Page 68 of Savage Princess

“He’s not going to let us leave. This is the only way, I’m sure of it.” I reach up, touching his cheek gently. “You’ll get us out of here, and we can go home.”

I can’t tell him that it’s beginning to feel to me as ifhomeis wherever he is.

I lean up, my other hand against his chest, kissing him quickly and softly. I don’t think it matters—Vasquez has already figured out that I mean something to Levin. I think he’s deduced what, or he wouldn’t have thrown Levin’s wife’s death in his face. “I believe in you,” I whisper softly, and then I step back.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I watch Levin turn back to Vasquez, who looks inordinately pleased with how the whole scene is playing out.

“Fine,” he says brusquely. “Deal me in.”

“Excellent.” Vasquez smiles, and then he raises his voice, calling out. “Men! Take the girl. You know what to do with her.”

“What the fuck?” Levin steps back, putting himself between me and the door. “I said—”

“I know what you said. And the girl will be kept safely—away from you—so that you keep your part of the deal.” Vasquez nods as the door opens, and five of the black-clothed guards stalk in, headed straight for me.

Cold terror sinks down into my bones, the memory of being kept in the cells in Diego’s compound coming back in a rush, but I clench my teeth, refusing to let it cripple me. “I’ll be fine,” I tell Levin, sucking in a breath as two of the men reach for me. “I’ll be fine. Just focus on the game—”

“Two hours.” Vasquez looks at Levin. “My players will be here. And we will see which deal is made at the end of it.”

—

There’s no playing the game of being a distraction for the table this time. I’m taken to a small room that looks like nothing so much as an interrogation room, with a chair set in front of what I quickly realize must be a one-way window. On the other side of it is what looks like a parlor-type room decorated in a similar fashion to the rest of the house, with a large, round wooden table in the center and chairs set out around it. For now, there’s no one in the room.

The guards holding my arms march me to the chair and push me down into it. “Stay there, and we won’t have to restrain you,” one of them says gruffly, and I glare at him.

“Where the hell would I go?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and they don’t bother answering me. I sit there stiffly, watching and waiting, as the time ticks past. Two hours has never felt so long.

Finally, the door opens, and I see several men file in. Levin is the last of them, flanked by Vasquez’ guards, and then a man who I assume is the dealer for the game.

Vasquez is nowhere to be seen.

I still don’t really understand how the game is played. I watch as the men all sit down, Levin sinking into his chair with an apathy that I know he doesn’t really feel. I’ve never seen the term “poker face” so perfectly encapsulated in someone, or seen it play out in context, but Levin is a master of it. Looking at him, no one would ever know that there were stakes to this game at all, let alone how high they are.

My breath catches in my throat as the cards are dealt out. I don’t know how long the game will take or how to tell if Levin is winning or losing. He’s sitting so that he’s facing the window I’m behind, which I’m sure is on purpose, and when he looks up at it, I’m absolutely certain that it’s one-way. He can’t see me, but from the flicker of expression I see over his face before it goes blank again, I think he knows I’ve been put behind it.

I don’t think there’s anything Vasquez could do that would surprise Levin, that he hasn’t seen or heard or thought of before, and there’s something very comforting to that. At the very least, I believe that Levin has an idea of what might be coming and is already thinking of what to do about it.

If we fail altogether, it won’t be because I wasn’t in capable hands, regardless of what Levin might think.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear the door open. I twist around to see Vasquez walking in, his gaze on the window as he strides toward me. He’s not a young man, but he moves with an effortless, healthy grace that reminds me of my father, and an ache settles in my chest.

I have no idea when, or if, I’ll see my father again.

“Do you know how the game is played?” Vasquez comes to stand next to me, leaning on the corner of my chair as casually as if we were friends. “You’ve watched him play often enough, yes?”

I don’t speak, and he chuckles.

“There’s no need to be so frosty, Elena. I don’t personally wish you any ill will. It’s business, that’s all. Business with Diego, or business with the men Volkov works for. Either way, I have no personal feelings about it.”

“Then why not just take Levin’s offer?” The words come out before I can stop them.

Vasquez shrugs. “Because I am not convinced it is the best one. As I said, I have no relationship with these organizations outside of the cartels. If I am to—branch out, then I need to see that the man offering me this believes in what he is suggesting. That he needs it badly enough to win.”

“So you force him to stake it on a game of chance?” I can hear the bitterness in my voice. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“This is not entirely a game of chance.” Vasquez nods at the window. “I see that you don’t really understand how it is played, then. It is chance, but it is also a test of skill. A game that requires nerve. Your Volkov, he has nerve. I can see that. Now we see if he also has skill and determination.” He cants his head to one side, watching. “He is doing well. But maybe not well enough.”

---