Page 22 of Champion of Cards

Drake looked away, and that was my opening to look at the woman across from me, a woman with dark hair, green-colored eyes, beautiful full lips. Her elbow was on the table, and her fingers were curled around her chin, her fingernails along. Her eyes lifted to meet mine when she felt my stare.

Dammmnnnnn.

Fang, focus.

Titssss.

Fang. You didn’t come all the way here to get distracted by tits. You came here to win. Forget her and focus on the cards.

Fine. Can you take me to the whorehouse later?

Sure.

Yaassssss. I shifted my gaze away from her and focused on something else.

Drake stared at me again.

Ignore him.

Once the room had settled down, the dealer shuffled the cards and passed them around. No one touched their cards until the handout was completed, just the way I did. Drake grabbed his pile and slid it toward himself, flipping them over once they reached the edge. There was no tell on his face, no reaction at all.

None of the others had a tell either, which made sense since they’d all won their matches. These players were in a different league, and now I was finally playing against my equals.

Everyone took a moment to stare at their cards and adjust them.

Instead of looking at my own, I took the opportunity to stare at each one of them, to watch the slight arch of an eyebrow, to see eyes narrow slightly as they arranged their cards. Only when they were done and their cards were flat against the table did I glance at my own.

It was the worst hand I’d ever received. Just a bunch of numbers. No aces. No specialty cards. Unless every new card I pulled was a winner, I was screwed. I’d have to bluff the fuck out of this match.

About half the players took a new card. It was hard to know if they actually needed a new card but didn’t want me to know that. I had no chance of winning this match if I didn’t get something good, so I had to pull one. It was the War Hammer.

Thank the godsss.

People examined their cards for another moment, before chips started to get thrown in.

To hide the fact that I had nothing, I added my bet to the pile. I had enough chips that I could lose those and still win the game, and I’d rather throw competitors off the scent. Drake looked at me several times, as if he’d marked me as his greatest competition the moment I walked in the door…even though he had no idea who I was.

Every single person joined the bet.

All five of us were in it now. We could show our hands, and the winner would take the small pile. Or someone could raise the bet.

Not a single person did, so perhaps no one had great cards.

But that would mean they’d know I had shit—and I couldn’t let that happen. These were professional card players, so they would tuck that information in the back of their minds to use against me later. So I raised the bet by tossing more chips in the center.

Every single pair of eyes was on me now.

My eyes shifted between them, waiting for someone to join me.

One of the guys did, meeting my bet and then raising it.

Everyone else immediately folded.

Fuck. Now if I lost, they would know how much of a bluffer I was. Hopefully, this guy had worse cards than me, but that didn’t seem likely.

He stared at me.

I stared back.

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