The last part is probably a lie. Who knows how many people he’s called before me, but that’s not really the point. He can paint it however he wants, it doesn’t change the end result.
“What if I don’t know how to play?”
I ask the question even though I do know how to play. Dad always loved playing cards and mom indulged him. Card games, including poker, were common. My brother thought he was a card shark at one point and refused to play anything except for Texas hold ’em.
But Kenneth doesn’t know that.
“It’s not complicated,” he tells me with a scoff, “I’m sure you could learn. It’s not like you need to win the tournament. That’s not the point. The point is to be seen and to get more airtime since the tournament is going to be televised,” he adds on, “at least part of it.”
I want to say no. I want to tell him to stop bringing me things like this. But then I remember Margot urging me to get out of town for a little while. It might only be a few days, but my entire body is yearning for me to leave LA.
Maybe Las Vegas is exactly where I need to go.
“You’ll, of course,” he adds on like it’s not the most important part of this transaction, “get an appearance fee and any winnings will be donated to charity.”
His words make no difference to me. I’ve already made my decision anyway.
“I’ll do the tournament,” I tell him.
Kenneth sucks in a breath on the other end of the line like he wasn’t expecting me to agree so easily. He was probably already gearing up to come up with other things he needed to say to try and convince me. But it’s not necessary.
I’m more than willing to go to Vegas. I’d do just about anything to get out of LA. I won’t be going far, but I hope it’s far enough.
CHAPTER 2
ACE
The lighting is a mood in and of itself in the private poker room of Elysium. People seem to love it, it makes them feel like they’re in some underground game instead of in a high-end casino. We pride ourselves on discretion; our clients love the anonymity we protect, while knowing it’s all backed up by a motorcycle club.
What can I say? People love danger and getting as close to it as possible. They see us as dangerous, and it’s not like we’re out here petting kittens or anything. There is blood on our hands and ruthlessness mixed with leather and chrome in our blood. That’s just how it is.
I’ve always liked overseeing the poker rooms. Cards are my thing; I didn’t come by my road name by mistake. When I first came here, I was young and too fucking cocky because it was the only shield I knew. But I could hustle at the table if anyone was willing to play with me.
Playing with guys older than me, especially when I was given the opportunity to prospect at 17, made me feel like I was something. It was a tremendous change, considering for most of the first 17 years of my life I felt like nothing. Finding the Steel Sinners saved my life.
It’s something I know down to my bones.
Before the Sinners, I had been in the system almost my entire life. I only have snippets of memories of my mom, and I never saw what a real family was. Sometimes I would get glimpses when around friends and their families over the years. It always felt like stepping into some fairy tale filled with magic; things I already knew weren’t real.
The only skill I ran away with was being able to read people and use it when playing cards. Which is why I watch the people at our tables more than the cards. They tell the story and they hold the secrets.
People come through here and play because they have the money to blow. The reality of it still twists in my gut. I almost want to reach for them, to stop them. Then I remember they’re suckers.
Because the house always wins.
One way or another.
My eyes drift toward Donald and Bruno, two regulars. Donald’s local and hosts his own game, a secret he tells everyone about. Bruno frequently visits his friend from out of town and likes the atmosphere of Elysium. He’s probably only tired of Donald’s variety of pussy at his games.
I’ve heard it gets stale. But Bruno doesn’t expect that shit here, and he’d be right to adjust his expectations because we don’t peddle flesh. He will get some top fucking shelf whiskey, though.
Whenever the two of them are in my room, I keep a close eye on them. Donald thinks he’s a card shark, one who is too slick to be caught. He’s ridiculous. I could take all his money while black out drunk and bleeding from a through and through.
The fucking mouth on him. I tend to go with the flow, which served me well almost everywhere I landed while growing up, but Donald gets under my skin. Not like I’d ever let him know it.
When he catches my eye, his glass halfway to his mouth, he grins from ear to ear and nods like we’re old fucking friends. I lift my chin and dissolve along the edge of the room. He won’t look for me again, he already thinks he impressed Bruno.
I know Bruno isn’t easily impressed. He simply finds his friend entertaining. I’m not surprised Donald never notices. Or maybe he does.
