Page 8 of Carnage

“How much would you like, sir?” she asks.

“One million, please.” We’ll start there and see where it leads.

* * *

Two hours later,I’ve lost three hundred thousand. The man who sits to my right is up over a million, and the one to my left, I’m pretty sure, is having a heart attack. He’s sweating profusely and breathing heavily. He’s been sucking down drink after drink to ignore the fact he’s lost his large fortune over the past year. But it wasn’t his to lose.

He’s been digging his hole deeper and deeper for twelve months now, and he already owes a lot to someone tired of waiting. That’s why I’m here.

Gamblers get greedy. It’s never enough for them. I’m not much of a gambler, but I get it. The want for more…power, wealth, pussy. Is there such a thing as too much? I don’t think so.

The man to my right laughs as he wins another hand. “Well, boys, it was fun.” He gets up from the table, collecting his winnings, and walks off.

Another hour and he’s been too busy losing that he hasn’t been paying attention to me. My signs, my tics. He only has himself to blame.

As a Lord, we’ve been trained to lie and cheat to win. So making him believe I have three queens, with two sixes already on the table, gives me the better full house.

The room is eerily quiet as everyone watches. He takes a deep breath and tosses his cards down onto the table, folding.

I lay mine down, and he jumps to his feet, slapping his hands on the felt. “What the fuck?” he barks out. “You made me believe you had the winning hand.”

I didn’t.

Sitting back in my seat, he storms over to the bar and gets another drink. I wait for him to return. Because a desperate man is a predictable man.

Kashton still stands behind me with my duffle bag at his feet. I make no move to get up. The dealer patiently waits as he too watches the man drink down another. He knows he’s going to return and ask me to play him again. I’ve hurt his ego. Made him look like a fool in front of friends and colleagues.

“Everyone out,” he commands from the bar, and I hide my smile while taking a sip of bourbon.

Eight men usher themselves out along with two waitresses and the cashier. I push my chair back to stand, buttoning my suit jacket.

“Not you.” He points at me.

“I’m done for the evening,” I say, stepping from the table.

“One more game. Three million.” His eyes drop to my duffle bag that Kashton holds, licking his lips. He’s hungry. Desperate. He was given a deadline, and he’s past it.

I take a quick look around. Haidyn is still at the bar, eyes on me. Adam is by the exit; arms crossed over his chest and gives me a nod. He’s locked the door, and Kash remains behind me.

I reach up, rubbing my chin to contemplate if I want to play, but it’s a signal. “Alright.” I give him a nod. “One game. Three million.”

We get seated once again, and before the dealer can even touch the cards, Haidyn comes up behind him, grabs his head, and twists his neck, breaking it.

His head falls to the felt, and the guy next to me jumps up, shouting. I grab the back of his neck and slam the side of his face into the poker table, making him groan.

He goes limp and starts to fall to the floor, but Kashton helps me get him onto the table. Laying him on his back, I jump up onto the felt and straddle his stomach. Adam reaches into the duffle bag and pulls out the rope.

“What—?” The guy groans, looking around aimlessly.

Haidyn shoves a bar towel into his mouth to silence him. I’m not sure how much time we’ve got, but the clock has started, and we’ve still got three more names to cross off before we can get off this yacht.

Kashton makes quick work tying the guy’s wrists together with the rope from the bag, and then he plops down in a chair, restraining them above his head.

I rip his button-down shirt open to expose his chest to the room as Haidyn hands me a pair of serving tongs, and the guys eyes widen. “This is going to hurt.” I say before I press it to his chest and squeeze the tongs into his skin over his brand.

He throws his head back, screaming into the bar towel. Pulling the skin as hard as I can, I take a pocketknife and slice off his brand.

His body bucks and thrashes, and I squeeze him with my legs to keep him in place. “I need a bag,” I shout, and Haidyn rushes over to the bar and grabs a small baggie. Coming back, he opens it up for me and I drop the bloody piece of skin covered with the Lords crest into it.

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