Page 97 of Heir

Mr. Bello was the guy who owned the lounge upstairs and ran the games in the basement. It was rumored he had ties to the mob, but he’d never been anything but nice to me. Besides, I played fair, never cheated, and I made sure to tip his staff well. He liked me. And I . . . respected his establishment and choice of enterprise by not getting on his bad side.

“And I’m sure the High Council would love to hear how you’re threatening to out another member of the Realm because you’re a sore loser,” came a very familiar, distinct, and oh-so-pompous voice behind me.

I spun around to find Drak standing there, fuming at not only the shifter, but me as well.

Oh, lovely. The vampire who, despite being old as fuck, couldn’t for the immortal life of him understand motherfucking boundaries.

What other wonderful surprises and delights did this night have to offer me?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Omaera

I gaped at Drak. “How the hell did you find me?”

He rolled his blue eyes. “Same way I found you the first time. And the second. And the third.”

I whipped back around to face the shifter. He’d gone pale in the face and his eyes grew wide with fear. “Wh-who are you?” he stammered.

I lifted a brow. “None of your business. But King Ryden and King Howar are close personal friends of mine.”

His gaze flicked back up to Drak, then to me. He nodded vigorously. “Y-yes, of course. My sincerest apologies.” He scrambled out of his seat, the intimidating man with different colored eyes no longer there. What replaced him was a scared puppy with his tail between his legs, who could not get out of there fast enough.

As much as I was irritated at seeing Drak, it was kind of fun to put the run on someone who thought they could threaten me.

It did make me pause and wonder if my demonness was part of the reason why I was so good at poker though. Was Delia’s spell strong enough to mask all of my capabilities? Or were some of them too powerful for even her spell and leaked through, like the subconscious power of persuasion? Was I a cheater? A subconscious cheater?

A hand thrust forward. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” I glared at the hand with the douchey rings, perfectly manicured nails, and the ace of spades tattoo on the inside of his wrist. How utterly cliché could you get? And he would literally tell anybody who asked, it was because he always had an “ace up his sleeve.” BARF!

Lifting my gaze, I didn’t bother to take Ricky’s hand. “Thank you.”

After an awkward moment with his hand out and mine not, he retracted it back beside him. “So, when are we going to stop playing this cat-and-mouse game, Omaera?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. You’re a rat, and I’m . . . well, I’m more of a bear person than a cat person.”

Drak made a noise behind me. I stowed my smile as best I could.

“We could make a killing doing the rounds, Maer-Maer. You and me, hustling by night, tangled up in the sheets by day. We could go to Vegas and slaughter at the tables. Enter tournaments. Take this to Monaco. I don’t know why you stick close to home when there are millions to be made outside the comfort of the Pacific Northwest. You’re playing it safe. Too safe.”

I rolled my eyes and exhaled. “So many bad ideas to unpack here. I uh . . . no. No thanks, on all of those offers. I make very good money. I don’t need or want more. I’m happy with my life. Besides, you’re way too old for me.” I also had three way better looking mates at home waiting for me. They might be older than dirt, but at least they didn’t smell like cigar smoke and have terrible cliché tattoos or fingers covered in douchey rings.

Ricky scoffed and shook his head. “We always need more money. And I’m only thirty-one. How old are you? Also, I like ‘em young.”

I resisted the urge to vomit from that last comment. I also refused to bite and tell him my age. Too many people were listening to our conversation already. “I’m not like you, Ricky,” I finally said. “And thank god for that. Bye now.” I made to reach down and grab the hem of my T-shirt since I usually wore a baggy one to games to collect my chips, but realized I was in a crop top. Ugh.

“Here,” Drak said, removing his suit coat and helping me scoop them off the table.

“This your . . . boyfriend?” Ricky asked, giving Drak a quick up and down once over. “He’s definitely older than me. Or is he your bodyguard”

“Something like that,” I grumbled. As much as I hated Ricky C., I also didn’t want to brûlée his brains. At least not in front of so many people.

Drak looked damned fine in his black, button-up dress shirt and black slacks. Who knew the monochrome bat could be so sexy? He held my winnings in his coat against his chest and growled at Ricky. “Excuse us, please.”

Ricky’s amber eyes went wide with fright, but he stepped back, flipping his floppy, blond, frat boy hair and allowing Drak and I to move through the crowd toward Marty so I could cash in my winnings.

“Not here, but we are going to have a very serious conversation about your inability to respect boundaries,” I murmured, almost under my breath, as we waited for Marty to pay me out.

Drak’s gaze remained level with mine, but he didn’t say anything.

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