Page 2 of Deadly Hands

“Dropped out? Why?”

“Does it matter? You’re twice the player he was anyway.” The smooth charm was back, but now Reuben could hear the desperation underneath. “This is a win-win. You need the money, I need a player. Simple as that.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing! Jesus, when did you get so paranoid?” Papers rustled again. “Look, are you in or not? Because I can find someone else if—”

“I’m in,” Reuben said, even as his instincts screamed at him to ask more questions. “Text me the address.”

The line went dead before Reuben could say another word. He dropped his phone onto the desk and pressed his palms against his eyes when his laptop pinged. Another rejection.

Two hundred and one.

The cards once again whispered through his fingers as he shuffled, each pass a quiet reminder of his talent - the one thing he hadn’t completely failed at yet. One night. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It could more than buy him enough time to find a real job, to get his life back on track.

Or it could ruin him completely.

Reuben’s phone lit up with Corey’s text. An address in the warehouse district, where the city’s polished facade gave way to something darker, more honest about its intentions.

Hope edged into Reuben’s chest, cautious but insistent, like a timid player stealing a glance at his cards. Reuben checked his reflection in the window; dark blond hair that needed a cut, green eyes shadowed by too many late nights, clothes that still passed for presentable despite too many washes.

He looked exactly like what he was:desperate.

The deck made one final pass through his hands before he slipped it back into its pack and into his pocket. He patted the weight against his thigh like it was an old friend–or maybe an enabler.

His fingers moved to delete the rejection email, but stopped. Instead, he created a new folder labeled “Motivation” and moved it there with its two hundred companions. A reminder of what waited if he failed tonight.

Standing, Reuben once again counted the steps to his bed. Twenty-seven. He’d memorized the number during countless nights of insomnia, pacing between what he was and what he should have been.

But maybe tonight would change that.

Maybe.

The word echoed in his mind as he grabbed his jacket - the nice one, the one he saved for interviews that never seemed to lead anywhere. Outside, the city was slipping into slumber, lights dimming like candles snuffed out one by one. And somewhere in that concrete maze, a poker game waited. A chance lingered, just out of reach.

Or maybe just another failure to add to his collection.

Reuben locked his apartment door, the click of the deadbolt sounding with bitter finality. Tomorrow, he’d either be thanking Corey or cursing him. But tonight? Tonight he’d play cards.

It was the one thing he was still good at. And for now, that would have to be good enough.

Chapter 2

Nikon Matvei fixed his gaze on the young man’s hands through the security feed.

He did not care about the cards they held. They were irrelevant from this angle. But through his private booth’s surveillance feed, Nikon watched as those hands revealed something far more interesting. The boy wasn’t just playing the cards. He was playing the people.

First, he watched as the boy took apart Viktor’s game piece by piece. They called Viktor ‘The Professor’ for his perfect poker math, but this kid had spotted something everyone else missed. When Viktor had a monster hand, he paused for just a split second - a tiny tell that even Nikon’s best dealers hadn’t caught in years of watching. Within an hour, those precise hands had picked up on it and adjusted their bets to match.

“Dmitri,” Nikon addressed the security officer without taking his eyes off the screen, “replay the hand against Toby Yuan.”

The screen flickered to the earlier confrontation. Toby was notorious for using his friendly demeanor to mask aggression, a strategy that had served him well in games across Asia. But this newcomer had read straight through it, folding a strong hand face-up with a quiet “Your three-street bluffs have a different rhythm than your value bets.”

Toby had even flinched, his carefully constructed table image cracking for just a moment.

The third tell showed up in a big pot with Wolfe Bryson and Suzan Jordana. Bryson threw money around like any crypto millionaire would, while Jordana kept her usual ice-cold pokerface. But those steady hands never twitched, even as their owner caught the quick glances between the two players. He’d spotted their attempt to help each other win - something even Nikon’s sharp-eyed staff had missed.

“They’re working together,” the young man had mentioned casually to his neighbor at the table, loud enough to be heard. “Shame, since her hand is stronger than his.”

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