Page 76 of Peaches

“Do you know who’s there?” Wells asks.

Kasey shakes his head. “Ellis called me a few weeks ago to try and convince me to come. He mentioned some new boys from Cheyenne and a shitload of cash, but I don’t know anything else.”

Wells nods, exhaling sharply. And then he opens the glove box and reaches in. A flash of metal glints in the dark as he pulls his hand back out, and I realize he’s holding another gun.

Under normal circumstances, I’d probably be burning with fear knowing both of them are armed. I’m not sure why I’m surprised, considering the stories I’ve heard for years. But right now, all I can think about is Rhett—about getting him out of danger.

“Please don’t let him get hurt,” I whisper in the dark.

Kasey only looks at me through that goddamn mirror.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

RHETT

My eyes fly to Wylie who looks just as smug as her older brother, and I suddenly want to retch. Because Maverick is looking at her too, like he’s caught on to their matching confidence. Like he knows the tables have turned in the game.

Fuck, I think, turning my gaze to Colt to find a bead of sweat sliding from his temple as he concentrates on the table in front of him. He’ssweating, even though he’s already out of the round.

He knows too, then. Motherfucker.

Anger flares hot and bright through my chest at the realization of what the Rustlers have done and the danger Ellis is throwing us in. That they’d kept me in the dark, knowing I likely wouldn’t be here if I’d known the truth. A trap for only Maverick and these cowboys from Cheyenne, but one set for me too. Because they know I’ll fight for them, despite all their fucking bullshit.

It takes a sharp focus to keep my emotions in check while we still sit around the table. Ellis might be able to get away with pulling wool over the eyes of dumb cowboys or unknowing tourists, but to try to pull it over Maverick is fucking foolish. And we don’t know these Cheyenne boys well enough to know we can get away with bullshit like this. He’s just upped the ante on the whole thing, from illegal gambling to outright stealing, and when this goes south—because itwillfucking go south—we’re going to have to fight our way out of here.

God, no wonder the pot is so damn high. Ellis never intended to lose.

I look back at him and find him watching me, the corner of his mouth rising. I glare back at the cocky son-of-a-bitch as that molten anger spreads through my body, mixed with a fear I haven’t felt in a long time and hoped I’d never have to feel again. “All right, fellas,” Ellis says. “Last hand of the night, and all the cards are down. Let’s make it count.”

Maverick fastens his oily gaze on Ellis, and my pulse kicks up another notch. I look at the cards clutched in my hand, skimming over the full house I’ve secured. A good hand, all things considered—but I doubt it fucking matters with whatever Ellis has cooking up.

All eyes turn to me, and I realize it’s my turn. There’s still a small pile of cash in the backpack at my feet for me to raise this bet even higher, and knowing the players from Cheyenne came with half a mill bets means there’s still plenty of room to do so. But Maverick looks furious as it is, and I’m worried raising the bet past his limits is going to lead to bloodshed.

I could fold, I think. I could fold and bid this table farewell and get thefuckout of here. There’s a girl waiting for me, and I want nothing more than to leave Ellis and his bullshit behind so I can race home to her. And if it was just Ellis at this table, I might fucking do it.

But Colt sits next to me, Wylie beside him. And I’m mad as hell they chose to keep me in the dark, but Ellis can’t protect them both from the monsters at this table. Not without help. And I’m not particularly fond of the idea of having their deaths on my conscience.

So I wave my hand to stay and hope like fucking hell there’s a way out of this without anyone getting hurt.

Next to me, the first cowboy folds. “I’m out,” he says nonchalantly, dropping two cards from his hand to the table. He briefly looks at his partner next to him—the first look I’ve seen them share all day—and then leans back in his chair with an expression that’s hard to read.

The man next to him straightens, looking down at his cards. Silence wraps around the entire barn as he considers, and my heart pounds so hard in my chest I don’t doubt everyone can hear it. And then he moves, taking a deep breath before saying, “I’m gonna raise another two fifty.” His accent is thick, but different than ours. We all watch as he pushes stacks of banded cash toward the middle of the table.

And I decide I can’t do this anymore. The amount of money on the table is almost sickening, and I can’t bring myself to add to it, to keep playing this game. I’ll stick around for the fight that’s no doubt about to take shape, to keep my best friend safe, but I’m not participating in Ellis’s fucking schemes. He has a death wish as far as I’m concerned.

So I throw my hand on the table in a show of defiance, look right at Ellis, and say, “I fold.” His eyes narrow, but I don’t care. This isn’t a numbers game anymore, and it doesn’t matter that I’m not still in play.

Maverick clicks his tongue, the sound sharp enough to whip across the table, and when I look at him, I see it: his terrible temper unfurling. Because Maverick is out of cash. Maverick, who once pushed the blade of his knife through my best friend’s ribs, is near spitting with anger at being made to look like a fool in front of the eight other people at this table.

For thieves like him, money is king. Money iseverything, a direct reflection of status and power in the underworld he prowls in, and I know he would do anything to protect the image he’s worked so hard to build over his long devious years. For Ellis to invite him here andnottell him how much cash would be in play . . . A reckless, foolish mistake. I know Ellis was only seeking retribution for his little brother, but this was amistake.

In a move so sudden it causes Wylie to scream from her seat, Maverick launches to his feet, flipping the table over toward Colt and me. I push Colt out of his chair and fall to the ground to avoid getting hit by the weight of it as cash and playing cards go flying around us. The table lands on my legs and a flash of pain flares in my left knee, but I’m able to kick it off me. When I look up again, Maverick is pointing a gun at Ellis, who shields Wylie behind him.

“I’m no fucking fool,” Maverick drawls.

“You sure?” Ellis smiles, a corrupt heat in his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” one of the cowboys says, sitting up from the floor with a hand pressed against his forehead.

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