“Fuck you,” Ashford snarled and shoved the table; the liquid in the various drinks sloshed.
“This is a high-class game,” Malik warned.
“You have to come from class to know class,” Andrew snarked.
“I remind you that I run games for gentlemen,” Samar said. I hadn’t even noticed him leave the cash room. “Do I need to remind anyone of the behaviour expected of those who wish to play?” he asked.
Silence.
“Rebuy,” Ashford said.
The dealer glanced at Gael.
Gael shook his head and stood, walking towards the exit.
I couldn’t breathe.
The dealer simply shook his head.
Silence.
“I hope to see you at a future game. Tonight, your game is over,” Samar said.
Ashford pushed himself away from the table angrily.
I stood from my seat, and he grabbed my elbow, painfully dragging me towards the exit. I almost fell, twisting and breaking a heel on my shoe in the process, and stumbled beside him.
The hostess wasn’t at her table.
She was always there, greeting, giving farewells, recommendations for restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and the best place for breakfast at 4 in the morning. Her absence was noticeable.
“Fuck this,” Ashford hissed under his breath as he pulled the door to the corridor open.
The security guards nodded towards the lifts where Gael and three large, obviously werewolf, men stood. Gael was at least half a foot shorter than the men he stood with, blocking the lift.
Ashford stopped and looked down the opposite end of the corridor, to where the stairwell was. Another large man stood blocking the stairwell exit.
“You can’t run away from this,” Gael said as the three men behind him stepped forward and began to walk towards us.
Ashford turned and was immediately punched in the side of his head by the man who had been blocking the stairwell but had silently moved towards us once Ashford had looked back to Gael. He fell to the ground and struggled to lift his head back up. His eyes glazed over and became unfocused.
“I warned you. You’ve been on tilt for a while. I did advise a break. I was willing to give you time. It’s out of my hands now. You’re too much of a risk,” Gael explained.
“What does that mean?” I found myself asking. I hadn’t been given permission to speak, but the question had tumbled anxiously out of me.
Gael turned sad eyes down to me. I was of average human-woman height, and even Gael had a few inches on me.
“It means it’s out of my hands. I sold the debt. I’m sorry, Harriet. I know this likely places you in a vulnerable position. I do wish you well,” he said, patting my shoulder as if offering condolences.
Two of the men picked Ashford up from the ground.
“Let me go,” he argued, trying to shake them off pathetically, but he was ignored as they dragged him towards the lift.
“Are you going to be difficult?” the man who had punched Ashford asked.
“No,” I answered and followed them freely.
In the lift, the fourth man took a keycard from his pocket—gold, metal, it looked heavy. He used it to access the penthouse suite.
