Page 17 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“Lie.” My voice is absolute, brooking no argument.

Kingston grins before adding, “I’ve been looking for someone to help me with something, and you fit the bill.”

“And what bill is that?”

Tapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he tsks me. “Uh-uh, sweetheart. My turn. How often do you count at other casinos?”

“Often enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Depends on how badly I need money.”

He tilts his head as he inspects me, making me feel like I’m beneath a microscope with the intensity of his gaze. “Half-lie. You like counting. You might play more often when you need a little extra cash, but there’s more to it than that. You like taking the power from the casinos who swindle innocent gamblers on a daily basis. Am I right?”

“Not your turn, sweetheart,” I mimic his condescending tone from moments before.

With a laugh, he lifts his hand to silently offer me the floor. “My apologies.”

I circle back to my question from a second ago. “What makes me a good candidate for whatever you need?”

Scrutinizing me, he answers, “You’re a pretty little advantage player. Did you know that?”

What the hell? First, he used the term advantage player, which refers to a person who uses legal methods to gain an advantage while gambling, such as counting cards, but it can also be attributed to poker. No one knows I play poker. No one.

And second, he called me pretty. The word does weird things to my insides, making them turn to Jell-O in the blink of an eye. Subtly, I shake my head once in an attempt to focus and zero in on his face. His mouth. His eyes. His chiseled jaw. I’m looking for a twitch. An itch. A flicker of something that tells me he’s lying.

“That’s a non-answer,” I accuse.

He furrows his brows. “Excuse me?”

“It isn’t exactly a lie, but it isn’t really the answer to my question. You’re not playing by the rules, Kingston.”

Throwing his head back, he laughs. Hard. Apparently, Kingston must find me pretty amusing because, for a guy so cold, he does that a lot around me. “I like playing this game with you. Fine. I need someone to be a set of eyes and ears for me. Someone who can go where I can’t. Someone who can fly under the radar.” He motions to me with his hand. “You fit the bill. Why do you like sticking it to the casinos so much?”

An image of my mom flashes before my eyes. “I won’t answer that. Pick another question.”

“Fine,” he relents. “How often do you visit Sin?”

“Not enough, yet far too often.”

With a heavy silence hanging in the air, he inspects me. “Truth. And I know it’s not my turn, but would you mind expanding on that since I was a gentleman and chose another question?”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips before my face pulses in pain, reminding me that I’m definitely not here by choice. “Sin’s rules are pretty shitty, but their dealers are sloppy, and their pit boss is pretty oblivious.”

“And what about Burlone?” he presses.

“Excuse me?” The name alone is enough to make my palms sweat.

“Well, with your history….”

My tone is defensive when I ask, “What do you mean my history?”

“Lie. You know what I’m talking about, and I need you to answer the question right now. What do you think about Burlone?”

Running my fingers through my long, dark hair, I tug at the roots before tucking the strands behind my ears. “It’s not your turn.”

“Answer the question, Ace.”

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