Page 14 of Leashed

With Clotho’s blessing,Bo led Sage away from the poker tables, slowing his pace to stay at Sage’s side in the bustling casino. “So what does your poker king do for a living?” he asked, pointing her toward the roulette tables.

She glanced back at the man who was tapping his cards impatiently. “He’s a strategy manager for a Fortune 500 group. He’s working his way into a partnership.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Without waiting for a response, he nudged her ahead of him. “The basic rules as far as I can tell is pick a number, put a chip on it, and kiss your cash goodbye.” When Sage’s reserved expression cracked and she smiled, an odd euphoria rippled through his veins, the rush akin to the kind he experienced on a successful hunt. He waited for the croupier to call a new round and held up a chip. “Give me a number.”

She stammered, eyes flicking to the table filling quickly. “Ummm, thirty-four?”

He set his bet on the red square and grinned down at her. “Now we wait for the Fates to decide. I should probably warn you, though, I have it on good authority one of them has a target with my face on it.”

“Good authority?” She laughed.

“Yup. My friend over there told me, and she’s one of those ‘one with the universe’ people,” he stated, looking over at Clotho and smirking at her huge pile of chips stacked across from the depleting rows in front of Sage’s boyfriend. “Now focus on the number and send good vibes out.”

Her dark eyes watched the wheel while it spun, her lips moving silently as it slowed, stopping on nineteen. “Well, that sucks,” she huffed. “Here. I’m putting this one on it again.”

A dozen losing rounds later, he and Sage were hunched over the table, glaring at the jubilant winner from number seventeen.

“I thought I would have some cool beginner’s luck or something,” she muttered, tossing her last chip onto the table.

He laughed. “Sorry. You’re aligned with me right now, and Lachesis has a real hate-on for me. Tyche too.” His eyes widened for a moment as he forgot himself. He added his last chips to the pile and stepped back. “This time, we won’t watch.”

She covered her face with her hands. “Did we win yet?”

“Lost it all.” He smirked at her as she dropped her hands and glared at the ill-fated chips. “We could try and pawn my truck for a few more rounds.”

With an exaggerated sigh of despair, she nodded toward the poker tables. “I suppose we better head back and own our losses. Do you want to grab a drink on our way over?”

Shrugging, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Nah. I’m good.”

*

Squeezing out theexcess water from his wet hair from his morning shower, Bo leaned over Ryan’s shoulder and zeroed in on the photo on the screen. “So that’s the guy?”

Ryan ran his hands through his short hair and blew out a puff of air. “I think so. I’ve been following trails on social media accounts dating back fifteen years. I pulled this from that old platform you tried out.”

“Fuck, those were easier times, weren’t they?” Bo muttered, crouching down for a better look. “Upload a picture, get laid, repeat.”

With a faint look of disdain, Ryan enlarged the man’s face. “Problem is I have nothing but this to go on for over a decade. But I’ve gotten this far, so I think with a little more digging, I can get a bead on the Pirithous’s location.”

Reaching over his brother, he zoomed the picture back out. “Who’s the chick? If you find her, you might find him. And once you narrow down a starting point, I can hit the ground and put eyes on him.” Ryan nodded, carefully copying the woman’s face to his desktop while Bo tossed his damp towel toward the bathroom. “I need a run.”

The freezing temperatures hit his wet hair with a snap when he walked out of the apartment block, the humidity driving the cold deep into his bones. He revved his truck a few times and cranked the heat, racking his brain for someplace he could hit up where he could burn off some of the pent-up aggression building in his head.

Someplace where he wouldn’t risk a run-in with a little mouse.

He was becoming increasingly unsettled by Clotho’s presence topside. As the spinner of lifelines, she already knew how his would unfold. And had known for well over two millennia, woven into existence by her own hand. There was no need for a front row seat to his revolving cycle of drink, fuck, hunt, repeat.

When she’d suggested they head out to a casino the night before, he’d figured she was looking to flex her powers in the human realm for a bit. But the moment he’d spotted Sage in that red-hot shirt standing out like a fucking beacon, he’d become suspicious.

More so when Clotho all but shoved him off and proceeded to destroy the boyfriend’s winning streak. “Payback for running interference,” she’d deemed it. But interference on what, she refused to say.

Deciding on Seward Park, he tore out of the lot, fishtailing on the icy road before he righted his path and sped to the interstate.

He was pushing his luck, his speed creeping up well past the posted limit and long surpassing what was prudent for the conditions. The few patches of black ice he planed across kept his attention laser-sharp. The seconds of uncertainty when his tires lost grip were a welcome reprieve from the anxiousness settling in him over the past couple of weeks.

He was hungry.

Restless.

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