Page 62 of The Wrong Play

Let’s see if those teeth last the game, I was thinking, but at least my inside thoughts were staying that way. That wasn’t always a sure thing with me.

Smelling money, a few women began drifting over to the table, draping themselves over the men like expensive fur coats. One slid into Scar Jaw’s lap, her red nails trailing down his chest as she whispered something in his ear. Another wrapped her arms around Neck Tattoo, giggling as she toyed with his collar.

Across from me, one of the players leaned back as a brunette in a skin-tight dress perched herself on the edge of the table, giving him an eyeful of boobs. Without missing a beat, he pulled a tiny glass vial from his jacket, tapped out a line of fine white powder onto the soft curve of her very fake breast, and snorted it in one quick motion.

She giggled, raking her fingers through his oiled-up hair…and then slowly sank to her knees so only the top of her head was visible.

Oh boy, I was pretty sure I was about to witness something that not even bleach was going to be able to erase from my mind.

The dealer didn’t even blink. He just kept shuffling, kept dealing.

I’m just saying, I was quite sure that Parker’s trials were infinitely better than mine. I’d take a corpse over this scene,thank you very much.

I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my features blank as her head started to bob up and down in his lap. At the same time, I had to work on not choking on how thick the smoke was in the room. These people obviously hadn’t had D.A.R.E. as a kid, and it showed. This wasn’t just a poker game. It was a fucking circus.

Play continued, and every time I won, the strain in the room grew. The Sphinx better not have my death as the outcome they were aiming for becauseone, it was going to take a miracle to get me out of this alive I was pretty sure, andtwo, I would make sure to haunt their asses for the rest of time if this was the end.

This place was far too smelly for my magnificence to end.

The man beside me had also won his fair share—only because I’d let him, obviously—and he was getting cockier with each round, tossing back whiskey like it was water and raking in chips with a greedy smirk. But he was playing too fast, too loose, and that was a mistake in a room like this.

I saw it happen a second before it did. He reached for a stack that wasn’t his, sliding an extra pile of chips into his own with a sleight of hand that might’ve worked at a lesser table. But not here. Scar Jaw caught it immediately.

“That was a mistake,” he murmured, setting his cards down slowly. The room stilled, the air thick with the kind of tension that felt like it could snap a neck.

The guy beside me swallowed, his bravado cracking. “Just a mistake,” he said nervously.

A loud crack split the air, and the man beside me jerked, his breath leaving in a wheeze. Blood bloomed across his shirt. He slumped forward, face hitting the felt, chips scattering.

No one moved.

No one reacted as Scar Jaw tucked the gun back beneath his jacket.

The dealer calmly reached across the table and pushed the dead man’s cards aside. “Next hand.”

Scar Jaw leaned forward, steepling his fingers like I was in some low-budget mafia film where literally only the worst actors had been available. “See, the thing about this game is…some people don’t leave with all their parts intact. Hope you’re smart enough to know when to walk away.”

I glanced down at my cards, then back at him. He was watching me closely, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

I returned the smirk, rolling my shoulders. “You know, Scar Jaw, if I needed a lesson in subtlety, you wouldn’t be the guy I’d call.”

His face darkened instantly.

Oops. I’d said that name out loud. So much for my inside thoughts…

His hand came up, tracing the jagged scar along his jawline, his fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for something more dangerous. The veins in his neck pulsed, his nostrils flaring as he gave me a slow, measured look.

“Careful, rookie,” he murmured, his voice like gravel. “Mouths that run too much tend to get sewn shut around here.”

Well, that was a delightful piece of imagery. I hoped the world never had to experience the darkness that would exist without my mouth running too much.

I’d save that thought for a more…welcoming crowd. Something told me they wouldn’t be quite as appreciative as I would like.

I leaned forward, sliding my next bet onto the pile, meeting Scar Jaw’s furious glare with a grin that hopefully rode that fine line betweenconfidenceandget a bullet through your head. I’d never had to have that thought before, but here we were.

Someone came and dragged the dead body away, and then the next round was dealt, the tension so thick it felt like the air itself had weight. The pot had grown beyond ridiculous. Stacks of cash, watches that looked like they belonged on the wrists ofFortune 500 CEOs, diamond-studded cufflinks, and a set of car keys that might’ve belonged to a sports car or a getaway vehicle. Even a deed to a property had been thrown in, written in precise, looping handwriting. Someone was either desperate or very, very stupid.

The guy next to me—my new neighbor since my last one had…vacated—was sweating bullets. His collar was damp, his fingers trembling as he drummed against the table. I could practically hear his thoughts screaming. He had too much in the pot, and he knew it. He kept licking his lips, stealing glances at Scar Jaw, who had been watching him like a predator sizing up its next meal.

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