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Esme forced a grin. She thought about being kicked out of her flat. She thought about being unable to find peace and focus. She thought about having to flirt with deadbeats online for money. She thought about that terrible, horrible day, ten years ago, the day when fate had taken control and agency had slipped out of her grasp.
“Yep,” she lied. “Things are good. Never better.”
It was later that night, back on her tarot broadcast, as she considered just ripping off her top in the vain hope that the people watching might donate a couple of bucks, that the tears really threatened to come.
Only one thing stopped them.
She was nowhere near her target of a hundred dollars when the message came through. It was from her biggest fan: TwistOfFate43. Someone who could be relied on to always make her feel better when things started to get her down.
TwistOfFate43: You’re so great, esme. You’re more than that, you’re special. I believe in you.
Special.
She wasn’t special. She was a fallen leaf, floating downstream. The breeze carried her. The current moved her left and right. And she just let it all happen, because what else could she do?
She finished up the livestream, and that’s when the tears came.
CHAPTER ONE
RainerOrtizranhispalm across the soft green felt of the table’s surface. Not for the first time tonight, he wished he was on his bike, instead of being stuck here.
“You feeling lucky tonight, Rainer?”
Wolf sat across the table, his bright silver hair shimmering under the dim lights of the Den’s backroom.
“Luck doesn’t exist.” Rainer’s voice was hard. He knew that he had a tendency of appearing like a humorless asshole, but he also knew that right now, Wolf was doing everything he could to put him off his game.
“That so?” his friend asked, chuckling. “That means if you lose, it’s just ’cause you suck?”
Rainer didn’t answer. He just looked at his cards again. Truth was, hedidsuck at poker. He was too honest for the game. If he ever did try to bluff, it was as obvious as sunrise. So, he tended to just wait for the big hands, and capitalize on them. Trouble is, everyone in the motorcycle club knew that he played like that, so he ended up losing. A lot.
Never mind the open road. Rainer wished he was back in his garage, finishing the tune-ups to the custom Fathead he was working on. Grease and oil, metal and leather, that’s what he craved.
On the table was a two and a pair of Queens. He had a pair of twos in his hand. That made three of a kind, which was good in theory, but the fact that it was a trio of twos lessened its power quite a bit. Now, the chances were th—
“Come on, Ortiz, we don’t have all night. The meeting’s about to start,” Crank interrupted. He scratched his bald head with his cards, obviously trying to play it cool.
The reason they were all here tonight was an important one. Marcus, the previous Prez of Drifters MC, had left a will to be read. His life-partner, Tatiana, was going to read the will out to the whole club, as well as to the Littles associated with it.
It was a big occasion, and the guys had decided to play a hand or two of poker before the big event to settle their nerves. Or at least,Wolfhad decided to play a hand or two of poker. And seeing as he owned the bar, it had seemed rude to turn him down.
“Alright, alright,” Rainer said, struggling to decide.
Should he call, fold, or raise?
He wasn’t cut out for this kind of game. Much better to be arm wrestling or playing chess. Something without any chance elements. He liked to be in complete control of a situation.
“Fuck it,” he said, pushing all his chips — a hundred bucks’ worth — into the center of the table.
“Jesus, you sure?” Baron said, thoughtfully stroking his salt-and-pepper beard.
“You’re going all in with a pair of twos?” Wolf took a drink from his tumbler — he was tee-total so there was some kind of alcohol-free botanical brew in the cup.
“This reminds me of the only game of Russian Roulette I ever saw. Nowthatwas high-stakes. You ever play Russian Roulette, Rainer?” Baron asked, playing with a hand-forged blade under the table. “Best way to play Russian Roulette is the best way to play poker. You cheat.”
“Just play the fucking game,” Rainer said. They were trying to throw him off.
So, they did. Crank and Baron folded, not wanting to match the bet. Wolf, however, after a brief moment of consideration, matched Rainer’s hundred-dollar wager. “Go on then, tough guy,” Wolf sneered. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
