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“Yes, sir.”

“It’s bombproof, but I wouldn’t like to test it,” Locke quipped as a bodyguard opened his door.

“Neither would I. My woman expects me home tonight,” I said, and Tiny offered me a surprised look.

“The lovely Meadow Hall,” Locke murmured.

I stiffened, as did Tiny. Why the hell did Locke know Meadow’s name? “Is that a threat?”

“Not at all. Ms Hall and I share a mutual acquaintance,” Locke stated as he buttoned his jacket and straightened his cuffs.

For a moment, I was stymied before I glowered. “Her ex! That five million he owes you,” I growled.

“Indeed.”

“That’s his debt, Locke, not Meadow’s.”

“She cleaned him out in the divorce; someone has to pay,” Locke said calmly.

“Meadow is off limits. Take his fuckin’ company. She’s my old lady,” I snarled.

“Well, that’s a disturbing development,” was all Locke replied.

He began walking towards the hotel we’d arrived at.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” I muttered.

“After we find Pickman,” Tiny replied. “And then I’ll help you bury the body.”

I barked a laugh as we headed after Locke.

“Damn right.”

Tiny and I fist-bumped and entered after Locke, schooling our faces. He wanted a show; we’d put one on.

Chapter Twelve.

Chill

“Are you sure you wish to play?” Locke asked, holding Pickman’s gaze.

I stood against the wall and tried not to laugh. Locke was a card shark, and nobody had been prepared for him. By my account, he was a million bucks up. The opening stake here was one hundred K. You didn’t sit at this table unless you had a fortune behind you.

Pickman smirked. “Worried, Locke?”

“Do I look concerned?” Locke challenged. If Locke had a tell, it wasn’t obvious. Considering this asshole’s temper, he should have one, but I couldn’t see it. The game had shrunk to Locke and Pickman as other players folded. Pickman was as calm as Locke.

“Maybe you should be,” Pickman gloated and showed his hand. “Straight flush.”

Low whistles echoed around the room.

“Win some, lose some,” Pickman taunted. He reached out, and slowly Locke laid his cards down. Pickman’s face darkened.

“Fuck me,” someone exclaimed. “A Royal Flush.”

“Nice,” Pickman replied. He sat back and nodded at Locke. Locke waited as the dealer pushed the chips toward him.

“Tiny,” Locke said. Tiny stepped forward and gathered Locke’s winnings. “A profitable night, gentlemen. We could place one last bet. Perhaps on a fight?”