Page 14 of Deadly Hands

Luka’s head snapped sideways when metal wrapped in leather met flesh with a sound like a ripe melon splitting.

Reuben’s gut clenched, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. His eyes tracked every movement of Nikon’s arm, the practiced efficiency of violence that should have repulsed him but instead held him transfixed.

Nikon stepped back, his breath steady, his face unreadable. He observed Luka’s pain with the detached interest of a scientist studying a lab rat. Two more strikes with the leather sap followed, each landing with surgical precision - not random bursts of rage, but carefully orchestrated pain.

Reuben watched Nikon’s face on the security screen. He looked for any sign of emotion - anger, regret, anything that might break through Nikon’s calm mask. But Nikon stayed cool and focused, like someone doing paperwork or lettingan employee go. For him, violence was just another business transaction in his world, and Nikon was nothing if not thorough with his accounts.

“Who else?” Nikon’s voice still carried that particular softness that made Reuben’s stomach clench.

Luka spat blood onto the concrete floor. His loyalty, like his teeth, finally giving way. “Just Benni,” the words came tumbling out with a wet cough. “He approached me. It was Benni.”

Nikon nodded, absorbing the information. “You know I can’t let this go, Luka.”

Luka’s eyes widened, fear replacing defiance. “Nikon, I beg you... I have a family.”

“And I have a business.” Nikon stepped back, his face hardening. “You chose your loyalties, Luka. So now, you face the consequences.”

The final blow was decisive, a full stop to the grim conversation. Luka’s head dropped like a marionette with cut strings. Final. Decisive. Done.

Nikon stood over Luka, his breath misting in the cool air. His gaze found the security camera, its red light pulsing steadily in the shadows - where he knew Reuben was watching.

Reuben’s fingers tightened on the edge of the control room desk as Nikon’s eyes found the camera. That smile - predatory, knowing - sent an unwanted shiver down his spine. He told himself it was fear.

He was getting worse at lying to himself.

Reuben forced his fingers to unclench from the desk’s edge, one by one. His reflection in one of the dark monitors showed someone he barely recognized - someone who should have been disturbed by what he’d just witnessed. Instead, he felt the same kind of small thrill that came from winning a pot.

Reuben straightened his shirt, switched off the monitors, and headed for the door. If his hands trembled slightly, well, that was between him and the darkness.

Minutes later, the reassuring weight of poker chips grounded Reuben as he returned to his regular table. Benni’s absence at the game felt like a pulled tooth - a space where danger used to live. Players came and went, none noticing how the room’s rhythm had changed. None seeing how Luka had vanished between shifts, replaced by a dealer whose hands never hesitated.

Three weeks ago, watching a man beaten for information would have left Reuben shaking. Now he found himself analyzing Nikon’s technique, noting the efficiency of each strike. The realization should have disturbed him more - that maybe he was becoming someone who could watch violence with such clinical detachment.

Reuben nodded at the new dealer.

“Deal me in.”

Chapter 6

Control was a currency Nikon traded in more carefully than cash. Each calculated gesture, every measured word - they all formed the foundation of his authority in this room. But watching Reuben from his hidden vantage point, Nikon realized with growing unease that his grip on that control was slipping.

The scotch in his crystal tumbler had long since warmed to room temperature, untouched. Instead, his focus kept returning to Reuben’s hands as they played with the chips in front of him with an efficiency that spoke of growing confidence. Those same hands that had trembled weeks ago now moved with practiced grace.

A light tap against his office door broke his concentration. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Misha, his floor manager. The man’s reflection showed in the one-way glass.

“Duncan Gilroy is back.” Misha’s voice carried the proper note of deference. “Third night this week.”

Nikon watched as the art collector sat down in his regular spot. He gripped his glass harder when he saw how Gilroy was staring at Reuben. Those cold gray eyes studied Reuben the same way Gilroy looked at the stolen artwork he wanted to buy. Nikon hated seeing that look.

“Has he attempted contact outside the game?”

“No, sir,” Misha paused, careful with what he said next. “But he’s been asking about Reuben. He wants to know who owns him.”

A muscle worked in Nikon’s cheek. Ownership. As if Reuben were just another pretty artifact to be bought and displayed. The thought sent an unwelcome surge of anger through his chest.

After two months of watching Reuben excel at the tables, learning their operation inside and out, the suggestion that anyone else might try to claim him was especially galling. He’d invested too much time, too much trust in the man to let someone like Gilroy interfere now.

Below, Gilroy leaned forward, too close to Reuben’s space as he placed his chips. “Quite the technique you have there. Where did you learn to handle chips like that?”

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