Fold

Not the ideal situation for me to be in. Another man might start goading the two men to fold, but not me. Actions speak louder than words, and I want them to listen to that little voice inside their head telling them to fold.

The river gives me another three. Not bad, but sure as fuck not good either.

Not enough to win. Not unless Niko and his buttbuddy are both bluffing. I’ll find out by the end of the showdown.

Niko cracks his knuckles before he pushes his entire stack forward. “All in.”

I don’t look at my cards as I do the same. “Me too.”

For a fraction of a second, Niko’s composure wavers before his face goes back to an impassive mask.

His friend, on the other hand, runs a hand over his head, teetering on the edge. Niko rubs his nose again, no doubt telling him to calm the fuck down before he ruins their little side deal. But that only makes sweat trickle down his forehead. “He’s not the type to bluff, Niko.”

He’s wrong. I’m the type to bluff, lie, cheat, and steal to keep my head off the chopping block, but I’m flattered he thinks so highly of me.

He stands up, paces back and forth for a bit, and pours himself another glass of vodka.

I’ve never seen a Russian experience tilt before, but I can’t say I blame him, there is a million dollars on the line.

Niko’s eyes become tiny slits. It’s clear his friend has blown his end of the silent agreement and he’s not going to call like he was supposed to. Smart move.

As predicted, he shakes his head and flips his cards over. I inwardly wince when I see a straight. Much better than my measly two pair. Dude should have called.

Niko looks at me. “I’d reconsider if I were you.”

His vodka must be spiked with absinthe if he thinks I’m going to fall for that.

“I’m good.” I smile and gesture to his cards. “After you.”

My heart pounds and my blood runs cold when the first cards he flips over are two aces. Bile rises up my esophagus as memories of the only other time I’ve been so nervous during a showdown clobber me.

No, fuck that. I won’t go to that place. Not here, not now. Not in front of them. I beat that son-of-a-bitch when I was twelve and I’ll beat this one too. I don’t have much, but there must be something of mine this guy wants. Something I can barter for another round. I can’t lose. I refuse to.

I’m so busy thinking of ways to negotiate, I almost don’t realize until it’s too late that his other cards are a five, four, and a two.

Those pair of aces are the only good thing in his hand.

My smile grows as I flip my hand over—revealing two pair.

I want to ask him if he wants some cream for that burn, but I’m already filling up a duffle bag. I just want to leave, give Salvatore his money, and go back home to my crappy motel room.

“How does he keep wi

I look him right in the eyes. “Because you guys are gambling.” I tug the zipper. “And I’m playing poker.”

With that, I pull the strap over my shoulder and walk out.