Page 12 of A Devious Arrangement

The dealer flips the next three cards, and I have to hide the swoop of excitement from my face as another nine is laid.

Trips is an excellent hand.

Cromwell raises another $12,000, the dare written all over his face.

I take my time examining him. He’s no doubt grown up with power and money in a world where women can’t gain power. He may raise the stakes, but that doesn’t mean he has a good hand. It’s likely he truly doesn’t believe I can beat him.

I raise, doubling the pot, and Cromwell’s eyes widen.

There’s greed written all over them.

Bash chuckles from beside me. He’s watching us, his posture relaxed, a Cheshire grin curling his lips. He’s loving this.

It’s in the Saint’s hands now, and his eyes narrow on me, glancing over my chest, sending a shudder through me. Gross. “All in.”

I glance at Bash to see if there’s anything warning on his face. This is a lot of money, but he looks as amused as ever.

Pushing my chips forward, I call.

There’s a ripple of eagerness in Cromwell’s gaze, and I have to hold in my groan.

He shows his cards first. He has a pair of aces and a two and five. Not bad, but not good enough.

His eyes widen when I lay mine down, face up. Triples beat pairs.

His lip curls, and the veins in his neck stand on end, but there’s nothing he can do as the dealer flips the river card.

I grin as another nine appears.

Bash laughs beside me as he leans back in his chair. “She beat you good, Cromwell.”

The Saint gets up, his face scrunched, but a quick glance at Bash has him walking out without saying anything.

We’re all dealt another two cards as the next round begins.

Bash is the only one I can’t read. He’s lounged in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but it’s the firm wall blocking his expression that lets me know he’s taking this more seriously than he’s letting on.

“You watching me now, Stasia?”

I sigh. “It’s a part of the game.”

He leans in close, his arm brushing mine. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I drop my gaze to my cards, not wanting to give any more reasons to pique his interest.

A woman wearing a skirt that barely covers the start of the curve where her butt meets the back of her thighs approaches the table, holding three bottles and enough glasses for all of us. She giggles when one man wraps his arm around her and tugs her close. He’s leering at her, and by the way she stiffens, she doesn’t enjoy it. Nothing else gives her away though. This is her job, and she’s clearly used to it. I hope all these girls go home every night and make fun of how gross everyone is. The menmay think their power makes them special, but to these women, they’re just another mark.

They better tip well.

An empty crystal glass is set on the small table beside me, as well as a large bottle filled with amber liquid. I’m just about to say no when Bash collects his tumbler. There’s a bubbling in my chest as the wheels start turning. He’s entirely too closed off to get any information out of him, but if I can just get him intoxicated, there’s no telling what he’ll divulge.

I take the open bottle and fill two fingers’ worth of whiskey into his glass before adding one to mine. The goal is to get him drunk, not me.

Bash rolls the glass over his bottom lip, assessing me before taking a sip. My fingers tighten on my own glass. I know my face is blank, but his piercing gaze feels like he can read my deepest secrets.

I tip my glass, and the cool alcohol fills my mouth, burning the back of my throat. I cough against the taste, blinking away the tears.

Bash runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “Careful. Do you want something else?”

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