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“Thirteen,” the older gentleman says.
“Eighteen,” the cowboy says.
Shit.
“Twelve,” I say, hoping that I won’t have to play my ten and that someone else bids lower.
“Twenty-four,” the slick suit says.
“Thirty,” the tattooed man says.
“Twenty-five,” the older gentleman says.
All eyes fall to me.
Shit.
“Mrs. Pearce, would you like to bid higher? If not, bidding is closed and you lose this round,” the dealer says.
There is no point bidding higher. Even if I played all of my cards, it would still only be twenty-two, two lower than the next lowest bid.
I shake my head.
“If everyone would please lay down the cards they bid face down so I can check your bids,” the dealer says.
Everyone places their bid cards face down, and he collects them one by one, ensuring the bet that was placed was in fact in their hands.
When the dealer collects my cards, he takes his time reading each of the tasks. He whispers into a microphone and then looks back at the table.
“To continue playing Mrs. Pearce, you owe a drop of blood, a kiss from a stranger, the removal of one item of clothing, and one lash of a whip. Are you willing to pay your debts?”
“Yes,” I say, confidently. I didn’t bet anything that I wouldn’t be willing to do to get my child back. I would have bet everything I had every time if I had good enough cards.
He nods.
A woman in a slinky black dress walks over, carrying a tray of items stands behind the dealer. “The winner of the round gets to decide if he wants to inflict the debt.” He motions behind him. “Or if Miss Kiff here will be inflicting the debt. Mr. Mullock, which will it be?” the dealer asks the tattooed man.
“I would love the pleasure,” he says.
“Mr. Mullock and Mrs. Pearce, if you would follow Miss Kiff please,” the dealer says.
I stand shakily on my feet. My head spins, and my stomach heaves, wanting to vomit, but not because of this stupid game. The men are going to try and gang up on me, but I have no doubt that I’ll win.
We follow Miss Kiff to one side of the room, where I realize there is a small stage. This is part of the game—the show. I’m sure there are plenty of rich people watching our humiliation. There are people standing in line to the stage from each table. Langston isn’t among them. I look back and find him sitting at the table, staring at me wide-eyed. The vein on his head is throbbing, and his eyes rage with pain.
Relax, I got this, I mouth to him.
He doesn’t relax. If anything, the tension in his body tightens.
I sigh.
I can’t worry about him. I need to find a way to win this game without having to endure stupid humiliation.
I don’t pay attention to the first man. I hear laughter, then applause as he shrieks in pain. Then it’s my turn.
I walk up the three steps onto the rickety stage, pleased with myself for staying upright. I really should have eaten something.
Mr. Mullock steps onto the stage behind me. Miss Kiff and her tray of evil things settles in front of me.
