Page 63 of Kings Against the World

We watch the other players around the table receive their cards. Several go over, their cards totaling twenty-five or even twenty-two. Once it’s her turn again, I’m encouraging her to hit a second time.

I’ve already carefully eyed everybody else’s cards and weighed out the ratios of high and low cards. It’s probably one of the few ‘smart’ people things I’m good at.

And also, what makes me a fucking good player at these games.

The dealer doles out her next card, a three that puts her at twenty.

We wait it out as the dealer moves to flip over his second card and reveal his hand.

“Yes!” I laugh when his add up to eighteen.

“No way,” she breathes, then lets out a loud, surprised squeal I’ve never heard from her before. It's high and bubbly, like champagne bursting from the bottle. She turns to me and flings her arms around my neck, damn near knocking me off balance. “I won!”

I laugh, arms wrapping around her waist as she hugs me tight. “Damn right, you did. Told you to trust me.”

She pulls back, flushed and breathless, glowing like I’ve never seen her before. That smile? I’d trade every cent to my name to see that again.

We keep going. Round after round. She wins four out of seven hands. Even starts trash-talking under her breath like she’s a card shark. By the time we’re cashing out, she’s got a neat little stack of chips.

“How much is this?”

“Few hundred bucks,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder. “Not bad for your first time, huh?”

Her eyes are wide. “I can’t believe I won money. I actuallywon.”

I shoot her a crooked grin. “Beginner’s luck—and expert guidance.”

We walk off the casino floor, the noise fading behind us. By the time we hit the carpeted hallway leading toward the elevators, she leans into my side, tucking herself against me like she belongs there. I wrap my arm around her, feeling proud and at ease.

“Maybe I could get used to this,” she murmurs.

“Which part? The gambling or me?”

Her lips twitch in an almost-smirk. “Both.”

I chuckle and squeeze her closer. “Good answer.”

Zoe and I reach a middle ground. Our nightly sexcapades become the bridge we were missing before, allowing us to get out our frustrations but also making us more believable together. Suddenly, it’s not like we’re pretending to be a couple in front of Boone and the others. It really is like we’re a couple as the second and third rounds of the tournament come and go and Zoe stops by my table to give me a deep good luck kiss in front of everybody.

Later, as I hang in the lounge with Boone and his men for his usual post-game celebrations, Zoe struts right over, sits in my lap, and gives me the kind of kiss that has other guys wishing they were me.

Boone whistles, his white brows raising high. “Well, it looks like you two are extra frisky as of late.”

He’s not wrong. Now that we’ve added sex to the equation, our undercover gig is working smoother than ever.

We’ve not only got Boone convinced we’re legit, but it opens up other opportunities for us to get what we’re looking for. I’m able to distract Boone, Benz, and Estrada long enough for Zoe to sneak back into the office where she found the bank statement and look for more incriminating paperwork.

I’m able to even plant some seeds of doubt in Boone’s head about others. On night three of the tournament, as we sit over more drinks once the games are over, Boone grows irritated with Benz about the quality of the lounge.

Martin Williamson, a famous billionaire business magnate, visits the lounge and decides none of the girls meet his standards to buy for the night.

Boone, who loves impressing all the VIP clientele coming to watch our tournament, is furious.

“You’ve got the funds,” he snarls. “Yet we continue to be short on fucking liquor. Short on fucking girls. Makes me think you’re either a bad manager or a crooked one skimming off the top. Tell me which one, Benz.”

“You’ve got to be making record profits,” I say casually. “We’ve had some high rollers betting on these games and dropping serious cash.”

“And yet Benz still fails to deliver the quality I need. The next time we’re short staffed on girls, it’s your fucking head. Time to get some new girls! If you don’t have me at least ten new ones by tomorrow, you better start planning your funeral.”

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