CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Noah

The pungent aroma of cigar smoke floods my senses. The earthy, woody notes hit the back of my throat as Maverick and I enter the dimly lit back parlor. The room is small, barely bigger than a back storage room, but big enough to hold the card table and a wet bar off to the side.

Four people sit at the table, ranging in age and background. One is wearing high-vis as if he's just come in off night shift and is trying to make a quick buck. Another is wearing sweatpants and a Nike shirt. He looks like a junkie, if I'm being honest.

A goth-looking guy with long black hair, a full face of pale makeup, and black leather clothing sits at the table. The other is a woman wearing a tight red dress, clinging perfectly to her body. The dress is tight, real tight, and while I give her credit for wearing it, she's not exactly young. She's got to be pushing late seventies, maybe even into her eighties, with the way her hair is silver white and her skin is so incredibly wrinkled it is almost translucent. But even with her clear advanced age, she's piled on the fake tan, designer shoes, and jewelry. She's certainly trying to make an impression.

They all glance up when we enter while the three suits step in behind us and gesture to take a seat. I slide in next to Sultry Grandma, with Maverick beside me. The suits move around the table, making our table a full nine.

A good number for a poker game.

Grandma winks, blowing me a kiss. I can't help but jerk my head back before I turn to Maverick, who's trying to hide his laugh.

"Okay, now we have a full deck, let's play," the suit who came up to us at the bar states as he sits, taking the dealer's position.

The people around us begin sliding things onto the table. Grandma places what looks like an incredibly expensive diamond ring in the center. The junkie throws a baggie in the middle. Pretty sure it's heroin. I side-eye Maverick, and he rolls his shoulders. The goth slides a luxurious-looking violin across the table. Then, the guy wearing high-vis slides a folder across the desk.

The suited dealer glares at him. "The fuck is this buy-in, Jarrod?"

The high-vis guy, who I now know as Jarrod, shrugs. "It's every stock and share I own in my company."

Our eyes widen as the suit pulls the folder across the table, looking inside. His eyes slide up and down the listings, and he nods. "Okay." Then he turns to Maverick and me.

Pulling out our wallets, we throw a couple of grand down on the table each.

This weekend away is really eating into my damn savings.

I have to make sure we win it all back.

The suit sniffs obnoxiously, tilting his head. "Seems a little light-on considering what everyone else has put in, but you're new to this, so we will ease you into it," the suit states, then begins dealing the cards.

Glancing at Maverick, I lean into his side. "We play one round, then we get the fuck outta here."

He subtly nods, and the suit hands out a set of poker chips. Even though we have put up what we're betting on the table, the chips are what we're playing with to keep the game moving. The small bet and the blind bet are put forward by the junkie and Jarrod, and then two cards are laid out for all of us face down.

"Let's get this party started," the junkie says, his eyes focused on me intently.

I furrow my brows but choose to ignore him while we all pick up our cards and take a look. An eight of spades and a four of hearts. Shifting my eyes to Maverick, he keeps his face straight and neutral, giving nothing away.

The room is quiet as we move around the table.

Grandma is the first to move. "I raise," she states, sliding in more chips.

Inwardly groaning, I glance at my cards. "Call," I reply, sliding the chips in to match Grandma's.

Maverick slides his chips in. "Call."

It goes around the table until it hits the dealer, and he takes the chips to the pot. The dealer slides three cards onto the middle of the table for the flop, turning them up to face us.

An ace of hearts, a four of clubs, and a two of diamonds.

We all inhale, knowing an ace could be good for someone around the table. Seems like everyone except me has a poker face. Me, on the other hand, I am shitting bricks.

Junkie chuckles. "Check."

Jarrod smirks, rolling his shoulders. "Check."

Grandma shrugs. "Check."

I glance down at my cards—I have a pair, so I know I have a hand to play. I slide some extra chips forward. "Bet."

Maverick snaps his head toward me, his brow raised, and I shrug. He inhales deeply, looking down at his cards, then pushes more chips into the center. I widen my eyes when he huffs. "Raise."

The suits chuckle as the other players shift in their seats.

"We have a game on our hands," the dealer states.

