Page 53 of Gambler's Fallacy

Vortex has gone rigid at my side, and he leans in like he’s about to say something. I shoot him a warning look. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes are blazing, and I can see the tic in his jaw as he struggles to remain quiet.

“I’m afraid none of my pets are currently for sale,” I answer flatly. “Although I wonder how much those connections are worth, if you’re willing to let a three million dollar debt slide.”

Virgil shrugs. “I have money, Caleb. Connections are harder to come by, especially these kinds. I’d gladly lose three million if it means getting to know that sort of exclusive clientele.”

“You’re selling yourself short.” I suddenly don’t have an appetite anymore. “Half of that exclusive clientele has probably already been at your club, or their children have.”

It’s probably true, too. The rich men and women who make up the Lockwoods’ clientele are the same ones whose children take weekend trips to party in Calamity City. I’ve seen more than my fair share of spoiled brats come through my casino, and I don’t even have the club to draw them in.

“But there’s always the other half,” Virgil answers. He sighs and takes a long sip of his drink. “If you don’t want to negotiate, I’ll have to take it out of your uncle’s hide.”

“You said you wanted a favor, not a person,” I counter. My hands clench around the knife. “You’ll forgive me if I find the ideaunpalatable.”

“I thought you white men loved trading in flesh,” Virgil says mildly. “It’s in your blood, isn’t it?”

I let out a dark chuckle. “I must have missed that gene, then.” I meet his gaze. “You can’t have him. Nobody can. And the entire Spade family is standing behind me on this.”

For some reason, that makes Virgil start laughing. When I don’t react, his laughter slows, and he gives me a surprised expression. “Are you serious? You’re actually… This is more than just ownership, isn’t it. You’ve got feelings for the boy!”

I grit my teeth. “My answer stands. I’ll do many things, but he’s mine.”

Virgil shakes his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of coming between a man and his…” He tilts his head. “What do you call him? Your lover? Yourpartner?”

“I call himmine,” I say flatly, then push away from the table. “If you have a real offer, call me again. But I’m done here.”

“Sure,” Virgil answers. “But be careful, Caleb. Those are some powerful people you’re pissing off.” He takes another sip of his wine.

I roll my eyes and walk out of the private room, Vortex on my heels. He keeps his mouth shut until after I’ve paid and we’re out on the streets once more.

“What the fuck was that, Caleb?” Vortex hisses at me, his voice only barely controlled. “I thought your grandpa had everyone backing off.”

“He does,” I snap back. “But clearly, the Lockwoods are approaching this from all avenues. I wouldn’t be surprised if they reached out to the Hearts and the Diamantes too.”

“Seven doesn’t evenknowanything,” Vortex replies tersely. “Why the fuck are they so determined to get him back? He’s not worth a three million dollar debt being forgiven to them.”

But he’s worth that much to us.

“We might need to get Seven to talk to us.” I make a frustrated noise, because I can already imagine exactly howthatwill go.

Another thought occurs to me, and I cast a suspicious look at Vortex.

“By the way. HowdidEarl get beaten up? If it wasn’t the Clubs who did it?”

Vortex shrugs. “Who knows? Earl said it was the Clubs. I guess we have to take his word for it.”

I have my doubts, but in the end, I don’t really care. Earl has gotten me into enough trouble, and if he’s suffering, that’s fine by me.

“We might need to step up security,” I say as we walk to the car. “Havoc said Seven got spooked the other night. There might have been somebody watching them.”

“Fuck,” Vortex mutters. “He’s going to hate being watched twenty-four/seven, but if they’re sniffing around the other families like this…”

I think about how Seven’s been lately—working with the event management, coming out of his shell, finally doing something other than gambling—and I don’t want to destroy all of that. I don’t want him to withdraw into the frightened kitten he’d been when I’d first met him.

“Maybe we can do discreet security,” I suggest. “Have the guards keep a closer watch on him, or we get a tracker into his clothes?—”

“Or we put a GPS tracker inside him,” Vortex suggests.

“He’d hate that,” I say grimly. “But yes, we might need to.”

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