The Cartel - Ashley Antoinette Snell [16]
Carter stood at a lively crap table with nothing but hundred-dollar chips in his rack. The casino was unusually packed for a Sunday night, and every table was crowded with eager participants just waiting to be taken by the house. Carter was lax from the top-shelf Rémy he was sipping on. The liquor and the intense thrill of the game had calmed him down since his earlier encounter with Polo.
“All bets set!” the dice handler yelled before maneuvering the ivory across the table and placing them in front of Young Carter. “Dice out!”
With his drink still in one hand, Carter picked up the dice with the other and tossed them toward the other end of the table with a nonchalant swagger. The dice tickled the fabric as they danced before finally landing.
“Yo! Eleven, yo!” the dealer shouted, indicating that eleven had landed on the face of the dice.
Uproarious celebration erupted around the table as everyone collected their wins and anxiously awaited Carter’s next roll. He had been on a hot streak all night, hitting point after point. His luck was unbelievable. He had held the dice for forty-five minutes, which was almost impossible to do in the game of craps. He schooled the dice against the table with his head down as he watched his hands work their magic. He concentrated heavily on his technique. Every hustler had his own rhythm with the dice, and Carter was no exception.
“Excuse me, can I get in here?”
Hearing the feminine voice amongst the crowd of boisterous men caused Carter to look up. A brown-skinned girl with shoulder-length, almond-colored layers and hazel eyes squeezed into the empty rack next to him. She was so close to him that her sweet perfume played games with his senses, and he felt his manhood acknowledge her presence. He put the dice down as he watched her reach into her skintight Seven jeans and pull out a small wad of money. He waited for her to throw her cash on the table before he continued his roll.
The dealer handed her a hundred dollars worth of chips, and she put them in her rack, arranging them by denomination. He smirked at her as she made a pattern with the different color chips. It was rare that he saw a woman at the crap tables, and the one beside him had his full attention.
The men around the table grew impatient, some of them clearing their throats to signal to Carter that he should pick up the dice.
The young woman squirmed beside Carter, trying to find her place between the big men surrounding her.
“My fault, baby,” Carter stated. “Here, let’s do it like this.” He turned sideways and allowed her to ease in comfortably at the table, giving her more room to play.
“It’s all right. You good,” she responded with a New York accent that immediately told him that she wasn’t from Miami. She looked up at him and smiled as he stared down onto her 5-5 frame.
Captivated by her presence, he made mental notes as he admired her wide hips, thin waist, and perfectly manicured fingers and toes. His intense focus on her caused her to blush.
She lay her chips on the table. “Can I get a seventy-two-dollar six?”
Carter noticed the small tattoo on the back side of her wrist that read Murder Mama. That immediately piqued his interest. She then pointed to the dice, reminding Carter that it was his roll. Carter tossed the dice at the end of the table. “Here go your six, ma.”
“Hard six!” the dealer yelled.
The girl jumped up and down and squealed with joy as if she had just won a million dollars, and Carter couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.
The man next to her was so in awe of the woman that he dropped her a twenty-five-dollar chip and winked at her, saying, “Lady luck!”
The man was so busy taking a peek at Miamor’s ass that he didn’t notice her lift three of his five-hundred-dollar chips out of his rack. Miamor bent over and pretended to fix the strap on her stiletto, giving the man a nice view of her assets. She did all of this in less than ten seconds.