Page 11 of Deadly Hands

Nikon kept his face carefully neutral, but his heart hammered against his ribs. This was valuable intelligence - the kind that could shift the balance of power in upcoming territory negotiations.

“There’s something else.” Reuben glanced toward the poker room. “Every time the Colombian wins a big pot, he touches his wedding ring. But when he loses? He slides it off and on. Like he’s reminding himself what’s at stake.”

“A man with a family to protect.”

“A man with a family being held as collateral.” Reuben’s voice held certainty. “The cartel knows he’s been losing their money. They’re using his wife and kids to ensure he keeps playing - keeps trying to win it back.”

Nikon studied Reuben’s face, looking for any sign of deception. But he saw only that same sharp intelligence that made the boy so dangerous at the poker table.

“You saw all this in six hours of play?”

“I saw it in the first hour.” A ghost of a smile touched Reuben’s lips. “The rest was just confirmation.”

Nikon leaned back, heat spreading through his chest as he absorbed the full scope of Reuben’s observations. The boy hadn’t just read tells - he’d dissected an entire operation, laying bare vulnerabilities that Nikon’s own surveillance team had missed for weeks. The kind of vulnerabilities that, properly exploited, could bring empires to their knees.

A dealer who could spot cheating was valuable. A player who could win consistently was an asset. But this... this ability to strip away masks and expose the raw fears beneath? To decode the subtle language of power and desperation? That wasn’t just useful. That was a weapon.

His weapon, now.

Valuable information indeed. Information that would make the Colombians bleed at their next negotiation. Information that made Reuben far more dangerous - and far more delicious - than Nikon had initially calculated.

“Speaking of owing money...” Nikon gestured to his lieutenant, who approached with a black bag. “Let’s discuss your night’s earnings.”

The lieutenant emptied the bag onto the table. Stacks of hundreds created a small fortune between their bourbon tumblers.

“Twenty percent.” Nikon separated out several stacks, sliding them toward Reuben. “Ninety thousand dollars. Your cut.”

Reuben’s mouth fell open, creating an image Nikon filed away for later contemplation. “But... the debt...”

“Isn’t about money.” Nikon caught Reuben’s wrist as the boy reached for the cash. “The debt is paid when I say it’s paid.”

Fire flashed in those green eyes. Reuben stood, shoulders squared for confrontation.

Three of Nikon’s guards moved instantly, their stance making clear what would happen if Reuben took another step.

Nikon didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He simply waited, watching the emotions play across Reuben’s face until the boy sank back into his seat.

“You must see the opportunity here.” Nikon released Reuben’s wrist, letting his fingers trail across the pulse point. “Tonight proved what I already knew. You’re wasted grinding those small stakes games.”

“What opportunity?” Bitterness laced the words. “Being your prisoner?”

“Being my partner.” Nikon gestured at the money. “This is just the beginning. Think about what we could accomplish together.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. Reuben’s gaze dropped to the cash, then lifted to meet Nikon’s eyes.

“Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices.” Nikon’s lips curved. “Some are just more pleasant than others.”

Understanding darkened Reuben’s eyes. His fingers closed around the stack of bills, the movement carrying all the weight of surrender.

“Good choice.” Nikon raised his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the family business.”

Chapter 5

Reuben’s fingers moved across the stack of chips like a pianist warming up, an unconscious habit born in the past three weeks of working Nikon’s tables.

His third fourteen-hour shift this week, and somehow, he wasn’t tired. The thrill of the game was gone. Instead, it was the weight of Nikon’s gaze from the security cameras that kept him more alert than any amount of coffee.

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