It hasn’t happened before. Not like this, not so up close. London Valley’s notthatbig, and I’m sure I’ve had brushes where those guys, the guys who used to…
Who were the ones who…
I’m sure they’ve been near me since I’ve been Tink. Even before then, maybe, when I was on the run. But I used to hide better—from them, from everyone. I didn’t hang around people, any people, so that I wouldn’t see people like this, people who might know me, recognize me, take me back, sell me out.
I clench my hands into fists under the desk.
But why is he here? I think. A high roller from the casino suddenly shows up at a game like this. It can’t be worth his time. The house money’s not nearly as deep. I glance up as he counts out bills, trying to think. Remembering what Krye said. Hook is on a warpath. If guys like this, guys I’ve seen losing tens of thousands of dollars at poker tables and winning back just enough to rent a girl for the night…if they end up here, that can’t be good.
“…and there’s five,” he says, stacking the bills and handing them to me.
I jolt back to life. “Yeah, sure.” I take them, stuff them in the lockbox, lock it again. I keep my fingers tight, achingly tense as I stack out the chips so that they don’t shake. But when he leansover and the smell of his cologne washes over me, I break. My hands stutter, dropping the chips in an avalanche onto the desk in front of me.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, hoarsely. “Just uh…klutzy.”
“It’s fine,” he says, but there is an edge of confusion in his voice. He scoops them up in short, hairy fingers. And as he does, he looks at me in the eyes.
I blink, frozen. I can’t react, can’t act like I know him. But also can’t remember how to act in front of someone I don’t know, have never seen, and have nothing to do with beyond handing him his chips at this game. My breathing feels both too deep and too shallow. My blinks too fast and too slow. My pulse, a zigzag all over the place.
His thick brows nudge together. He tips his head just a fraction of an inch to the side. “You uh…” he starts, then shakes his head. “I know you, kid?”
I force a dry swallow down my throat, put a small frown on my lips. “No,” I say, my voice low and gravelly. “Don’t think so.”
“Hmm.” He scoops the rest of his chips. “You don’t got like, family around here or…?”
“Nah,” I say.
“Lost Boys don’t have family.” Fox, Fox, his voice big, booming, and happy, cuts in like this is the most casual conversation in the world. “Well, I’ve got my brother, but you know, that’s kind of how we roll. Twins will be boys, as they say.”
He flashes a grin, and the guy returns it after a moment. “Yeah, yeah. No, he just uh…” The guy rubs his chin. “…looked familiar. I don’t know.”
“Good luck,” I say, casual, but hopefully ushering him toward the table. And it works. He steps off, takes an empty seat. As he settles in, my heartbeat loud in my neck and ears, I look at Pan, the anchor in the room, the one who’s always sure of himself, of everything, even if he maybe shouldn’t be.
And he’s relaxed. One arm flung over the back of his seat, cards in his other hand, smiling. Somehow he must know I’m looking ‘cause he glances up, catches my eyes, gives me a subtle thumbs-up with his free hand over the chair. He leans in, flattens his cards on the table, and stacks in a bet.
“Hey, where are those other guys?” he says, looking around the table. “The ones who beat me that one time. When I literally lost my shirt, or jacket.” He laughs, and so do some of the other players. He frowns, like he’s thinking. “What were their names again?”
There’s a beat of silence. Just music and the click of chips.
“You mean the brothers?” one of the whales says, a nerdy-looking guy in a baby blue polo. “Mike and JD.”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Pan says, grinning and nodding. Too much. I can already tell he’s overselling it, sounding too casual.Fuck, I think.Fuck, don’t do this. Pull back.
But Pan doesn’t get my brainwaves. He just casts a theatrical sweep around the room. “Yeah, them. Where are those bastards? They don’t want to come clean me out again?” He lifts his hands at the table. “The getting’s good, is it not? I mean, I’d think if I was such a sitting duck that they’d come here and get their fish in a barrel. You know what I’m saying?”
He laughs again at his own joke. From the kitchen door, Ruby steps back out, another identical drink on her tray. But she happens to look at me first, and I magnetize my gaze to her, give a small shake of the head.Don’t encourage him, I think.Don’t give him any more.And to her credit, Ruby blinks, nods, and slips back into the kitchen.
“Bad shit,” I hear someone else rumble. “Bad, bad shit.”
Pan cocks his head the other direction now, his hair flopping. “Really?” he says, propping his hand on his chin. “How so?”
Stop,I mentally beg him.This is not about you getting attention. This is about you finding something out subtly.
God. If he ever had to do what I had to do, as Tink…
“They’re fucking dead, is how,” says a third voice. “You didn’t hear about this? Your head must be further up your ass than I thought.”
Pan laughs again, louder this time, even though it’s at Pan’s expense, maybe because it’s at Pan’s expense, and he glowers a little. “Maybe I have better things to do than gossip,” he says. “Ever consider that?”
