Page 99 of The Butterfly Killer

“My father and I don’t see eye-to-eye. I see the benefits the cartel offers to our city.”

A chill went down Burns’s spine. He tensed, a small smile on his lips he didn’t feel anymore. He wanted to meet Mercer’s eyes. Maybe then he would see that Mercer didn’t really mean that. However, there was a small inkling of doubt that made him sick. A hole started in his stomach and it wouldn’t be hard for Mercer to make that even bigger.

Burns needed to trust his partner. But the more Mercer showed the truth behind his mask, it was becoming harder and harder to believe Mercer was acting on the “good” side of his split-personality.

Burns couldn’t hear what else was said. He got lost in his thoughts and by the time he got unstuck from them, it was his turn again.

Time passed, three of the men folded. It was Burns, Mercer, Cortez, and a man named Vince left.

Burns took a sip of his drink as he leaned in close to Cortez. He’d been drinking so much he didn’t need to pretend to be tipsy. If he wasn’t grounded on the task at hand, he might have fallen right over.

“Soooo…Cortezzz. How did you get into charity work? It’s one thing to support it, but to hold these large events? It must take a lot of energy and time.”

Cortez sighed. “I’m out.”

Almost everyone at the table was surprised.

Cortez chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not losing my touch. I think I’ve won enough times. It’s only fair to let someone else have a go.”

Burns was only slightly put out by it. Had he wanted to beat Cortez’s ass at cards? Maybe, but that wasn’t a requirement to get the information they needed.

Some of the men had thought it was a joke, but when the next round came, Cortez continued to stay out though he still had some chips. It was rude. Burns wouldn’t invite someone like that back to a table, however, this was Cortez. The men around wouldn’t say anything even if the man was a sore loser.

Slowly, the table dwindled down to just Burns and the man Vince. He matched his name: alabaster skin, blue eyes, and bald with a skull tattoo. He didn’t look like the sort of men Cortez liked to hang around publicly—the sleazy but “presentable” type who wore suits even to the beach.

Burns kept his sweet and “innocent” smile steady as he looked Vince down. His fingers played with his chips. The little clinks were taunts that couldn’t be proven. Vince grunted, his lip curling as he nodded to the dealer, raising.

Burns folded.

Vince grinned as he took the decent pot. They went back and forth like this until Burns had enough drawing this out. Cortez hadn’t left the table, but he’d pretty much checked out, letting the other men schmooze amongst themselves.

Vince was in deep concentration. But it didn’t matter. The cards were already decided. Fate had taken course, but a man like him didn’t seem like the one to care about something set instone. Any immovable force was just another challenge he must accept.

Sweat pricked at the corners of his temples.

“What’s got you so agitated?” Burns mused, leaning over to sip Mercer’s drink as his own was empty. He licked his lips, eyes fluttered to Mercer’s and holding for a second longer than necessary. Though, it felt necessary then.

Look babe, I’m winning for you.

If this was real life, Burns would definitely be asking for a celebratory blow job once they left. Or perhaps even in just the parking lot. The disgusted looks on all these mens’ faces might just be enough to get him off.

Burns was realizing too late that he was becoming too entwined in this character. He forced his gaze away from Mercer’s, trying to quell the dirty thoughts flickering through his mind—reminding himself that he didn’t actuallyhaveto do any of that—and ruefully grinned at Vince.

Brightman snickered as Vince’s face turned red. “This dumbass owes Cortez money. Instead of paying it off, he asked for another loan and a chance to win it back at this table. Said he’d make triple what he owes Cortez and hand it over.”

The rest of the table laughed. Vince’s face turned redder than a ripe tomato about to pop. Judging by the dark look in Cortez’s eyes, that just might happen.

Burns pushed all his chips in. “All in.”

Someone whistled. Burns felt Mercer stiffen beside him. Was he scared? Of what?

A tiny voice in the back of his head said he was playing with much more than fire. The fire was already burning and Vince was the gasoline going to make it blow up in his face. However, Burns couldn’t stop himself. This rush he felt toying with these men was more than he’d ever felt. This strange pleasure was better than anything—even the justice he was seeking.

Though, as he thought that, he was rocked as he remembered justwhohe was doing this for. Marcus deserved better than the stupid game Burns was playing with these men.

Vince clenched his jaw.

“Come on,” Brightman said, clapping the man on the back. “Don’t let a fairy bitch humiliate you.”

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