Page 123 of The Devil's Thorn
“And what do you want?”
I pause, letting the silence stretch. Letting it wrap around us, thick and warm. Then I smile. “You’ll have to keep me entertained to find out.”
He shifts forward, his hand brushing the rim of his glass, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “You want to play a hand?”
“Poker?”
“Unless you had something else in mind.”
I set the glass down and lean forward just enough that the curve of my chest grazes the edge of the table. “Maybe I do. But we’ll start with poker.”
He lifts a hand and signals for a dealer. The table begins to reset.
My smile never falters.Let’s play, Viktor.
And let’s see if you bleed as easily as you bluff.
The chips clink. Cards shift. But all I hear is the silence between my breaths and the unspoken weight behind every glance Viktor throws my way.
He thinks this is a game of chance. It isn’t.
It’s war, dressed in velvet and lit by chandeliers.
I rest my elbow on the table, fingers toying with the edge of my champagne glass, eyes locked on the dealer’s hands as he begins to deal the first hand. Five cards, neat and clean. Viktor watches too, lounging like a king bored of his crown.
But he’s not bored now. He picks up his cards without rush, and I do the same, letting my expression remain unreadable.
Three kings. The kind of hand that tempts you to smile. I don’t.
Instead, I glance at Viktor, who’s watching me over the rim of his vodka. “You planning to bluff?” he asks casually.
I smile, slow and calculated. “Only if it’ll make you fold.”
He chuckles, dropping two chips into the pot. “Call.”
The dealer slides out the turn card. Queen of hearts. His gaze drifts to my neckline for just a second too long. I raise him without speaking.
“Bold,” he mutters, but matches me.
We play through four more hands. Each one more charged than the last.
He wins two. I win one. Then I let him win another—just enough to make him cocky. To make him drop his guard.
By the time we’re deep into the seventh round, there’s sweat at his collar and hunger in his eyes. He thinks he’s reeling me in. But I’m already sinking my teeth in his throat.
Final hand. The table is heavy with chips and energy.
My hand? A straight flush.
His? Doesn’t matter.
I tilt my head, toss in my final chip, and lean back as the dealer lays the final card on the table.
He reveals our hands. Viktor freezes. Then laughs. “Fuck,” he mutters, eyes narrowing as he leans forward. “You’re good.”
I smile, rising from my chair, slow and fluid. “Better than good.”
I walk behind him, heels like soft gunshots on the polished floor. I don’t give Rafael’s table more than a glance as I move—though I feel his eyes like fire against my back.
