Page 51 of Gambler's Fallacy

I thrust a few more times and finally give over to the building pleasure. I moan as I pump him full, and I grab his cock to lazily stroke it while I come. He shakes his head to protest—his cock oversensitized—but doesn’t stop me.

He keeps making keening noises, but he doesn’t push my hand away. His cum keeps dribbling out onto my hand, then he finally whimpers, “Havoc, I can’t!”

I nod and let go, completely exhausted. I need more of him, though. I bend forward, Seven’s legs awkwardly in the way, and kiss him. My lips barely reach him, but having our breaths mingling gives me the intimacy I’m craving.

He’s so fucking gorgeous, sweat-soaked and red-faced and smiling up at me.

He breathes out slowly, shakily, then closes his eyes. “I needed that,” he mumbles. “Thank you, Havoc.” When he opens his eyes again, they’re wet from tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without the three of you. I don’t. I don’t want to find out. Please don’t make me find out.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I whisper fiercely. “I?—”

Before I can continue, a very loud cough interrupts us.

I bolt upright and fumble for my jeans.

Caleb is standing by the door.

Seven startles, looking at him. He wipes at his eyes, his cheeks flushing. “Hi, Caleb,” he says sheepishly. He doesn’t bother going for his pants. “How long were you watching?”

“I heard you through the door, but I think I walked in around ‘Let me see you come,’” Caleb answers. “You two are going to disinfect the counter. It’s the least you can do.”

I look at Seven, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, sure. Give me a few minutes to recover.”

If that’s the price I have to pay for fucking Seven senseless in the kitchen, so be it.

Still, I wonder what this conversation would have been without Caleb interrupting us.

ELEVEN

CALEB

The restaurantI’d invited Virgil Club to is in a small pocket of territory that had been designated as “neutral” all those decades ago, when our forebears had first established the truce that has kept Calamity running. Before that truce, there had been violent gang fights nearly every month, and there’d been rumors of martial law being established in the city to stamp down all the organized crime.

Grandfather has a lot of stories from that era, although I think he was only tangentially involved. He would have been a teenager at the time.

Vortex glances at me as we wait. “I don’t know if I was the best person to come with you,” he mutters.

“Who else would I bring?” I ask. “Havoc?”

We both chuckle, because Havoc is good in a fight, but he can’t be trusted to keep his opinions to himself. Vortex knows how to be a good bodyguard and stand nearby, unobtrusive yet still threatening.

I look over the menu, trying to hide my annoyance at being made to wait. “How are things with Connie, by the way? Did she give up on the MLM?”

Vortex’s blue eyes narrow as he stares at me, and I think that if Iwas anyone else, I’d get a snapped-out reminder to mind my own business. But we have enough of a relationship to where I get to ask the questions he doesn’t want to answer, and he says reluctantly, “No. I told her you’d probably give her a job at the casino…” He grimaces. “But she’s determined to stick it out.”

I can afford to have one useless employee, if it’ll keep Vortex happy, but I suspect Connie would make herself so conspicuously useless that she’d be fired as soon as she joined.

Or maybe I’m being unfair to the young woman. I only know her through Vortex’s stories. For all I know, she’s perfectly capable of holding a job.

Thankfully, Virgil Club decides to finally grace us with his presence. The few times I’ve met him, he’s always done this—shown up late, made a grand entrance, made a point of showing off how importantheis. He can’t handle not being the main attraction in a room.

“Thank you, darling,” Virgil says to the hostess, and she blushes and ducks her head at the simple word. I wonder how else he’d charmed her.

“Of course. Your server will be right with you,” she mumbles. She waits until Virgil is fully seated before she walks away. Virgil’s bodyguard—a large white man with a scar across his nose and cheek—goes to stand near the wall behind Virgil.

Virgil nods at me. “It’s been a while, Caleb. I hear business is booming for you.”

“And for you,” I answer in kind.

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