Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

HAVOC

“You don’t have to go,” my mother says as I stuff my clothes into my army duffel bag. Yeah, I got discharged, but they hadn’t taken my ratty old bag away from me.

Standing next to her in the doorway is my asshole of a stepfather, sipping from a can of beer.

He’s a head taller than my mother, with hands large enough that he can easily wrap them around her throat and choke her to near death.

Didn’t stop her from going back to him, of course.

I swallow my anger—at him, at her, at myself—and keep packing.

“Let the boy leave,” Step Asshole says. “He’s been enough of a burden.” He sneers at me. “But don’t come crawling back when you’re out of rent money.”

“Don’t fucking plan on it,” I snap at him. The drawer I’m trying to open gets stuck, and I jiggle it in annoyance. “Don’t think I’ll give you a single penny either.”

My mother’s lip wibbles. “Javier, mijo… There’s no need to be so hostile with your father.”

“He’s not my—” I shout, pulling so hard that the entire drawer comes out. The contents spill out all over the floor. “Mamá, if you ever want to visit, you can. Without him.”

I glare at my stepfather, and I mentally dare him to say something, anything , that’ll give me an excuse to punch him.

I’ve been in a weird mood lately. Every time I’m at the casino, when I’m with Seven, I feel mostly calm… then I have to come home to this shit. He hasn’t tried beating me since I got back from the military, and he learned not to hurt my mother where I can witness it, but I know he still does it.

I’ve tried to get her to leave, over and over, but she always has some excuse for him. He doesn’t mean it, he had a bad day, she set him off.

If I leave, he’s going to kill her .

The thought stops me cold. I look her in the eye, ignoring my stepfather looming. In Spanish, I tell her, “Mamá, I mean it. You come to my place if you need to get away. You have my number. If you call, I’ll come running.”

My stepfather immediately growls, “Speak English, idiot. We’re in America.”

My mother flinches, and in English, she responds, “That’s not necessary, mijo. You’ll come running back for my tamales soon.”

If her voice weren’t so subdued, that would have been a light-hearted joke.

I clench my fists and look at the step asshole. He’s a white guy with graying hair, his hairline receding. Unfortunately, despite being an alcoholic, he hits the gym and keeps in shape. I could probably still take him, but…

My mother would try to stop me. She has tried to stop me.

“If anything happens to her,” I say with a snarl, “I will fucking find you and tie you to a stake in the middle of the desert. I’ll watch you bake in the sun. A slow, agonizing death?—”

“Javier!” my mother interjects, sounding horrified. “Don’t joke about those things!”

My stepfather bursts out laughing. “You and what fucking army? The one they kicked you out of?”

I make a frustrated sound and grab my duffel bag. Forget the rest of my shit. I’ll buy new clothes, new stuff. Nothing here is sentimental.

“Remember what I said, Mamá.” I shoulder check the asshole on my way out. My mother calls out after me, and my heart breaks, but I can’t fucking take it anymore.

Things are getting better in my life. They aren’t going to stay better if I keep letting my family drag me down.

In some ways, it feels like cowardice, but I can’t make decisions for my mother. As much as I want to grab her and make her come with me, I know better. She’d just go back to him.

It’s a half hour drive to the new apartment, in a neighborhood I can only afford because Caleb’s sister agreed to give me a chance and to write me off as a “low income housing” tenant. I’m not even low income anymore. Not high income, not for this area, but definitely not that low.

Of course, it would have been smarter to move after I’d already bought a new bed or a couch or a TV. I dump my duffel bag in the room I’ve designated as my bedroom. The single box of stuff I’d packed goes into the living room corner.

And that’s it. That’s everything I own now.

I laugh bitterly and slide down the wall. For several minutes, I stare at my blank walls and wonder if I can actually do this.

She survived without me for almost seven years. I’m not being a bad son by leaving her, right? At some point, I’m allowed to be done with all this crap?

My eyes burn with tears.

For the first time in years, I let myself cry. About my family, about my life, about the shit I’ve been through.

My phone buzzes at some point, and I pull it out of my pocket while I rub away the tears. I expect a text from my mother, begging me to come back, but it’s a text from Seven.

