I backed away from the stranger right into the bad man and screamed out in fright. “Get over there little bitch,” the bad man hissed, shoving me forward into the stranger.
The stranger grabbed my arm, and I cried out, trying to free myself.
“Hello Gabriella, or do you prefer Gabby?” He asked, his voice soft like the one I would use to calm Malic and Josh when they got hurt. There was something wrong with the way this man’s voice sounded. I didn’t say a word. He chuckled, pulling me along towards the piano and to a plate of cookies I had not seen before. “Here,” he spoke, a cookie in his hand.
My stomach growled as I stared at the cookie. It was as if my insides hurt with every moment I didn’t take the cookie, but I didn’t trust the man. He reached out the cookie just on the edge of my lips; it would be so easy to take a bite.
His gray eyes locked with mine, and he smiled widely. Looking back at him, I smiled, opening my mouth slightly. When he moved forward to put the cookie in my mouth, I grabbed his hand, biting hard.
“Fuck,” he yelled out his other hand coming up to smack me across the face. I fell onto the floor as my mouth tasted like a nasty Flintstone vitamin. My head throbbed and there were black spots in my vision as I swiped at my face with my arm. Blood coated my arm, and I smiled. My face ached and my stomach grumbled louder, but I didn’t care. “Get her out of here,” the stranger barked.
“Yes senator.” The bad man jerked me up by the hair. Tears ran down my face as he pulled my hair from my scalp. He dragged me down the hall, and soon enough we were in that darkstairwell again. I didn’t fight him when he shoved me through the doors into my cell. The air had cleared as I heard the rain slam against the ground.
The coldness seeped in, and I met the alarmed eyes of Scar. “What did he do to you?”
11
SHUT UP AND PLAY THE GAME
November 22nd
“Cole, care to join a round?” One of the district attorneys laughed out loud as he sipped his whiskey. This one was a cocky son of a bitch, the one that incarcerated me a year ago. Of course, it was allmanufactured, a show for the public. The truth was that most of the government either participated in or turned a blind eye to these situations. If a rapist and murderer can become a senator without anyone being the wiser, then who’s saying they wouldn’t be higher up in the government? Money, greed, and power all make the world go around. I paused at the bar and ordered a drink before turning to survey the room.
I hated the backrooms. I didn’t care to bet money on whether someone would be bluffing, but I needed information and this was the best way to get it. The club was something of a front for everything; sure, they were a legitimate business as any country club would be, but here these men could wine and dine as they pleased. The backroom was the surface of it all. Sure, it was an actual gentleman’s club, with golfing and pickleball and whatever crap the old geezers found entertaining, but these rooms were special. A hidden tunnel system around the golf course connected to the main building. Well-dressed men would use the front entrance, while thugs like myself used a back entrance. No one cared as long as your money was good. There was, of course, a strict non-disclosure, and if anything happened to leak, well, that was my side of the business. I took a sip of the drink while watching the play.
“Sure, what’s the entry fee?” I smirked, coming around the large poker table and nodding towards the dealer. He stood ready to deal me in, no words. Not that the man could speak without his tongue. The room was staffed with mutes, some of them born, some of them made. They were compensated well as long as they did their jobs.
“Five to sit. Two thousand minimum if you plan on staying,” the attorney said, swirling his whiskey. I let out a quiet breath through my nose, unimpressed, and tossed in a thicker stack of chips.
A chair scraped softly as I took my seat. “Wouldn’t be much of a game otherwise.”
A few of the men at the table glanced up at that, just enough to spark interest. The dealer flicked two cards toward me. They stopped just short of my hand. I didn’t touch them right away. Instead, I leaned back slightly, letting my gaze drift across the table as if I were more interested in the players than the game itself.
The attorney sat to my right. Across from him, a woman in a tailored suit — sharp lines, sharper eyes. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just watched like she already knew how this would end.
Congress.
To her left sat the commissioner, shoulders relaxed but gaze steady, tracking every movement at the table as if it actually mattered. It didn’t. Not the cards, anyway.
Further down, an older man adjusted his cufflinks — subtle, expensive. A judge, if I had to guess. The kind that didn’t need to raise his voice to ruin someone’s life.
Tucked beside him, a man with an easy grin and a glass that never emptied. Media. Of course.Beside him was a banker who didn’t bother to hide the fact.
“Quite the table tonight,” I muttered, glancing between them as the dealer shuffled again.
“Only the best,” the attorney said, already reaching for his drink.
“Or the worst,” the media man added lightly. “Depends who’s writing the story.”
A few chuckles passed around. The commissioner didn’t laugh. His eyes flicked to me instead. Stayed there a second too long. Noted. The dealer placed the cards. I picked mine up more slowly this time. Let them look. Let them think they were reading me.
“Your father ever play?” The media man asked, swirling his drink as if it were mere idle curiosity.
I glanced down at my cards, letting a second stretch longer than necessary.
Then I gave a faint huff of a laugh.
“More than he should.”
