Page 8 of Deadly Hands

“Corey made his choice.” Nikon’s voice carried finality. “As you’ve made yours.”

A choice that wasn’t really a choice at all. But as Reuben’s eyes met Nikon’s, he saw something in that gaze that made his breath catch. Interest. Appreciation. Want.

“My driver will take you home.” Nikon gestured toward the stairs. “Rest. Prepare for tomorrow.”

Reuben took one step toward freedom, then another. Each movement felt like walking through deep water.

“Oh, and Reuben?”

He froze at the sound of his name on Nikon’s lips.

“Don’t try to run.” Nikon’s tone remained conversational, almost gentle. “You won’t enjoy the consequences.”

“I won’t.” The words emerged soft and broken, like shards of glass falling onto velvet.

“Good boy.”

Reuben climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, guided by one of the guards. Behind him, he heard Andrey say something in Russian that made Nikon laugh—a rich, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold basement.

The guard led him through the now-empty poker room, past tables where just hours ago he’d felt invincible. Tumblers still sat half-empty, and poker chips scattered across green-felt like abandoned dreams.

Outside, a black car idled by the curb. The driver opened the door without a word.

As Reuben sank into the leather seat, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from an unknown number:

‘Sweet dreams, little card shark. Tomorrow we play for real stakes.’

Reuben’s fingers tightened around the business card still clutched in his hand. The thick paper cut into his palm, grounding him in reality.

What had he gotten himself into?

The car pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the poker room and its secrets. But as streetlights flickered across his face, Reuben closed his eyes only to see scarred hands gripping his jaw, Corey’s blood spreading across the floor, and Nikon’s smile... that terrible, beautiful smile that seemed to promise both pleasure and pain.

Chapter 4

“He’s early,” reported the security chief, standing at attention in Nikon’s office. “Already reviewing the player profiles you provided.”

Nikon allowed himself a small smile as he switched his attention to the security feed. Reuben moved differently tonight - less like prey, more like someone trying to convince himself he belonged. It was amusing, really. Especially since Nikon had ensured tonight’s game would test every ounce of that fragile confidence.

The security feed followed Reuben’s progress through the foyer. The boy’s fingers absently straightened his silk tie - a nervous tell that made Nikon’s smile deepen. The tie was new. Expensive. Clearly bought for tonight with money Reuben didn’t have to spare.

“Have someone show Mr. Hoyt the ropes.” Nikon’s fingers drummed against the polished mahogany of his desk. “And make sure he understands about the cameras.”

The security chief nodded and retreated, leaving Nikon alone with the surveillance feeds. On the screen, Reuben’s eyes widened as he took in the poker room’s understated luxury. Different from last night’s location - this one connected directly to one of Nikon’s legitimate establishments. The perfect cover for the less-than-legal activities that would unfold here tonight.

Nikon watched as his floor manager approached Reuben. The boy’s spine straightened, shoulders squaring as if preparing for a fight. But his voice, when it came through the speakers, remained steady.

“Mr. Matvei said to arrive early.”

The floor manager gestured toward the ceiling’s discrete camera housing. Reuben’s gaze followed, understanding dawning in those expressive green eyes. His throat worked as he swallowed - another tell Nikon filed away for future reference.

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of technical instruction. Table limits. House rules. Security protocols. Reuben absorbed it all with that sharp intelligence that had first caught Nikon’s attention.

A light tap at Nikon’s door preceded his lieutenant’s entrance. “The players are arriving. Should I tell Mr. Hoyt about the adjusted stakes?”

Nikon’s eyes remained fixed on the security feed where Reuben was practicing chip handling. Those clever fingers moved with natural grace, but tension lined his shoulders. “$750,000 buy-in. Make sure he knows it’s house money.” His lips curved. “And that he’s responsible for every penny of it.”

The lieutenant’s footsteps faded down the corridor. On the screen, Reuben’s face paled as he received the news. His hands stilled on the chips, knuckles whitening. But he didn’t run. Intriguing.

---