Page 52 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

The place is buzzing. As I look around, all I see are a bunch of little worker bees with their cameras or cell phones or beer bottles, humming around the black felt-top table with their eyes glued to me as I take one of the last available seats. With a sigh of relief, I notice I won’t be sitting next to Burlone.

I’ve never played in a tournament, but I’ve watched plenty. I know the drill, but it doesn’t stop the anxiety from nearly swallowing me whole as I shift in my seat. The man to my left is wearing a fancy brown cowboy hat with a flannel button-up shirt. All he’s missing is a piece of straw hanging from his mouth, and he’d be straight out of a Western. I’ve never seen him play, but I doubt he’ll be an issue.

Turning to my right, I study a man named Patrick “The Pat Down” Madden. He’s a well-renowned poker champion. He’s been on the circuit for years, and I’ve seen this guy play. He’s good, but I’ve been able to pinpoint a few of his tells first-hand, so while I should be shaking in my proverbial boots, he’s not the one who terrifies me. I’ll leave that to Burlone.

Patrick must feel me staring at him because he casually turns in his seat and slides his sunglasses down an inch on his nose to get a better look at me.

“You in the right place?”

With a gulp, I shrug one shoulder as my nerves get the better of me. “I sure hope so.”

Patrick laughs, offering his hand for me to shake. I take it with a shy smile.

“Me too. I’d hate for a pretty girl like you to be thrown to the sharks. I’m Patrick.”

“M-Macey. Nice to meet you.”

“So, Macey, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Again, I give him another casual shrug but let my cheeks heat for good measure. If I’m going to look nervous, I might as well play it up for all the spectators.

“Here to play a game of poker,” I admit. “You?”

With a narrowed gaze, an intrigued Patrick takes his time inspecting me. “I haven’t seen you around, and I feel like I’d remember you. Like I said, a pretty girl like you is hard to forget. Have you played professionally before?”

“Nope.” I make sure to pop the ‘P’ at the end. “So, go easy on me, okay?”

I’d thought long and hard about what persona I was going to play for the evening, and innocent little poker novice seemed like a good route. Having a vagina means I’m instantly underestimated in everyone’s eyes. Instead of trying to prove them wrong, why not embrace it and use it against them?

“Sure thing, Macey. Sure thing. Just watch and learn.” With a wink, he turns to the front of the table as the dealer approaches and starts making small talk with him like a good little soldier.

Patrick is charismatic; I’ll give him that much.

Unsure what to do with myself, I start to pick at my trimmed fingernails when the cameras start flashing. Looking up, I’m given a glimpse as to why. Burlone Allegretti swaggers up to the table. My stomach tightens, and a hefty dose of regret hits me with the fact that I forgot to run to the bathroom and puke my guts out before taking my seat. He’s right there. Within five feet of me. I think I’m going to be sick. Placing my sweaty palms on my lap, I wring them anxiously beneath the table, grateful he can’t see me fidgeting. The urge to run is so overwhelming that my feet start to tap against the ground, my knee bouncing a mile a minute until Patrick looks over at me curiously. Giving him another shy smile, I force myself to stop while recounting the plan.

Beat Burlone. Wound his pride. Take his money. You can do this, Ace. You’re not the little girl he hurt. You’re stronger than him. Smarter. You’ve been preparing for this moment since your mom disappeared. Now, don’t screw it up. After you win? You can disappear without a trace, and he’ll never be able to hurt you again.

I swallow as my mind conjures up an image of Kingston before leaving a stone in my stomach. If I beat Burlone…then what?

Do I still disappear? Do I leave Gigi? Dottie? What about Kingston? Would he even care if I left?

The questions assault me from all sides until all I’m left with is a heavy dose of unease until Burlone raises his hands to quiet the humming audience, and a hush falls over the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. It’s going to be a great game filled with entertainment and finesse. As you all know, I enjoy dabbling in the art of poker from time to time, and I’m so excited you could join my fellow players and me as we participate in a little wager of wits. Let’s get started, shall we?”

My nose wrinkles in distaste before I remember the importance of Rule #6 in this very moment. Don’t get personal. He might act like a big buffoon, but as I watch him scan his opponents, I know he’s sharp as a tack, picking apart each of our weaknesses before the game has even begun.

When his assessing stare lands on me as he takes his seat, he pauses, tilting his head to the side for a second longer while I pray to everything that’s holy that Kingston’s meddling was enough to solidify my fake identity from his scrutiny. His eyes almost seem to spark with recognition, but I tell myself it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me. Like Gigi had mentioned, the guy’s an ass. It’s definitely possible I was nothing more than a blip on his radar all those years ago, and he doesn’t even remember me. Regardless, my breathing stops before I cover it with a dopey grin that I hope throws him off his scent.

Turning to Patrick, I whisper, “Why is he staring at me?”

Patrick follows my line of sight to see Burlone’s inquisitive expression.

Leaning closer to me, Patrick whispers in my ear, “Seems he’s distracted by that pretty face just as much as I am. It’s a good thing I’m sitting next to you and not across from you like that poor sap, or I’m pretty sure I’d get my ass handed to me within the first hand.”

With a breathy laugh, I shake my head then send a quick glance in Burlone’s direction only to see he’s moved on with his inspection. I sigh in relief, grateful my impromptu flirting with Patrick was enough to distract Burlone from placing me.

I think, anyway.

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