Page 28 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
“Every last one.”
True randomness doesn’t play favorites.
It’s just as likely to give you fifty heads in a row than an equal split of heads and tails. Then again we don’t have a truly random sample, not with us holding ten out of fifty-two cards. Whatever he picks up won’t be any of these. I bite my lip, running through numbers in my head, determined to make use of what little data I have, running simulations in these precious few seconds.
“God, you’re incredible,” he says, sounding reverent.
Only then do I realize I’d been lost in thought.
And he’s staring at me, intent and for once serious. Brennan had looked at me that way and called me pretty. Damon looked at me like I was some other creature, more than a human—a goddess.
“Three for me,” I say, taking the safer bet. That means keeping my jacks and pushing the rest back. Giving up any chance of a flush, because then I could end up with nothing at all.
Damon deals the cards with swift utility, the same way Brennan looks when he uses a wrench. It’s simply a tool, one he’s deeply familiar with. One he uses on a daily basis.
Only then do I realize my fatal flaw. No matter how many numbers I have, Damon has something stronger. He has a lifetime of experience. Of knowledge and instinct. The subconscious mind can filter far more information than we fully understand. He can make a call based on his gut.
Then again I’m not sure what possible instinct could make him send all the cards back.
I pick up my three new cards, along with my original two.
The first two dealt are spades, exactly what I would have needed to complete a flush. No additional pairs or jacks, which means I’m left with my original single pair.
My heart sinks. I struggle to keep my expression blank, not to reveal anything even though this is the only hand we’ll play. It seems important that he not know my weakness, whether I win or lose.
Oh God, what if I lose? What reckless impulse possessed me to agree to this game?
Actually you’re the one who suggested it.
“What do you have?” Damon asks, all politeness now.
“You first,” I say, pushing off reckoning as long as possible.
If he has three of a kind or a straight, I’ll never forgive myself. I could have had more, if only I had risked more. Is this how Daddy gets in deep, always chasing a bigger pot, hating himself when he plays safe?
Damon turns over his cards one by one. An ace of hearts. A queen of clubs. A ten of hearts. A three of spades. So far the cards make nothing, but if he has an ace or a queen in his hand I’m done.
I’ll be sleeping in this house tonight. Maybe even in his bed.
Bile rises in my throat, because it doesn’t matter how handsome his face or how strong his body. Ownership would be the ultimate loss. It doesn’t matter if he brings my body pleasure, not if my mind’s trapped in a cage.
He flips the card. A ten.
The breath I’m holding rushes out. “Oh, thank God.”
His expression is even as he says. “Let’s see them, baby.”
With shaking hands I let the cards tumble over, all at once. My pair of jacks beats the tens, but not by much. Everything feels over sharp, the quiet hum of the house outrageously loud. Adrenaline, I realize. This is the rush. This is why Damon plays the game. Why he loves it, even when he loses.
He curses softly. “Call me the moment you see him. Don’t serve him coffee. Don’t bring him pie. Don’t do a damn thing but pick up the phone and call me when he comes back.”
Chapter Thirteen
It’s on the next Thursday night that I hear it—the tumble of a pebble on cement.
Someone’s following me in the darkness, the streetlamps busted long ago. It’s a strange feeling to wish to be mugged. To long for a faceless villain in a city full of them.
Anyone but Jonathan Scott.
I’m halfway between the diner and home. I weigh the options between one breath and the next. The diner is more public, more lighted, more known. But the apartment has a lock.
Footsteps echo mine, and I know he’s getting closer.
I move faster over the broken sidewalk, keeping my head low as if I’m in a storm. It rained earlier that night, but it had cleared up. There’s no storm except inside my mind.
Don’t fight them. It only makes it worse.
A shiver takes my whole body, despite the muggy night air.
The devil himself is behind me. Even if he’ll catch me, I have to fight. I have to run. I sprint down the sidewalk, not even pretending anymore. I don’t think he’s close, not when I reach my building, but it doesn’t matter. He must know where I live.
