“Absolutely not. Get out. I’m not going anywhere with you, and I don’t want a goddamn thing to do with Pony.”
Lev cracks a perverted smile. “Littlezaika, you don’t have a choice.” They both move around me like sharks circling their prey.
I look for a way out. A way to escape, my mind reeling a mile a minute. Leaving with them will only end one way.Bad.
“Don’t be difficult,zaika.” Lev’s deep timbre rumbles across the glossy wood floor like a tremor.
“I’m not being difficult, I’m being smart,” I argue, still deliberating a way out of this. My only option is the front door. If I can make it there fast enough, I could disappear on the street.
They’re massive and muscled; how fast could they be?
I make a snap decision and attempt a run for it, sliding right through Lev’s parted legs. I keep my focus on the front door, gunning it through the shadowy gallery in bare feet.
I hear them behind me, each one of their heavy footsteps rattling right through me like a jackhammer., but I don’t deviate. I zero in on the lock. Grabbing it, I twist, feeling the warm night air on my face as I push open the door, but the sensation is ripped away when an arm locks around my waist and a hand covers my mouth. I scream as I’m dragged backwards into the darkness, kicking and punching. But my attempts at fighting him off are futile. He’s too big, too strong. Too overpowering.
“This could have gone easier, littlezaika,” Lev sounds so disappointed, as Dima zip-ties my wrists behind my back.
“My father taught me to never accept the first offer,” I smart off.
Lev laughs. “You always did have spirit. But you should have taken the first offer.”
9
Damon
I’mseven-hundred pounds lighter and twenty-thousand dollars richer.
Selling my Harley nearly broke my heart as much as leaving Liv did.
Life fucking sucks right now, but decisions had to be made and actions needed to be taken.
And now here I am.
Sin City.
Desert Oasis.
El Vee.
Gluttony ground zero.
Sitting at a poker table at two in the morning, trying to turn rags to riches. It’s slow going, too. The hot streak I’m biting at isn’t happening. I’m up, then down, with no consistency. I’m frustrated, pissed off, and ready to smash something. But I just keep chewing on my fucking toothpick making bets.
This particular poker room is special. Besides being the place that made poker famous, it’s also the place Gambit would always take Slash and me to whenever he got the itch. I lost count of how many weekends we spent here, holed up, dicing through hands. Watching Gambit play was a thing of beauty, and he made damn sure both of us paid attention.
The dealer pushes a handful chips in my direction, doubling my stack. That last bluff earned me big, but I don’t know how many times I can pull that shit off. If I don’t start getting dealt some decent cards, I’m going to have to bail. Fortune is not on my side tonight.
Go big or go home, right?
Right.
I toss in for the next deal. The big blind. I’m not out of steam yet. I inspect all of the players seated around me, trying to pick up on their tells. But this crowd is hard core. They know what they’re doing, and they’re here to play. Just like me.
The dealer burns a card and turns over the flop. A queen of hearts. A two of diamonds, and an eight of spades.
Truly shit.
I peek at the two cards in front of me. I’m holding a queen of diamonds and an eight of hearts. Two pair isn’t going to get me far, but it might keep me alive and give me enough ammo to bluff my way into winning one more hand. I raise. And so do two other players at the table. A guy from New York who’s been drinking Manhattans all night, and a Texan who keeps bragging about his shiny and extremely expensive new belt buckle.