Can you teach me poker?

As wary as he’d been of the new phone at first, it’s become clear that he loves it. He especially loves texting me, and I’ve begun to be able to discern when he’s lonely and just wants someone to pay attention to him—which is almost always.

He texts like someone’s grandma, always using punctuation and without any kind of text speak or emojis, but I’m not stupid enough to mention that to him. It’s just one of those mysterious Seven things that make him what he is.

Like the marks on his back.

I’m sure my mother has scars, but not to that extent. And I’d paid close attention to how Caleb was whipping Seven. He hadn’t used enough force to break skin. That, and their arrangement still feels pretty new—and those scars are anything but.

Somebody else got their hands on Seven first, and they spent years marking him up like that.

I take a breath to steady myself and type back, omw. Then I quickly add, On My Way .

I grab the box and rifle through it until I find the old, worn deck of cards. It’s one of the few things I have from my biological father. He didn’t even like playing cards, from what I remember. It’s more of a family heirloom that made its way from Mexico to here.

Guess he didn’t need the cards, the way he didn’t need me or my mother.

I pack the cards, grab my keys and wallet, and make my way to the Roi de Pique. It’s a Saturday, so it’s crowded, but I spot Seven at one of the blackjack tables.

“I thought we were playing poker,” I say, putting my arms around him.

He’s so small.

I could easily destroy him.

I nuzzle the back of his neck, ignoring the glare from the Mormon-looking dude across the table.

Seven rests back against me with a smile. “I thought I’d try my luck while I waited.” His lips curve into a sour expression. “I have not, in fact, suddenly gained luck with blackjack.” He sighs, looking forlornly at the cards in his hand. “I surrender,” he tells the dealer.

The dealer offers him a sympathetic smile and pushes a few casino chips back at him. “Next time, Seven.”

He rolls his eyes and takes them, shoving them into his pocket. “Uh huh.” He hops off the bar stool.

I’m tempted to try my own hand, but I’d want to start during a fresh round, where I know which cards have already been played, and anyway, it’s not like they’ll actually let me play.

Being employed here sucks.

“I moved into my new place today,” I tell Seven, leading him toward the elevator. “The landlady said I could paint the walls, I just have to paint them white again when I move out.”

“Are you going to go with that pretty blue we looked at?” he asks, taking my hand. “I liked that one. And you can get some dark blue blankets for your bed. I think that would look nice.”

“Sure,” I say, because I don’t really care what color my walls or sheets are.

I spot Vortex when we walk past the gift shop. He sees us, too, and jogs over to us. “Where are you two going?”

“Seven wants to learn to play poker. It’s loud here, though, so I figured we’d go up to Caleb’s rooms…”

Vortex grins widely, though. “Oh, poker? Well, I’m fairly decent at the game. And if we’re doing poker, we should do it at a proper table.”

Seven squirms uncomfortably. “Just upstairs is fine, Vortex.”

Vortex shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “Nah. We’ll give you a proper poker experience—Hey, boss? Is your private gaming room occupied right now? Seven wants to learn poker.”

This is all turning into more of a production than I expected, but I like the distraction. After confirmation from Caleb, Vortex waves us over to one of the side hallways.

“Isn’t this where they host the poker tournaments?” I ask, looking around with curiosity.

“Yep,” Vortex says. He glances at Seven, seeming to finally realize that he’s not fully on board with this. “Hey,” he tells Seven, “it’s okay. It’ll just be the four of us and a proper dealer.”

Seven perks up at that. “Caleb’s coming too?”

Vortex nods. “He’s clearing his schedule just for you.” He lets us into a private room that’s every bit as swanky and lavish as Caleb’s penthouse suite is. It’s on the small side, considering, and I wonder just how many other illicit deals go down in rooms like this when they’re supposedly playing the VIP games.

Seven and I sit down at the table while Vortex fills glasses of water for us from the wet bar. Caleb arrives soon after, with one of the dealers in tow. Madeline, I think her name was.

Seven tenses when he sees her, and his smile turns brittle.

