Page 10 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“Yeah. The ones Vince talked about,” Diece replies.

“Do we know when?”

“No.”

My fist clenches around the phone, my nostrils flaring. “And how do we rectify that?”

On a sigh, D continues, “I dunno. Burlone’s men are pretty tight-lipped, King. The only thing I can think of is to get eyes inside his casino. Supposedly, that’s the only time his men let loose. But I think we both know that’s pretty fucking impossible. As soon as any of us step within a mile radius, we’re flagged.”

“Which is why they aren’t tight-lipped when they’re on their own property,” I finish.

“Exactly.”

Tapping my forefinger against my chin, I weigh my options. “Then it looks like we need to find someone who can get close, now don’t we?”

Chapter Six

Ace

My pulse spikes as I enter Sin, a casino that lives up to its name. Strippers in cages are peppered throughout the vicinity, along with big-busted women in lingerie carrying trays. With the low lighting and thumping base, I can tell I’m going to have a migraine before the night is over.

I’ve only counted at this casino a handful of times. The rules for blackjack aren’t as good here, and the male dealers don’t keep their hands to themselves, but I need to keep making the rounds, which includes Sin. I’ve put off coming here for too long. It doesn’t matter that Burlone owns the place and makes my stomach churn anytime I see him. I need to find out if the opportunity I’ve been anticipating is happening or not.

Scanning the walls, I search for an announcement of the tournament I’ve been prepping for but come up empty. With a sigh, I approach a blackjack table and get ready for a long night of counting while praying I don’t run into Burlone while I’m here.

Not yet.

* * *

The decks have been shit all night. I can’t get a solid streak of low cards played in order to justify raising my bet. Hell, I’ve been bleeding chips for the past three hours, and it’s been driving me insane.

In order to follow Rule #5: Be a machine, I need to bet the minimum until I see the deck get hot. That’s when I bet big. Unfortunately for me, it hasn’t happened yet.

Sucking my lips into my mouth in frustration, I watch the dealer shuffle the deck one more time.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a vaguely familiar voice calls from my right.

My head swivels in its direction before my jaw almost touches the ground.

Jack.

“Uh…hi?”

“Seems you and I share a similar interest.” He gives me a knowing smirk before dropping some cash onto the table for the dealer to exchange for chips.

My back is ramrod straight, as I consider my options.

Rule #3: If something feels fishy, it probably is. Trust your instincts.

He doesn’t feel threatening, just…smart. And observant. Like me.

“Seems we do,” I mutter under my breath. Refocusing on the dealer, I watch as he begins flipping cards.

The hands go by in a blur until a series of low cards start popping up. My gaze darts to Jack as he flips a chip between his knuckles like a seasoned pro. Glancing back at the table, I see a few more low cards revealed.

Slowly, my lungs expand to full capacity as I give myself a mental pep talk. Ace. If you’re gonna make up for the chips you’ve bled tonight, then you need to bet big on this next hand.

Again, I give Jack the side-eye. He seems pleasant enough. Doesn’t give me any vibes that he’s an undercover pit boss looking to drag me away. That’s a good sign, right? If I’m going to follow Rule #5, then I can’t let my emotions get in the way. Be. A. Machine. The statistics work, but only if I play without my emotions. However, if I tip Jack off to me being a card-counter, and he turns out to not be as friendly as he seems, I’ll be screwed.

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