickly realized that pushing him tonight might not end well for her. Louis Anderson wasn't like the drunken idiots downstairs. If she angered him, not only would she lose her chance to get what she wanted, but she could end up in a far worse situation. 'Maybe I really would end up in the alley,' she thought, her heart racing. She immediately softened her tone. "Sir, first of all, I owe you an apology. You're right—it was disrespectful to involve someone unrelated in my bet." He said nothing, so she pressed on. "Please, believe me, I didn't come here by choice tonight. Those assholes downstairs have been harassing my friend. I followed them here to embarrass them. It... didn't go as planned. I'll admit that... I overestimated myself." Silence filled the room. The soundproofing was excellent, blocking out the music thundering outside. It was one of the reasons he came here every Thursday to enjoy a quiet drink. But tonight had taken an unexpected turn. In the shadows, Louis Anderson watched her. He found the idea of arguing with a girl in her twenties boring, but letting her off without consequence seemed too soft.