I whisper a breathless “Hi” to the dealer and sit down, pretending to know what I’m doing.
Then I realize I’m not carrying any chips. Or cash.
The dealer looks at me expectantly. I open my mouth to say something, anything?—
“Here.”
—and then Yulian’s hand descends on the table.
Ten gray chips roll to a stop on the dark green velvet surface. I try to remember how much that color is supposed to be worth, but judging by the look on the dealer’s face, it must be a boatload.
“Step aside,” Yulian orders. The man who was occupying the seat to my right a second ago vanishes into thin air, like Yulian hexed him into the seventh circle of hell or something.
His reputation precedes him, apparently.
I blink. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Am I not allowed to play the games at my own casino?” He takes the other guy’s place and sets out another stack of gray chips. “Unless you’re afraid of playing against the real house…?”
Right. He owns the fucking place.How could I ever forget?
“Not at all,” I lie. “Bring it on.”
The game begins.
“Since you clearly know the rules, I won’t bother explaining them to you,” Yulian drawls.
I bite my tongue, but pretend I’m unaffected.
Luckily, the rules aren’t so complicated. After a couple of rounds of failing spectacularly, I start getting the gist of it.
But I still keep losing.
When I win my first round, Yulian looks oddly pleased. “Nice work.”
“It was nothing,” I say with a haughty sniffle.
A small crowd has gathered around us, watching quietly. Not thevory—they know better than to stick to us. Somehow, I get the feeling Yulian made that a rule: stay at least four feet away from me at all times, or else.
I spy Zhenya and Anton lounging at the bar. Kazimir is observing the game from a distance. When I lock eyes with him, he raises his glass at me and winks.
Then I feel it.
Something warm, sliding up my calf.
No way.
But one look at Yulian tells me that,yes, way.
He keeps looking at the cards, his poker face perfectly intact, one hand shuffling and reshuffling his stack of chips. Meanwhile, his free hand slips between my thighs.
This is ridiculous. This—this is…
Oh my God.
I try to squeeze my legs. Try to trap him, but that’s worse, somehow.
Then I try to kick him under the table.
