Undercover Poker Party, Part 10

The next round of hands was meant to last two hours, or until all three tables had dropped to three players. The final table of nine would then be formed, following the winner-take-all format. Marc settled in, Sinead having walked him to his spot again, and she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek as her breasts rubbed against the back of his shoulders.

“Good luck,” she said quietly.

He smiled softly and turned to look at her, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss her fingers. “I don’t need luck,” he said. “I already have the prize in hand.”

She flushed, just a little, and gave him a little scowl at making such an open statement like that in front of other people. Susan just smirked knowingly from beside Marc, and he noticed a couple of the other players glance at Sinead as she walked away. Glances were fine, glances happened. Glances, in fact, simply made him proud to have her on his arm, as they always had with Felicity - and Felicity wore dresses that showed off way more to glance at.

The game got underway, and Marc lost track of time as the hands were dealt and played. He went up a little, then down a little, then down some more as Susan took a chunk out of his holdings. Then he came back up with a strong win that doubled his holdings and knocked the Native man out of the game. He looked frustrated, but took it like a gentleman and even came around to shake Marc’s hand.

That left four players at the table - Marc, Susan, the Jamaican gangster, and the swarthy Italian mobster.

One more player would need to get knocked off before they stopped for the final table. Around the room there was light conversation between the guests and the players that were still sticking around, and both other tables were still playing. Rachel, the thin blonde with the tits, was doing her rounds again and Victor was discussing something with the Natives, who seemed to be getting ready to leave. He was sure Sinead would have wanted to listen in on that conversation, but Victor had ushered them closer to the door and the presence of the two big guards would have made it awkward to try and sneak closer.

Three hands later, the first table had come to a conclusion - Gregory’s daughter Andrea seemed to have held her own as she, the member of the Hell’s Angels that Marc had spoken with before the game, and the baseball player from the Blue Jays were the ones left standing.

Two hands after that, Marc frowned. Not due to his cards, he was sitting on pocket Queens, but rather because the Irishman ‘Liam’ had approached Sinead again off to the side of the bar. Marc had been mildly keeping track of where the Detective was in the room between hands and he’d seen her speaking with various other guests, ‘pressing the flesh’ and ‘working the room’ so to speak. The Irishman had generally been keeping his distance from her since the earlier incident, but Marc noticed him crossing the room with a purpose as he was trying to read the Jamaican across from him. The man crossed to the bar, put in an order, and then stepped away from the bar to approach Sinead, lifting a finger and tugging on the inside of her blouse collar from behind. Sinead spun to face him, one of her hands clenched into a fist, and Marc couldn’t see her expression but could tell by her stance she was about ready to slap the man, if not worse.

Marc cleared his throat and looked across the table at the swarthy Italian he was still playing against. “Your guest is making unwanted advances towards my companion again,” he said. “Are you going to deal with it appropriately, or am I going to need to do that myself?”

The Italian grimaced, looking past Marc towards where his fellow Calabrian was speaking to someone across the room, then back over his shoulder at the Irishman, as he was smirking down at Sinead and shaking his head, put his hand on Sinead’s waist. She pushed him away and the Irishman laughed.

“If you think you can do it yourself, I’d be interested in seeing it,” the Italian said. “No consequences from me or my friends, but I won’t take any responsibility for what he happens to do you if you decide to try.”

“Mm,” Marc grunted, tossing his pocket queens in as he folded out of order and stood up. “My apologies for the rudeness,” he said to his fellow players, along with a meaningful glance at Susan since she was the only player left he’d actually enjoyed meeting. He signalled to Rachel as he stepped away from the table, and she immediately approached with a frown on her face - she could see from a distance that Marc wasn’t out of the game, but he also wasn’t supposed to be leaving the table.

Before the blonde could say anything, Marc was moving towards the bar area. “I’ll be withdrawing from the game,” he said. “With apologies to the host.”

“I-” she said, but finally saw what was going on and changed whatever she was going to say. “-Understand.”

Sinead had swung her hand up to slap the Irishman but he’d caught her wrist. The Detective looked like she was about to turn that into a judo toss, but Marc got there first and seized the offending man’s hand at the wrist in as iron a grip as he could muster. “Excusez-moi,” Marc said. “You will remove your hand from my companion.”

“Or what, y’ fruity ponce?” the Irishman chuckled, wrenching his arm back from Marc’s grip. “What are you going to do, fight me? You and what army?”

Marc could feel his face had turned to stone as he bored holes into the younger man with his gaze. He was somewhere in his mid-twenties and fit. Difficult to know if he was a gym rat dressed up in his clothes, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“I will if you make it necessary,” Marc said evenly.

“Marc-” Sinead said, and he could hear the ‘it’s not necessary’ in her tone.

“Buddy, you can’t touch a fuckin’ hair on my head and you know it,” the Irishman smirked savagely.

“Actually, he can,” the swarthy Italian called from the poker table. “I already told him so, Liam.” The scene had taken the attention of the entire gambling hall.

“You feel like getting your head cracked open like an egg, old man?” Liam said, turning back after his initial surprise. “Winner takes home this sweet little tart.”

“She’d tear you to pieces,” Marc said, shaking his head. “But sometimes a man is put into a position w
here he needs to teach someone a lesson.”

“Guys, please,” Victor said, trying to barge into the conversation. He’d been outside and had come in at some point during the face-off. “This is supposed to be a fun night.”

“Downstairs,” Liam snarled. “So that when I knock you out standing up, you can fall back onto fuckin’ concrete.”

Marc looked at Victor. “Fun party,” he said dryly.

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