The goth folds, cursing under his breath, and the other two suits follow his lead but much quieter, leaving the pot to just six players. The other players match their bets to the chips raised, which are handed over to the dealer, ready for the turn. The card drops, and I widen my eyes, seeing it's the three of spades. That doesn't help me much . Everyone keeps a straight poker face, so I can't tell what the others have.

We go around the table, each of us checking this time. The pot not moving forward. The dealer places down the river, revealing a ten of hearts.

Again, not helping me at all.

We move around the table, Junkie calls out, "Raise," and slides his chips forward.

Jarrod matches his bet. "Call."

Grandma shakes her head, sliding her cards onto the table. "Fold."

I glance at the Junkie . I think my hand is better than his. "Raise."

The dealer chuckles as Maverick slides his chips in beside me. "Raise," he states, making me turn to look at him.

The dealer flicks a chip between his fingers like he is thinking. Then, he slides his cards across the table. "Fold. I'm gonna let you guys battle this one out. Your move, Rocco," the suit says to the junkie.

He hesitates for a moment, then calls to match the raise. I smirk at him while he continues to watch me. I have no clue what the fuck his issue is with me, but Jarrod matches the raise, and then I slide my chips in to match.

"All right, here we go. Cards up," the dealer says.

Rocco turns his cards. "A pair of twos."

Smirking to myself, we glance at Jarrod, who chuckles, turning his cards over. "I have a pair of Threes. Sorry, Rocco."

Rocco slams his cards on the table, shoving back his anger. "Motherfucker!"

I shrug when I place my cards down. "Sorry, Jarrod," I reply, placing my pair of fours on the table.

The suits all chuckle as Jarrod groans.

Rocco bursts out laughing and points his finger at Jarrod. "Sucked in, asshole!"

"You still lost, Rocco," Jarrod snaps and quickly frowns. He sits back quietly in his seat as Maverick quietly turns his cards over on the table without saying a word.

"A quiet achiever, I see?" the suit states as we all turn to him, and he slides the chips Maverick's way.

I glance down at his hand—an ace and a ten, with an ace and a ten on the table too. I let out a chuckle, shaking my head. "Two pair, you sneaky bastard," I quip while Maverick snickers under his breath.

"Fuck you! You two are in on this, aren't you?" Rocco states.

Maverick and I glare at the junkie. "Fuck off! We played fair and square."

Rocco points his finger at me. "Play another round. I need to ensure this isn't rigged."

Maverick starts gathering his chips and goes to stand. "We got what we came for. We're gonna take what we're owed and head off."

Rocco stands dramatically, pulling a gun, then aims it straight at my head. The click of the safety doesn't get by me as I hold my breath in shock.

Maverick instantly sits, his hands raising up in surrender. "Whoa! Calm the fuck down."

"You play another game, or I shoot your friend right between the eyes as compensation. That's the damn deal," Rocco states, his tone harsh and bitter.

Maverick glances at the dealer, who sits back, seemingly not giving a shit that his poker game is going fucking sideways.

I side-eye Maverick, nodding at him. We need to calm this situation down—and quickly. "One more game, Mav, then we get out of here."

Maverick exhales, tilting his neck to the side. The dealer chuckles, nodding to one of the other suits, who moves Maverick's winnings behind him. "As the rest of you know, the buy-in for each round increases the further we play. Whatever you put in for the last round, we expect double this round. So… who's still in?"

The goth shakes his head. "That violin was in my family for decades. It's a Stradivarius. Do you know how much that thing is worth?"

"That's the name of the game, Karl. We don't tell you what to put up. That burden is solely yours to carry. You shouldn't have played if you had nothing else to offer. Simple as that," the dealer snaps.

Karl stands abruptly, his nostrils flaring, his pale face becoming quite red. "I was supposed to win it all," he snaps his head toward Maverick. "Curse you! Curse you and those you love for taking what I love."

Maverick jerks his head back as Karl storms out of the room.

Grandma snickers to herself. "Damn Gen Z and their emotional bullshit. Anyone else want to throw a tantrum, or can us adults play now?"

We all turn to Grandma while Rocco places his gun on the table. "I like you, Jillie. You always know how to keep the game moving."

Grandma, or as I now know her, Jillie, chuckles. "Shut your mouth, Rocco. You're just as emotional as Karl. Let's get the fuck on with this. I have an appointment I have to get to for my fillers, and I need to win this game to help me pay for it. So c'mon. Quit fucking stalling."

