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I slowed my breathing, telling myself not to react to the threat. I still needed to try negotiating with him, and backing away from this table and yanking him out of his chair to break his jaw probably wouldn't help me in that regard.
“Look,” I said while Asher and Weston quietly conducted a hand between themselves as everybody else had folded. “We're here now. We could end this. I've asked you repeatedly to name your price, and you've ignored every request. Do yourself a favor and let’s get this shit over with.”
Doyle shook his head. “You have nothing to offer me that is as valuable as what you took without my permission.”
I ground my teeth together, drawing up every ounce of training I'd ever had by my family not to react to the prick’s words. Referring to Serenity as a piece of property was definitely on my fucking trigger list.
“Whether or not you name your price, you have to realize she's never coming home to you,” I said when I was able to speak without threatening to break his neck.
“Oh, she'll come home to me,” Doyle said. “The minute you get tired of playing house, she’ll come running home because she has nothing of her own, no means or skills to support herself. She'll come home because that's what I've trained her to do. I've trained many bitches in my time, and she's by far the most valuable?—”
“I've never understood your organization's construct of virginity,” I cut him off. “Or the way you treat your women like property, but I can assure you that no longer applies to her.” I leaned a little closer over the table, ensuring he caught every word from where he sat on the opposite corner. “And if you call my wife a bitch again, I will drop all pretenses of negotiating calmly with you.”
Doyle shook in his seat. Whether from fear or anger, I didn't know. I didn't care. He was seriously overestimating my patience.
He bolted from his seat, standing with his hands fisted at his sides.
I rose at the same time, more than ready for a fight.
All my friends stood up too, shifting to face Doyle as tension crackled through the room.
Doyle looked at the rest of them, almost like he'd forgotten that they were my friends and never his.
His hand shifted toward his waist, reaching for a gun that wasn't there. We were always checked before we entered the poker room, a standard safety precaution that we’d laid into the contract at the conception of our game.
As the realization that he was outnumbered washed over his face, he glared at me and sat back down. “Deal the cards,” he said, giving me absolutely nothing for my request of a price.
I put that to the back of my mind, focusing on the situation at hand. I could see it in his jerky movements, in his soft grumblings—he was on tilt. This was our chance to get him out.
He bought into the hand, accepting our first round of cash blinds. Now he was in with something to prove. And lucky for me, I had a good fucking hand. I only had one goal with the bet.
By the time all community cards had been dealt, I knew I had the best hand, but by the way Doyle was betting, he had the second best.
And I'd played it like I'd had the worst the entire round, showing him exactly what he wanted to see—a desperate man.
He bought my lie so well that he was almost smug when he scribbled on a blank chip. “Give me my daughter back,” he said, the words written on the chip as he tossed it in.
“We don't bet people,” Asher said.
“I'll match that,” I said. “With the terms that you lose your seat if I win.” I wanted to also add that he’d let Serenity go free, but I knew he wouldn’t call that. It would show him that I had the winning hand, and I didn’t want to lose him when I had him so close.
Doyle laughed, but nodded, so confident he had the winning hand.
Crossland smiled next to me, knowing that I had him.
Knowing that I would never risk Serenity like that.
Asher motioned to us to show our hands now that I’d called his bet.
Doyle confidently rolled over the second-best hand on the board, already reaching for the chips and calling me an idiot, when I showed him mine.
It took him a few seconds to put two and two together, and he released the chips in the middle of the table before slamming his fists down on the edge. He got up so fast his chair toppled over, and he pointed at me. “You're a fucking idiot! You have no idea the shit you've started.”
I rose from my seat, looking down at him. “You've lost your seat,” I said. “You're no longer welcome here. If you decide you want to be an adult and settle this respectfully, you know how to reach me. But know this, you should feel lucky that I let you live.”
The color drained from his face, and he glared at me before stomping out of the room.
My friends let out a collective breath, all of us settling back into our seats, congratulations and high-fives erupting.
