“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. I lean into Nina, whispering, “I did not come here with you to get axed.”
She grits her teeth, looking about as comfortable with our current situation as I am.
“Welcome to the old Montgomery Estate,” Harlan says, as the gates creak open by some unseen force.
I peer up to the dark manor ahead, not a light to be seen.
Jill squeals, clapping her hands in excitement. I turn toward her, face screwed up in a mix of emotional distress and confusion.
Harlan turns back toward Nina and me and takes a breath. “I don’t think I need to say this considering Jill is your friend, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t ensure that you understand that you are never to speak of this place. Not to anyone.” He looks at Nina and then at me. “Can I trust that anything you see tonight will never be shared outside of these gates?”
I nod, and so does Nina.
“Of course,” I say, because what is the alternative?
He smiles. “Very well.”
I’m pulled from the safety of the golf cart and dragged by Nina toward the dark house that looms over us. The front door squeaks open and we enter, not a sound to be heard.
My concern is growing, the hairs on my neck prickling to attention.
We’re led to the back of the house, stopping in front of a large fireplace surrounded by a bloodred wall.
“Are we waiting for everyone?” Jill asks, no hint of apprehension evident in her tone.
Harlan smiles, and it does nothing to ease my racing heart. He steps forward and touches the side of the fireplace, over a stone that’s a shade darker than the others. The fireplace wall springs out, opening to a set of stairs. The fireplace had been an illusion, hiding a secret passage to god only knows where.
“After you,” Harlan says, sweeping his hand out, gesturing for us to move down the steps into the dark abyss.
This whole scene brings to mind my first encounter with Natalia. That ended fine. This will too.
Jill is already halfway down the steep flight of stairs before my foot has hit the first step down. The only thing visible is the light shining from Jill’s phone.
We walk down a long tunnel that’s nothing but brick and mortar.
“What is this place?” I whisper, but Harlan hears me.
“Montgomery Estate was built in the late 1800s. During prohibition, the owners, Francis and Alta Montgomery, hosted many underground events here,” he says.
“They surely didn’t build tunnels in that time,” Nina says, looking around.
Harlan chuckles. “No. The tunnels were constructed during the original build. The home was built by Francis Montgomery’s grandfather August Montgomery. He was…rather eccentric, from what I’ve been told. As a child, he lived through the Civil War, and that experience led to the tunnels.”
“Safety,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Exactly,” Harlan answers. “He wanted a way to hide his family in the event that war was to ever take place on American soil again.”
We finally reach a set of double iron doors, a keypad fixed to the wall next to the entrance. Harlan quickly taps in a code, and the doors open to a room bursting with activity.
We enter the clandestine venue, where anticipation crackles in the air. The rich aroma of cigars mingles with the sound of chips against the felt-covered tables. Men and women, dressed in their finest, gathered around poker tables, their faces masked with confidence.
I watch in awe as the games unfold around me, the stakes high. The tension in the room is palpable as the players inspect theirhands. Each card dealt has the ability to make or break the person’s bank.
The entire place is glamorous and exciting, and highly illegal. Whoever is behind these games is certainly turning a profit. I can’t shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at the back of my mind, knowing that we shouldn’t be here. This could put Nina and me in a very bad position if we’re caught.
“Ladies,” Harlon coos, placing his hand at the base of Jill’s back. “Grab yourselves a drink from the bar and join a game. If poker doesn’t pique your interest, there are billiards in the next room. Or you can always join the ladies in the parlor that’s through the curtains beyond the billiards room.”
Jill leans up on her toes, whispering something into Harlan’s ear, and his eyes darken, his tongue swiping slowly across his bottom lip.
