Page 46 of Queen Of WildCards

Itwas filled with nothing but polaroids of two boys, one blonde, one raven-haired, both with shit-eating grins of youth on their lips.Thedark-haired boy's clothes were worn and ripped in places, strange, uneven patches littering their jackets, but he looked happy.Theblonde boy's attire was much more prominent, not a stitch out of place on the clearly designer clothes.Thestarched white collar and yellow sweater vest were so at odds with the other child, it made my heart hurt to think how different their lives must have been.

Hell, they almost looked like younger versions ofJokerandBlackJack.

Iscrewed up my eyebrows and frowned at the image of innocent youth, these two street urchin kids without a care in the world.Nocurfew, no rules, no permanence—just each other.AndthenIdragged my eyes up to the bed, whereIspotted the sleeping grown man, his usually tense body relaxed from the booze and unconsciousness, an arm curled around a single pillow, clutching it to his chest.

Icould almost see it.

Iflipped through several more photos of these boys, though as the images progressed, you could see their stations eventually evened out.Theblonde boy's designer threads slowly faded into ragged hand-me-downs, nearly matching the other boy's attire in haggardness.Hissmile never dimmed, though, not until the second to last photo.

Itwas of the two of them;Iwas sure it wasJokerandBlackJacknow because it couldn't be more than a few years old.Theylooked fresh out of high school or around that age, their smiles of innocence traded for panty-dropping smolders that could have lit a fire under any skirt in town.BlackJack'sseemed effortless, though he looked uncomfortable wearing it, butJoker'sseemed like his was an integral piece of his persona, an extension of himself that he couldn't be bothered to turn off.

Theman in question, worlds apart from the boy he used to be, murmured in his sleep and rolled over, facing her as he shuffled quietly.Istuffed the pictures into the envelope hastily and shoved it back in its hiding spot, carefully rearranging the clothing as if it had never been moved.Somehow,Imanaged to get the drawer back shut and sneak around so that his back was to me again, without waking him.

Therewas quite obviously nothing left in here for me to investigate, soImoved to the bathroom, surprised to find a pistol taped to the underside of the sink, a full clip stuck to the grip.Unloadedbut not unprepared.Ihad to admire a man prepared for anything.

Hiscloset yielded no surprises past a couple of less-than-sharp pocket knives and a plethora of fancy clothingIhad no doubt he looked stunning in.

Itwas time to turn my snooping outward.

Istuffed one of the dull blades from the closet in my bra and moved to the door, flicking it unlocked with all the speed of a recalcitrant mule, cringing asIwaited for it to make a loud click.WhenIwas met with silence, it was the signIneeded to step out of the room and venture forth like this was some sort of prison andIwas an inmate planning a break.

Whichwas kinda true,Iguess.

Thehall was dark and empty, and behind at least one of the doors,Icould hearsomeonesnoring softly.Mymoney was onSpade, butI'dalready learned by now not to assume things about these men.Creepingdown the hall was easy enough since the whole place was virtually a new build.Nothingcreaked underfoot, no strange sirens went off from a laser alarm system, no motion sensors, no visible cameras.

Thereweren't many places to go, soIwandered aimlessly with no actual destination in mind.Thekitchen was blissfully empty, the shadows cast by the appliances and a few glowing displays almost eerie.Slinkinginto the ample space was too tempting to pass up, soIdid, rummaging through the fridge (strangely empty save for energy drinks), the cabinets (whereIliberated a candy bar), and the pantry, which wasn't actually a pantry.

Itwas a fucking armory.

Andit was unlocked.Unlockedand strangely open.

Thishas got to be some kind of fucking test.

Mybrain whirred through the guys, trying to decipher who might have intentionally left it open, and immediately went toSpade.Thatcrazy fucker would probably find it hot ifItried to murder him in his sleep.Iwouldn't put it past him to try this shit with me for kicks.

Jokerwas out.Notjust asleep, but like out-out.Outof the running.Hewas reckless, but not this reckless.Andhe didn't seem the type to enjoy a bullet between the eyes while he was passed out cold.

BlackJackdidn't play games—or at least, that was the vibeIgot from him.Hetook things seriously and was probably the least likely to do some underhanded shit like this.Heseemed like anything superfluous was wasted, and this was definitely a level of extra he probably wouldn't sink to.

Andthen there wasAce.Whileit was possible he could have done this to see whatI'ddo,Idoubted he'd leave that much to chance.Hehad a soul-crushing need to be in control, as evidenced by this whole dog-and-pony show, and that kind of desperate grip on control wouldn't leave an unknown variable like me with access to weapons that could be used against them.

Myfingers itched to grab something from the shelf, to load a gun and take my freedom, but there was no wayI'dmake it out of here alive, not even with a fully loaded gun.Iwas a shit shot, for one, andI'dnever killed a man, and even though these four had stolen me off the street and were now keeping me captive here,Icouldn't reconcile the idea of killing them with the benefit of having my freedom.

Whichwas hilarious when you stopped to think about it.

Ihad qualms and hesitations about killing a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it came down to it.

Whowould have thought?

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

ACE

Momentof truth.

Thekitchen had been quiet whenIstrolled in, looking for another drink to alleviate the caffeine headache forming behind my eyes from the unchecked late hoursI'dbeen keeping lately.ButthenIheard the lock click on a door down the hallway, andIknew without a doubt who would be coming down that hall.

SoIlaid a trap and moved around the island to wait.

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