Page 7 of Pride: Kneel Before None

My Little Spade was a naughty fucking girl, and I fully intended to make her pay for her deception. Only one of us was going to win, and it wouldn’t be her.

The moment she turned to look around, I snapped my senses back into my mind. Realizing she could feel my powers breaching her defenses sent a thrill deep into my core.

My body screamed at me to stalk over there, lay her out on that table, and pound myself into her. I’d make her scream my name for real this time, not just in my fantasies. She’d enjoy it as she took my thick cock into her soaked pussy until we both came undone. Any woman I fucked should consider themselves lucky to come all over my dick.

Despite my sex drive being off the fucking charts, I needed to bide my time to figure out why my Little Spade was so intoxicating and what other secrets she might be keeping from me. What if she were a trickster or some new half-breed sent here to distract me from a larger threat?

At least she wasn’t human. That would be a shit show.

My thoughts twisted and turned as I watched her flawlessly execute more plays and continue to multiply her winnings.

Despite my reservations, it delighted me to think that maybe she could be here for a reason, and maybe that reason was to do my bidding—figuratively and literally. However, since she was sitting in my casino hustling me, I decided to turn the tables on her.

Dialing a number, I pressed the phone to my ear. On the other end of the line, a slimy voice answered with a hiss, “Yeah, bossssss?”

“There’s one more addition to tonight’s tournament,” I smirked.

Oh my Little Spade, you don’t know it yet, but I’m determined to get so many uses out of you.

CHAPTER 3

I collected my winnings from another hand that was oh-so-conveniently in my favor when a casino staff member approached me. Pausing, I got this gut feeling that bordered on paranoia. Were they going to accuse me of card counting or suspect my powers were to blame?

I prepared myself to play the innocent victim; they couldn’t prove shit.

“Excuse me, miss. Could you come with me?” The woman appeared far too serious to be saying ‘excuse me’ in any language. The bland appearance of her boxy pantsuit made a nun’s habit look like a bold new fashion trend.

Lifting a brow and staying comfortably in my seat, I looked directly at her. “Is there a problem?”

She shook her head. “No. No problem, but it has been requested that we extend an invitation to you to take part in our prestigious blackjack tournament being held this evening.”

Well, that was a pleasant surprise compared to the eviction I expected.

About damn time someone recognized true talent.

“Oh?” My voice lilted with feigned surprise while I organized my chips into stacks in front of me. “Count me in.”

The last thing I wanted was to look too eager to jump into the last-minute inclusion.

Clearly she didn’t plan on going away with just my verbal RSVP, this woman loomed like a goddamn plague of the medieval sort.

Ignoring her presence, I turned my attention back to the dealer and waited for him to lay out the next round of cards. A solid minute passed with no movement and all the awkward tension hanging in the air. It appeared this woman’s presence was holding up the entire damn show at my table.

“Miss, I must insist you come with me. To participate in the tournament, there are several formalities we need to complete.” She clasped her hands together in front of her, lips pressed into a thin line. It reminded me of a strict school teacher standing before an unruly student who refused to play by the rules.

Formalities? Please. It sounded more like an unnecessary inconvenience.

The aggressive tap of my nails against the felt-lined table matched the rhythm of my growing irritation. Impatience won out, and I decided I had had enough of this. I huffed out in exasperation and tossed a tip across the table to the dealer. The tournament had much higher stakes than whatever I was going to win over several hours sitting at this particular table.

Getting up from my seat, I stuffed the chips in my pockets. “Lead the way.”

I followed behind the woman as she moved at a glacial pace, like she was more focused on winning the award for Superbia’s slowest walker. Maybe she was part snail.

Finally, we arrived right outside a ballroom, bustling with activity in advance of this evening’s tournament. Just above the entryway, a sparkling banner stretched across all four open doors. The wide, bold font proudly advertised the exclusive event.

Stretching my neck to peer deeper inside the room, I managed a quick count. There were five seats at each of the ten tables. A man inside the room dragged a sixth seat to the nearest table. Fifty-one players were expected. It looked like I’d have quite the audience when I stole the grand prize.

Glancing back at the no-nonsense woman who escorted me here, she was retrieving a clipboard from a box labeled ‘Registration.’