Under His Skin (For His Pleasure, Book 20) (7 page)

Dean’s eyes fixed on his brother once
again.
 
“So what are you pissed at
me about this time?” he asked.

“You tell me,” Easton said.
 

“It could be anything,” Dean said,
sitting back.
 
“Since everything I
do seems to disappoint you, lately.”

“Did you know that Sheri came to my
office the other day?”

Dean’s smile faded and turned to a
tight-lipped grimace.
 
“No, I
didn’t.
 
She went without telling
me.”
 
His eyes began shifting, as if
he was slowly steaming inside, furious with his wife but trying to pretend to
be calm.

“She needed some money,” Easton said
evenly.
 
“And I gave it to her.”

“Well, that’s news to me,” Dean
replied.
 
“I’m sorry she did
that.
 
I’ll speak to her and make
sure it never happens again, you can be sure of that.”

“That’s not why we’re here, though,”
Easton continued.

“It’s not?”

At that moment, a waitress approached and
asked if they wanted anything to eat or drink.

Easton ordered a coffee and toast.
 
Kennedy ordered a coffee and a bagel,
thinking how strange it was to be ordering a simple breakfast at this diner, as
if everything was normal, when in reality life was spinning out of control.
 

The waitress left, and Dean ran a hand
through his long hair.
 
“I think I
know what this is about,” Dean said.

“Then tell me what’s going on,” Easton
replied.

“I got myself in a little trouble,” Dean
told him.
 

“A little?”

“A lot,” Dean admitted.
 
He sighed, spinning his coffee cup
absentmindedly.
 
“You know I’ve
always been a sucker for a good poker game.”

Easton gave Kennedy a look, as if to
indicate that his brother was a bit of a character.
 
He turned his attention back to
Dean.
 
“You were supposed to be
going to GA meetings, Dean.
 
You
assured me that you weren’t going to gamble after your last run-in with the
casinos in Atlantic City.”

“I know, I know,” Dean said.
 
He looked down at the table, his
expression one of deep shame.
 
“I
promised me and you and Sheri and God himself that I was through gambling.
 
And I kept my word for a long time.
 
But I’m an addict.”
 
He looked up at his brother again, and
his eyes were sad.

He
has the saddest eyes I think I’ve ever seen,
Kennedy thought.

“So when did it start again, and how bad is
it?” Easton asked him.
 
“I need the
truth, Dean.
 
No more bullshit.”

Dean swallowed.
 
“It’s really bad this time.
 
I think this is one hole I’m never going
to dig myself out of.
 
This might be
the one I get buried in.”

Easton sat back as the waitress came with
the food and drinks, delivering everything with swift and efficient
motions.
 
“Anything else?” she
asked.

“No,” Easton told her.
 
“This is great.”

“Thank you so much,” Kennedy told the
waitress.
 
The waitress departed
again, and Kennedy and Easton looked back to Dean.

“I’m not really sure why I started
again,” Dean mused aloud.
 
“I’ve
never quite been okay with regular life.
 
It bores me, you know?
 
It’s
like—it itches, somehow.”
 
He
looked to Kennedy, as if she could understand.

Kennedy did, in a way.
 
Her old life had chafed
spectacularly.
 
“I think I know what
you mean,” she told him.

He smiled.
 
“Nice of you to say.”
 

“Come on, Dean.
 
I’m not interested in your philosophical
ponderings,” Easton said.
 
“I want
to know how much money you owe, and to whom.”

Dean’s mouth flinched as if Easton had
just punched him in the face.
 
“That’s my brother—always so kind and understanding of human
frailty.”
 
He looked at
Kennedy.
 
“You must love working for
this guy.”

“Hey,” Easton said, his voice harsh.
 
“Let’s get one thing straight.
 
I’m not here to baby you or be kind to
you.
 
That’s your addiction
talking.
 
I’m through with the
manipulation, the self-pity, all of that shit.
 
Understand?”

Dean’s eyes tightened.
 
“Sure.
 
Who am I to say different?”

“Exactly,” Easton said, pointing at
Dean.
 
“I think with the amount of
money you’ve extracted from me over the years, you’ll pardon me if I don’t
exactly shed tears over your tender heart.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said, but Kennedy
could tell he was still wounded.

She put a hand on Easton’s thigh,
delicately indicating that he should calm down.
 
Easton shot her an angry look, but then
he took a deep breath and sighed.
 
“Listen, this is important, Dean.
 
We need to know what happened.”

Dean nodded.
 
“I started gambling again, and I was on
a good run for a change.
 
I’d been
playing in some local underground games around the city and absolutely
crushing.
 
By the time I heard about
the big game, I was itching to play higher.
 
It was the perfect storm,” Dean said,
shaking his head, as if he still couldn’t believe it.

“Let me guess,” Easton said.
 
“It was a mob run game.”

Dean flinched again.
 
“You’d be correct.”
 
He took a sip of coffee and looked out
the window for a moment.
 
“I was
asking around, nosing around for a big score.
 
Someone mentioned that there was a huge
game for high rollers run by some connected guys, and I told him I wanted
in.
 
I didn’t hear anything for
awhile, so I kept pestering people until finally a friend of mine vouched for
me and got me in.”

“How big was the game?” Easton asked.