“Hey, boss,” I greet. I set my old deck of cards on the table. “I know you’ve probably got a sealed deck, but while we teach Seven, can we use mine?”

Caleb shrugs. “Sure. Vortex, can you check to make sure they aren’t marked?”

“As long as Havoc isn’t going to bite my hand off for grabbing them,” Vortex says dryly. He quirks a brow at me, and when I nod, he picks them up.

“What are you looking for?” Seven asks, edging closer to me. He’s practically in my lap, and I’m tempted to just grab him and put him there.

“Just little marks that might tell someone what cards they are. Not that I think Havoc is trying to cheat in a closed game like this,” Vortex says as he examines them, “and not because this is a high-stakes game, but because Caleb is a paranoid bastard.”

Seven smiles a little, but it’s nothing compared to the look he’d given me when I’d shown up at the casino. “Are you supposed to call your boss a paranoid bastard?” He’s very carefully looking everywhere but at Madeline.

“It’s standard practice to use fresh decks to ensure that nobody is cheating,” Caleb explains. “But I am not tossing out decks when I don’t have to. There’s enough waste as it is.”

I burst out laughing. “So, what I’m hearing is that the house cheats.”

“Is that why I can’t win a single game of blackjack?” Seven complains.

“It’s not cheating,” Vortex says. “This is a private game, not an official one.”

“And you lose as much as you do because you don’t quit while you’re ahead,” Madeline says with cheer. “But you won at least two games that I saw recently.”

Seven’s smile falters again, but he nods to Madeline. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with poker.”

“You won’t,” Vortex says, handing the cards over to Madeline, who starts to shuffle the deck with a deft hand. “Your poker face is terrible.”

Is it, though? I think of how many times Seven has flat-out lied to us, or misled us, or just left out parts of the truth. He may not be a master manipulator, but he knows how to keep his secrets.

Seven scoffs. “That’s what you think.”

Once we’re all settled at the table with drinks, Madeline lays out a few cards on the table. “In poker, the goal is to have the highest value hand at the end of the round. We’re going to play a version called five-card draw.” She goes over the card values and lays out some sample hands.

I have to admit, poker isn’t usually my game. It takes too long, and I have to spend more time figuring out the other players. Counting cards for blackjack is easy by comparison.

I can always keep track of which cards are being played here, of course.

“Let’s do a sample game,” Caleb suggests. “We’ll show our hands to show you what the best plays are.” He nods at Madeline, and she shuffles the deck for us.

We all turn our hands over to show Seven what we have.

“Looks like you have an unlucky hand,” I say, peering at Seven’s cards. “I’d discard the seven of spades and the three of clubs, and…”

“Keep the seven and go for a full house,” Vortex interrupts.

I roll my eyes. “A straight is easier, and he’s already got?—”

We argue about probabilities, until Caleb clears his throat. “Or we let Seven decide which cards he wants to keep or discard.” He smiles at Seven. “There’s no wrong answer. You just have to be convincing once your hand is concealed.”

“I don’t think I like poker,” Seven says. “At least blackjack is simple. Can we play… Oh, I don’t know… Go fish?” He laughs, but I’m not sure he’s actually joking.

“We could play old maid,” I suggest with a shrug. “But we don’t need a dealer for that.”

Caleb shakes his head. “We brought poor Madeline out to deal for us, so we might as well play a few rounds.”

“I don’t mind, boss,” Madeline says. “Lorena’s out with some coworkers tonight anyway, so there’s no reason for me to rush home.”

Vortex leans over, patting Seven’s hand. “Just give it a shot. Maybe you’ll turn out to be a secret assassin at the game once you get the hang of it.”

Seven laughs, and it sounds marginally more sincere this time. “Yeah, maybe.”

“In that case…” Caleb leans closer to Seven and puts the cards into Seven’s hand. “I want you to look Havoc and Vortex in the eyes and pretend you have the best hand in the world.”

I scoff at him. “We already know he’s bluffing.”

Caleb smiles at me. “But bluffing is the real strategy in poker.” He holds his own cards up, facing out so we can’t see them. “You’ve already forgotten what’s in my hand, haven’t you?”

