Page 1 of Their Reckless Thief
1
CELESTE
The only thingsharper than the shadows around the dimly lit poker table was the tension in the air. Stale cigar smoke mingled with the faint odor of sweat. I sat back, crossing one leg over the other, feeling the heat of too many eyes on me. As the dealer shuffled the cards, I leaned forward, giving them all the view they expected from a woman who didn’t belong here. I let my honey-blonde hair cascade over one shoulder because I knew it distracted men just enough.
Just enough to make them careless.
The underground casino teemed with creatures from The Below. Vampires lounged in darkened corners, shifters prowled the edges of the room, and the fae with their luminous eyes watched everything with silent intent. It was a den of supernatural beings and illicit dealings, and despite being human, I fit right in.
My sleek, black dress hugged my curves like a second skin. The slit up my thigh and plunging neckline drew every gaze to me. Leather straps crossed delicately over my back, leaving my skin bare, and I knew the softness of the material would attract attention when I moved. My leather jacket was folded neatly on my lap, practically begging me to slip it on and block the view ofall the fucking perverts at the table. But that wasn’t an option, yet.
I wasn’t only playing cards tonight—I was playingthem. Every single one of them. The red lipstick I wore was designed to make them follow the movement of my lips with every word I spoke. I had made myself the perfect temptation, wrapped in leather, silk, and danger.
“Keep your head in the game, Celeste,” Vivian’s voice buzzed in my ear, barely above a whisper. “Eyes on the prize.”
The shifter across from me, a mountain of muscle with a face that screamedenforcer, smirked like he had me. He didn’t. They never did. I smiled back, biting the corner of my lip playfully as I tapped my cards against the felt. Behind him, a fae dealer’s luminescent eyes caught the light.
“You sure you want to go all in, sweetheart?” His voice was heavy with the kind of confidence that came from too many wins and too few losses.
I glanced at the pile of chips in front of him, then back at mine. He thought I was out of my league. Most of them did. They always underestimated me until it was too late.
“I don’t know,” I purred, tapping my lower lip with a fingertip, pretending to consider his question. “Maybe I like the idea of taking everything you’ve got.”
I placed my cards face down on the table and discreetly picked up my phone on my lap and pressed send on the text I’d composed to Vivian before the game began.
What’s the count on the cameras?
Her voice came through the small earpiece. “You’re clear on two, but the third one’s being a bitch. I’m working on it.”
I shifted in my chair, keeping my expression light and flirtatious. The lights in the underground casino flickered, and for a second, I thought someone was onto me. But no onereacted. The enforcer still had that stupid grin plastered on his face. He thought I was bluffing. Cute.
“So?” he prompted, leaning back, confident as ever. “You folding?”
I pushed the rest of my chips into the center of the table, letting my fingertips trail over the velvet long enough for him to notice. His eyes tracked the movement. Men were so fucking predictable. “I’m not folding. I’m doubling down.”
A ripple of surprise moved around the table, but I kept my smile in place. Vivian’s voice crackled in my ear. “Camera three’s down. You’ve got five minutes. Make it count.”
I only needed three.
The dealer dealt the final card, and the enforcer’s face tightened ever so slightly. His hand twitched—just for a second—but it was enough. He had nothing. His confidence faltered, and that was all I needed.
“Guess this is where the game ends, huh?” I said, raising my glass to my lips and taking a slow sip. The burn of the whiskey was a welcome distraction from the adrenaline pumping through me.
He grunted and slammed his cards down. A busted flush. “Lucky bitch.”
I smiled sweetly, laying my cards down with the kind of satisfaction that came from years of practice. “Not luck. Skill.”
A full house.
The room seemed to hold its breath as the dealer confirmed my win and pushed the pile of chips toward me. The enforcer cursed quietly. He was already half out of his seat, but he wouldn’t leave without giving me one last parting look. I stared him down, a challenge glinting in my eyes, and he finally turned away, muttering accusations of cheating.
I hadn’t, of course. Not technically.
“Four minutes,” Vivian warned.
Gathering my winnings, I stood from the table. Time to finish the real job. Hips swaying, I made my way toward the bar, my focus on the man standing there. He was older, his silver hair slicked back, his gaze dark and calculating. That was my mark.
Roberto’s instructions were simple: win the game, distract the mark, and get the intel. All in a night’s work.
