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The Brit nods, thoughtful, seeming to ponder something as he rises to his full, intimidating height. I conclude he’s calculating how many pieces he’s going to cut Adams into. “Then we should play for it.”
“What?” Perry looks plain horrified.
Black motions to the poker table, and I notice one of his men smirking. “We play.” Slapping on a big smile, he gestures for Perry to lead the way. “Straight-up, good old-fashioned gambling. You win, your debt is wiped here and now. No more business. I win . . .” He bends again, pushing his mouth against Perry’s ear.
My lover turns white. If he loses, he dies.
“But you’re renowned to be a terrible player,” Perry mumbles. Fear is embedded on his face. Pure, raw fear. And if I wasn’t seeing it for myself, I probably wouldn’t believe Perry Adams was capable of that look. He’s a shark as a lawyer and has no problem lording his success over his subordinates. Always cocky. Always confident. Except right now.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Black makes his way to the table and gets comfortable, and Perry can barely walk straight as he follows, a curious crowd building around them. That crowd now includes me, and I’m making the most of Perry’s and his men’s distraction. They clearly have bigger problems on their plate right now than a little whore like me. But then Perry finds me past the throngs of people, and when I expect him to warn me away, he gives me a small smile instead. Like, he’s got this. Don’t be worried.
I’m not worried. I’m fascinated.
The manager of the casino swoops in, attentive and welcoming of Danny Black and his crew. Something tells me it’s not because a lot of money is about to be bet.
I slip around the other side of the table for the best view. Of him. His forehead is heavily lined. He has a scar running from just under his eye to the top of his lip. His gaze is shrewd and piercing.
And utterly spellbinding.
He’s the most stunningly dangerous-looking man I’ve ever seen.
And as if he’s sensed someone is studying him, he looks up. I take a step back when his eyes meet mine, and my dead body seems to come alive. Then my arm is virtually yanked out of its socket by Terrence, and I look up at him, a little vacant. “I told you to stay away,” he snarls, but we both know he can’t drag me away without causing a scene. So he leaves me, stalking off toward Perry. Danny Black’s presence has caused a massive panic in the camp, and I can’t help but smile about that.
My eyes snap back to the table. He’s still watching me, his stare roaming all over my face as he plays with a chip, rolling it between his index and middle finger. My body goes up in flames. I swallow as his blank face slowly turns away from me, his hand reaching for the cards that have been dealt before him. The loss of his eyes does something odd to me. It’s not like they’re warm eyes. In fact, they’re the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen. Killer’s eyes.
My legs feeling a little weak, I take a seat on a nearby stool, watching as the game starts and Perry continuously flicks nervous eyes to Black. He tries to spike banter with him. He tries to crack a few jokes. He’s trying to thaw the stone-cold killer. It isn’t working. Danny Black remains stoic, playing his hand without a word.
Throughout the entire game, Black’s expression doesn’t crack, but Perry’s becomes more and more worried with every hand he plays. Perry is wiping the floor with Black, but each time the dealer pushes The Brit’s chips toward Perry, his nerves seem to get worse, his forehead becoming slicker with sweat. The crowd is looking on, for the most part silent, except when the hands are shown. Each time the crowd see the cards, there are mumbled gasps when The Brit loses. Each time, he takes a cool sip of his drink. And each time, Perry wipes his brow.
And every second I’m watching Black being hammered at poker, I barely take my eyes off him. Because I can’t.
When the game ends, Black stands and collects his drink, seemingly unperturbed by the mountains of chips that have changed from his side of the table to the other. Perry is quickly out of his seat too, scuttling around the table to Black as the crowd disperses. For a man who just won, he doesn’t look too pleased to still have his life.
“So that’s it? We’re square?” Perry asks.
My intrigue grows as Black stops, throwing his drink back as he faces Perry. “Square?” he asks, pointing his glass at him.
Perry looks back at the table. “I won.”
