Page 115 of Destined To Fall

“As much as one can be,” Max chuckles and passes over the bag of cash, my pulse quickening as their hands exchange the goods.

We watch transfixed as one of Daniel’s goons runs it through a cash machine, counting every bill. I don’t know about Max, but I for sure am holding my breath, waiting for that magic figure to ping at the end.

“Three hundred.” He nods, approval and greed shining in his soulless eyes.“Someone came to play to win, hmm?”

“Like I said, I’m as prepared as I can be. A little wiggle room never hurt anyone.”

“Don’t say that to a woman,” I chuckle to myself, trying to ease my own nerves, never mind anyone else’s.

“Indeed.” Douche looks at me like he’s picturing my tight spaces clamping down on him.

I turn my gaze to Max in order not to vomit or punch the douche, watching as a different goon hands over the chips.

We head to the long black table off to the side, six equally sketchy men scattered around it, the dealer front and center on one side, a vacant space for Max and me smack-bang in the middle of the other. I do the math, and holy shit, with buy-ins alone, they’re playing with over one-point-six million.

Fuck. Me.

The game starts off slow, everyone barely dipping their toes in, afraid to get wet too quickly. Ten thousand here, ten thousand there; small change in the grand scheme of things. After a few hours, though, the chips really get a workout, changing so many hands it’s hard to know who had what to begin with and who has the upper hand. One by one, the mendropor quit because they can’t take the heat. Some stay to watch and others storm out, raging the whole while, the goons just a twitch of a head away to help them out the door.

Max is playing so well. He’s nothing like the man I first met all those months ago, sweating and looking like his life depended on winning. I don’t know if it’s the fact I’m here, a balm of sorts to his storm, or if it’s that he finally learned how to play smart.

It’s a relief in a way because I’ve been struggling to focus all night.

All I can think about is Jeremy. Every time I look at Max, I see him. The same deep blue eyes, the strong, slightly pointed jaw, and the shape of his nose. How I didn’t connect the dots sooner, I have no idea. But I need to stop. I can’t keep thinking about Jeremy; it’s messing with me too much. I have a part to play, a job to do. Everything is riding on this game. I need to stay focused. Max is counting on me. We need to win.

I feel eyes on me and look up to find the guy across from Max zeroing in on my tits. I smile sweetly at him, but inside I cringe. He’s not bad looking, with an abundance of dark features. His hair, eyebrows, lashes, even his eyes are a rich, dark brown bordering on black, and with a fresh, bronze color to his flawless skin, he’s almost attractive. But there’s something about him that’s making my skin crawl in the worst way. I doubt any figure he could throw at me would ever sway me to be his, not even for an hour.

Dark-and-dangerous ups the ante, throwing down two hundred grand, and I see it. His left eye twitches, and his nostrils flare. It’s a minuscule movement, so, so tiny it would be almost imperceptible if you weren’t looking for it, looking directly at him.

My pulse hums. We have him. This is it; the break Max has been waiting for the last five hours, and the out I need.

I sneeze, the delicate, girly sound I’ve mastered breaking the tense silence.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, smiling like the blond bimbo I’m pretending to be and giving a coy, embarrassed one to Blackie. Now it’s up to Max.

He frowns in contemplation and, when it’s his turn, looks up from his cards as if he didn’t hear me at all.“Fuck it.” With both hands, he shoves eighty percent of his chips into the pot.“You only live once, right?”

My breath catches in my throat as I wait for Blackie’s next move. His nostrils flare again. This time,you’d have to be blind to miss it.

“So it would seem.” His tone is harder than granite, and my heart pounds frantically in my chest, ready to burst at any second.

He follows suit, going all in. I quickly do the math and swallow my gasp. Holy shit, seven hundred large ones. At least.

I’m dancing inside, but a sick paniccrawlsup from my toes, working its way to settle in the pit of my stomach. Something’s not right; it feels all wrong. But I push it down, focusing on keeping my breathing even and feigning boredom like I’ve been doing all night.

With our close call a while back, it’s never been more important to look disinterested, to not be paying attention—not that that has been all that hard tonight—because what kind of ditzy blonde likes poker?

My skin prickles, gooseflesh breaking out along my arms, and I know without looking that Douchie Daniel is focused on me. I chew on a nail, fighting hard not to turn my gaze toward him, not to shudder at the feeling slithering across my skin. Though mainly, I’m fighting not to panic. I didn’t take his hand into account…

“I’m getting a real sense of déjà vu here, so uncanny.”

Max laughs lightly, and I hear the nervous edge to it. We wait, a little on bated breath,to see what he’s going to do, if he’s finally going to call us out, or if he’s going to step up again. The last time we were here, we won, and he was none too pleased.

“Well, not one to be outplayed…” My heart stops as Daniel slides his chips, all five-hundred-k-odd of them, into the middle, shooting Max a pointed look. Max follows suit, pushing the remainder of his chips in.

That’s well over a million in chips. I can’t breathe, and judging by a quick sideways glance, neither can Max.

Fuck.

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