Kennedy sipped her coffee, and noticed
her hands were shaking a little bit.
 
She had a feeling that wherever this story was headed, it was to
someplace very bad.

“They told me that the game could run
from big to absolutely huge.
 
The
minimum buy-in was fifty thousand, and so I had just enough to get entry.
 
I used everything I’d made in the local
games, and I took out a 10k bank loan against the bar.”

Easton shook his head.
 
“Jesus, man.
 
You’re really determined to kill
yourself, huh?”

“Maybe so,” Dean replied.
 
“Maybe so.”

“Jimmy DeLuca runs the big game?”

Dean’s eyes widened just at the mention
of his name.
 
“Don’t talk so loud,”
he said, turning to see if anyone had heard.

“Paranoid too,” Easton muttered.

Kennedy whispered.
 
“Be nice.”

“You’d be paranoid too if you had Jimmy
DeLuca up your ass like I do,” Dean said.
 
Then he laughed, a high-pitched, strangled sound.
 
“I’m one step away from being pushed off
a cliff.
 
Literally.”

“Tell me the rest,” Easton said
impatiently.
 
“Come on.”

“I go to the big game and sit with my
fifty thousand,” Dean said.
 
“I was
playing with some real bigwigs.
 
A
few were other mob guys, and then there was a big-time plastic surgeon, a
couple successful stockbrokers, and even a name actor.
 
The game was fun and I started off doing
well, I think at my peak I was up twenty thousand bucks.”

“Yeah, well that didn’t last, did it?”
Easton said.

“No, it didn’t.”
 
Dean scratched at the beard stubble
along his jaw.
 
“It never does, with
me.
 
I’m a fucking loser.”

“Tell me the damage,” Easton
pressed.
 
“I need to hear the
number.”

Dean’s lips pulled back, as if the mere memory
of it elicited terror.
 
“I played
all night and kept losing.
 
I went
bust and asked for a marker so I could try and play on to win it back.
 
Jimmy DeLuca himself explained to me
that he was putting up his cash on my behalf.
 
I would owe him directly, and he
expected immediate payment the next day, no matter what.”

“How much more did you lose, Dean?”

Dean licked his lips.
 
“I went through another four buy-ins
before I was done.”

“At fifty thousand a piece?”

“Yeah.
 
Two hundred thousand.
 
And don’t forget the interest that Jimmy
tacked on to the principle.
 
Of
course, I couldn’t pay him the next day.
 
I was flat broke, and so I tried to avoid him for awhile, but that didn’t
work.
 
By the time all was said and
done, he claimed I owed him over three hundred thousand, and the only way to
even start to pay it back was to let his crew take over my bar.”

Easton didn’t even react.
 
He sat stone still and watched his
brother.
 
“That’s why Jimmy and his
boys were taking stuff out of your bar,” he said, looking at Kennedy.
 
“They’re going to leech it dry and leave
you with the unpaid bills.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fucked,” Dean laughed
hopelessly.
 
“Jimmy and his crew
came in and just took over my business.
 
They drink and eat at my bar and they never pay a dime.
 
Stuff gets ordered and delivered, and
Jimmy’s crew loads it on one of their trucks and I never see it again.
 
Everything’s on me—so now I don’t
just owe Jimmy, but I also owe all of the other companies that they’re ordering
goods and services from, through my business account.
 
By the time it’s over, my bar will owe
another two or three hundred thousand to all the food and beverage places they’ve
hustled.”

“Oh my God,” Kennedy said, unable to keep
silent as the magnitude of Dean’s losses hit her.

“Exactly,” Dean said, meeting her
gaze.
 
He looked haunted.
 
“Now you get it, sweetheart.”

Easton picked up his piece of toast and
then seemed to think better of it, putting the toast back on its plate,
uneaten.
 
“How much does Jimmy say
you’ve paid on the original debt at this point?”

“He knocked fifty thousand off,” Dean
said.
 
“So he’s claiming I still owe
him two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, despite all the money they’re
ringing out of my business.
 
Jimmy
doesn’t give a shit.
 
Who am I to
say differently?
 
I’m the idiot who
let him in the door, and now he’ll just suck me dry and probably kill me when
it’s over.
 
One less loose end to
deal with.”

 
Kennedy felt dizzy from everything she’d just heard.
 
Dean was hundreds of thousands of
dollars in debt to the mob and to reputable businesses as well.
 
He was going to have to declare
bankruptcy, and then he was going to have to find a way to get the mobsters to
leave him alone so he could rebuild his life again.

“We need to take care of this right
away,” Easton said.
 
“I’m going to
have to speak to Jimmy DeLuca and see what I can work out with him.”

“No,” Dean said, getting agitated.
 
“No way, Easton.
 
You can’t get involved with this
guy.
 
He’s a killer.”

“I know who the hell he is,” Easton said,
his voice gravelly with anger.
 
“I
don’t want to deal with him—but you’ve given me no choice.”

“Just let me figure it out,” Dean begged.

“Tell him I want to set up a meeting, Dean.
 
I’m not asking you, I’m giving you an
order.”
 
Easton stood up.
 
“Come on, Kennedy.
 
We’re leaving.”

“Easton,” Dean said.
 
“Please, don’t do this.”

Kennedy stood up.
 
“Are you sure—“