He’d likely snagged himself a poker tutor, some former pro player who now trained eager wannabe card sharks in the ways of the game, or a grizzled old veteran needing to earn a dime or two after he’d retired. She’d seen it before among the hotshots. A pivot here, a change-up there–all signs that they were being coached on the side. And that they thought they were hot shit.
He wasn’t. No one was.
“I’m in,” he said, shoving a black chip into the pot, eyes on her the whole time. Like she was his prey.
So wrong.
She was the predator. They were all her enemies, every last one of them, and just because she’d lost a hand didn’t mean she was going to lose the game. She rubbed her index finger against a black chip, checked out her cards again, then scanned Hunter’s face. Pale skin, pock marks from acne probably garnered only a few years ago when he was in high school, and a nice, straight nose. His blue eyes were locked on her, and that was another clue he’d hired a tutor. He’d probably been told to stare her down, the tutor thinking that would knock her off her game.
Didn’t work. Not in general, and certainly not tonight, when she had jetpacks of anger fueling her. She was pissed at Dillon, pissed at Stevie, pissed at Charlie, pissed at Hunter, and most of all, pissed at Clay for not believing her. If only he could see her now, he’d feel like a goddamn heel for casting all that doubt on her. He’d acted like she was a lying drug user, like his ex. Ha. Couldn’t be farther from the truth. She wished she could record this game with a secret hidden camera and show him. “There. See? I’m this scumbag’s ringer ‘til my debt is done. Happy now?”
Screw him and his lack of faith. Screw Hunter and his lack of a tell. Screw his tutor. Screw them all. She was ballsier than Hunter, and she’d play to her strengths. Guts.
She had two tens, and she was betting on them.
“I’ll see your $500 and I’ll raise you $1000,” she said, pressing her long red fingernail against one chip, sliding it in, then methodically doing the same with the next two chips.
He showed no response for a few seconds, as if he were trying to hold in his reaction. Then his eyebrow twitched, and she wanted to pump a fist. New tell, perhaps?
The rest of the crew had folded. The guy who owned a sporting goods shop leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering between Julia and Hunter. He was a regular, and a plant. He won some, lost some, and generally was in attendance to balance out a game. There was also a young guy with chiseled cheekbones and wavy hair who drove one of Charlie’s limos. All here to pad the table.
Over in the kitchen, Stevie the Skunk sifted through a plate of fresh-baked cookies, scarfing down another one. She had no idea who’d baked cookies for a rigged card game, but maybe it was his mama or his wife. Or maybe it was his colleague. There was a new guy with him, a baby-faced fellow named Max with gray eyes and a barrel-like body. Perhaps he was a trainee of Skunk’s, Julia had mused when she’d met him before the game. No gun on his ankle yet, though. Maybe he hid it elsewhere.
Hunter surprised her by grabbing two chips and dropping them in the pile. “Time to show the cards. Lucky sevens,” he said with a lopsided grin, all confidence and bravado now. She wondered if his tutor would pat him on the back for that move, and say good boy. She wondered if she cared what his tutor thought. She decided she didn’t. All she wanted was that money, so badly she was damn near salivating for it. All those black beauties in the pile would bring her a touch closer to freedom from Charlie’s thumb, and his knife, and his goon who followed her around with a gun.
She laid down her hand, revealing her pair of tens. Hunter nodded once, all steely-eyed and cool at first. But when Julia pulled the chips over to her corner of the table, he pointed a finger at her. She raised her eyes, mildly curious.
Hunter didn’t speak at first. She could see the cogs in his head turning, like he was adding, multiplying and dividing.
“You don’t play like the rest of them,” he said in an even voice.
“You don’t say,” she replied, emotionless.
“You play like a shark. I see it in your eyes. I know that look. I’m a venture capitalist. I have that look every day when I take a risk. You’re the same.”
“Just call me a VC then,” she said as she stacked her chips, keeping her hands steady even though her heart was thumping.
“You’re not just a player,” he said, with narrowed eyes.
“Call me a player. Call me not a player. I don’t care. Why don’t you just deal the next hand?” she said, keeping her cool as best she could.
Skunk looked up from the cookies when he heard the chatter. This was more talking than usual for this kind of a game.
“No,” he said, shaking his head as he rose. “I’m not gonna deal. You’re a f**king ringer, aren’t you?”
Stevie the Skunk took the reins. He ambled over to the table and pressed his big hands on the wood. “What’s going on? We all playing nice?”
“No. She’s a ringer and this game is rigged. I knew something was up the first time, and I know it for sure now,” he said, pointing his finger accusingly at the big man. Max marched closer but kept his distance, watching the scene.
Julia’s blood raced along the speedways in her body, panic galloping through her veins. She had a sinking feeling about what was coming next, and she was right. Skunk reached for his gun with a speed she’d never imagined the lumbering man possessed. “Get the f**k out,” he said coolly to Hunter. “And you’re not welcome at the restaurant, either.”