“You have the Ace of Spades,” I declare confidently. “And the jack. But I know you aren’t getting a royal straight flush.”

Vortex nods. “Those were the only good cards in your hand, boss.”

Seven looks down at his cards, considering. “I don’t really have to bluff,” he says with a shrug. “I already know I have better cards than both of them.”

I catch the half smile on his lips and laugh. “Nobody’s going to believe a bluff like that with such an obvious tell.” I pick up my own hand and discard two cards. I don’t really have anything amazing either, but it’ll beat whatever Seven can cobble together.

Vortex passes two cards off as well, his expression closed. He has a good poker face, at least, and I can see why he was so excited to play a game that’s entirely up his alley.

Caleb tosses one single card into the discard and nods at Madeline. She deals us our new cards, and of course I don’t get anything amazing but I do have three of a kind. Sevens, at that, and I laugh at the irony.

Seven eyes me. “You’re laughing at your cards? Does that mean they’re that good or that bad?” he asks.

“That’s for you to guess,” I respond, grinning at him.

Vortex grunts and throws chips into the pot. “This is where you decide if you have something and we decide our betting strategy. For example, I’m going to raise.”

I think about my chances of beating Vortex, knowing what I do of his cards, and figure it’s about even. “Call,” I answer, adding my chips to the betting pool. “That means I’m putting in the same amount as Vortex, but not more.”

“Hmm. This might already be too rich for me,” Caleb says. “I fold—which means I can’t lose more money than I already placed into the pot.”

“Like you need to worry about losing money,” I grumble. “But that means his hand is just as shit as Vortex and I said it was.”

Seven looks down at the chips and tosses a few in as well. “I’m going to call, too, then,” he decides.

“Not gonna fold?” Vortex teases him. “You don’t have to lose any more than you already have.”

Seven rolls his eyes. “No. You should know by now I don’t give up easy.”

Not at cards, at least.

“Since nobody else raised, please reveal your cards, gentlemen,” Madeline says cheerfully.

I turn over my cards to show off my three sevens. Vortex groans. He only has two pairs, both of them low numbers.

“Look at that. I’m winning with sevens. You’re lucky for me, Seven,” I declare with a grin.

Seven’s lips curve into a triumphant smirk as he fans out his own hand. “Am I, though? Am I really? Because it looks like I just trounced you.”

His entire hand is spades—including the ace and jack of spades that had just been in Caleb’s hand. I gape and turn to Caleb. “Did you just cheat?”

Caleb places his hand on his chest and pretends to be outraged. “Excuse me? I am the owner of the Roi de Pique, one of the oldest and most well-regarded casinos in Calamity City. I would never cheat . And anyway, I lost the round! I wouldn’t be doing a good job of cheating.”

Vortex starts to chuckle. “Well, that’s how you do it, Seven. Let the rest of us look like idiots while you hold the best cards in the game.”

“You’re all the ones who said I couldn’t bluff,” he points out, scooping up the chips from the table.

“You didn’t have to bluff, to be fair,” Vortex says. “You really did have the best hand at the table.”

“But did I know that?” Seven asks.

Caleb rubs Seven’s shoulder. “You knew I’d given you those cards, and you knew what Vortex and Havoc had. That’s how I like to play—using whatever tools I have at my disposal to come out on top.” He stops and glances at Madeline. “I would never cheat in an official game, of course.”

Madeline giggles. “Of course not. Then again, you aren’t allowed to play here anyway.”

We bicker amongst ourselves as Madeline deals the next hand. There’s nothing serious about how we play after that—Caleb blatantly shows his cards to Seven, Seven rubs his feet along my shins, Vortex tries his hand at lifting a few extra cards. I end up swapping a few cards with Vortex at one point, just to get ahead of the Caleb-and-Seven combo.

By the end, I have no idea how much money anybody has theoretically made. Caleb orders food from one of the restaurants for all of us, and Seven moves to sit on my lap to cheat with my cards instead.

And for those few hours, I don’t think about my empty new apartment or my mother’s bruised up arms.

I’m just happy.

Seven kisses my cheek and smiles at me. I smile back, and I know I was right.

Seven really is my lucky charm.