“Guess you’re going to entertain all four of them,” she starts, jerking her thumb in the direction of Tristan, Zayd, Creed, and Zack, “all by yourself. No wonder they call you the Working Girl.” The redhead shoves me out of the way with her hip, and I grit my teeth. Truth be told, I feel sorry for her. It must be awful to be so angry all the time.
“Take a seat, Charity, so I can wipe the floor with your ass.” Tristan shuffles the cards, and then deals out a new hand, pausing as he glances up at Zack. “What the fuck do you want? I don’t remember inviting you.”
The two of them glare at each other for so long that Creed actually rolls his eyes, the first signs of life on his bored, princely face. He flicks some of that white-blonde hair of his off his forehead with long, elegant fingers. I wish Miranda were here, but since she’s on an academy-sponsored trip, no phones allowed. I can’t even text her.
“Let him play, Tristan. Who cares? I’m not scared of this asshole.”
“Mind if I jump in, too?” Andrew asks, coming from the direction of the slot machines. He’s wearing his academy uniform, and his chestnut hair is smooth and shiny. He smiles at me, and I grin back at him. Tristan, on the other hand, goes completely stiff and his eyes turn into silver slits.
“Whatever.” Creed gestures absently at the three empty chairs the girls left, and then turns his blue eyes to me. “You understand that by playing here, you’re committing to the Infinity Club rules.”
“I don’t even know what the Infinity Club is,” I say as I sit down and pretend I don’t notice Creed and Tristan studying my outfit. They seem … perplexed. Like they’ve never seen a girl in a ratty t-shirt and old jeans before.
Tristan chucks something at me, and it smacks me in the chest before falling to the floor. He barely looks up, divvying up the chips. I narrow my eyes at him as I pick it up, finding a debit card with my name on it. There’s a paper statement wrapped around it that slipped off, so I grab that, too.
My eyes bug out of my head as I stare at the statement balance.
“Forty-thousand dollars?!” I choke, flicking my eyes up to Tristan. “How … shouldn’t …” I take a moment to clear my throat as Zayd laughs at me in a very mocking, derisive sort of way. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and gather my thoughts. “You gave me the buy-in, so we’re supposed to split the earnings, right?”
“Keep it. It’s not worth my time,” Tristan says, and I don’t think he’s in any way trying to be nice. He just literally doesn’t care.
“How did you get all my information to open an account anyway?” I ask, my eyes sliding over to Creed. He just stares back at me with a half-lidded gaze.
“My mom has all your info from the scholarship thing. She checked in with your dad, and he agreed to letting you have your own account.”
Andrew takes the spot on my left while Zack sits on my right, and I’m just staring down at the paper with tears budding in my eyes. Don’t let them fall, I think. If you let these guys see any weakness, they’ll pounce. Crumpling the paper up, I shove it and the debit card into my jeans pocket. Later, I’ll lie back in bed and fantasize about forty grand. But not right now.
“So are you going to tell me anything about the Infinity Club? Or just assume I understand all the rules?”
“Once you make a bet,” Zack supplies, slipping out his jacket and glancing over at me, “you’re bound to it. Whatever you promise, you’re mandated to deliver. Otherwise, you lose your place in the club, and you’re subject to mob justice.”
“Like Derrick?” I ask, and Creed stiffens while Tristan shrugs.
“Who?” he asks, and when he looks up at me with that cold face of his, I actually wonder if he’s already forgotten. “Just don’t bet what you can’t deliver, Charity.” I frown as he leans back and nods his chin at the group. “If she wins, she wants immunity for a whole month. No shit talk, no pranks, no haircuts.” Tristan’s mouth curves in a lordly little smile. “Isn’t that right, Charity?”
“And if you win?” I ask, staring into his eyes and finding it suddenly hard to breathe. He shouldn’t be so pretty, so carved and sculpted, so full of himself. It’s impossible to look away. “What do you want?”
“If I win this round, I want a personal favor from each and every one of you.”
“That’s … really vague,” I hedge, feeling my heart thunder in my chest.
“Nothing damning or life-altering. Something simple you’d do for a friend.” The way Tristan says that last word, I’m not exactly sure he knows what a friend is.