Maverick picks up the ring, baggie, and cash, then throws them back into the pot for his buy-in. The problem is, I don't have another four grand to buy my way into this game. "I don't have the cash on me to buy in this round, so I gotta sit this one out," I tell them.

But Rocco brings his gun up, aiming it at me again. The venom in his eyes tells me he isn't joking around. Jillie rolls her eyes as Rocco flares his nostrils. "I've seen you driving 'round in that flashy convertible. I bet you have some real nice things in your apartment upstairs. I tell you what, you play with no buy-in, but if you lose, the winner gets to come to your apartment and take whatever they want. Deal?" Rocco sneers.

I glance at Maverick, and he subtly shakes his head, my heart racing faster. My eyes shift to the suits, who are making no effort to stop this, so I shake my head. "No. No deal. Mav can play. I'm sitting this one out."

Rocco edges his finger on the trigger, turning his gun sideways at me menacingly. "You don't understand me, Noah." I never told him my name. "Play, or I shoot you where you sit."

My palms sweat, and my breathing increases as I turn to Maverick, trying to gauge his lead. He gives me a subtle nod, and I exhale. "Deal the cards. Let's get this over with. But after this round, Mav and I are out."

The suit chuckles. "Seems only fair. Now put the fucking gun away, Rocco."

Rocco flicks the safety back on his gun, places it on the table, then sits. His jittery eyes shifting around the room as I scrub at my face, my nerves wreaking havoc. My mind shifts to Rhyan, hoping like hell she isn't back in the apartment upstairs. I have no clue if Maverick or I can pull off a win right now, but fuck, both of us need to try.

The dealer deals and the bets come in as I pick up my two and a queen of hearts. I smile, my thoughts shifting to Rhyan again, and then I am dealt a king of clubs. I smirk thinking how fitting these cards are for Rhyan and me right now. But as the flop lands and I see the eight, five, and six of diamonds land on the table, my heart sinks at the amazing fucking set of cards that landed on the table, just not amazing for the cards I have in my hand. But the thing is, the straight is right there for someone to snap up. But with these players' poker faces, I have zero clue who will be the lucky player.

I just have to hope it's Maverick.

The bets are placed around the table. I already know I am done for, so I fold. But Rocco, Jillie, and Maverick are going head-to-head, each raising the stakes. Then the turn is folded over—nine of hearts.

The bets come in hard and fast until, finally, the river is placed down.

A nine of clubs.

Holy shit!

Someone has a straight, and everyone has a set of nines. There's no doubt about it, someone is going to clean up big time. It's now about who can keep their cool.

All three players keep raising until Rocco says, "All in."

Maverick and Jillie both hesitate, looking at their cards. A line of sweat runs down my temple as I stare at Maverick, trying to figure out how deep he is willing to go. Jillie folds, leaving just Rocco and Maverick. I breathe hard as Maverick slowly nods, pushing his chips forward. "All in."

The suits chuckle as I sit back in my chair, scrubbing at my face.

Fuck! I can't handle this tension.

The dealer gestures to Maverick. "Seeing as Rocco is the one with the gun, I think you better go first, Mav."

Maverick smiles wide with a small chuckle, turning over his cards to show two sevens, a spade, and a club. "I have a straight, five through to nine."

I let out a loud laugh as I slap him on the back.

Jillie chuckles, nodding her head. "That's going to be hard to beat, Rocco."

Rocco nods his head, then shrugs. "But, not impossible," he states, placing his cards on the table, showing a seven and a nine of diamonds. My eyes widen, and my stomach falls through the floor as Maverick slams his fist on the table. "Five, six, seven, eight, and nine of diamonds, if I'm not mistaken. That's a straight flush?" Rocco chuckles happily as I sink back into my seat.

The room falls quiet as Maverick clears his throat. "Okay, Rocco, you can take my prize pool. Just let us walk out of here."

Rocco chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, yes! I'm taking everything, you bet. But a deal is a deal, is it not, Matteo?" he asks the dealer, who I finally have a name for.

Matteo dips his chin. "A deal is a deal. And even though you can leave the game now to make your payment plan with Rocco outside of this room, you still owe us for admission."

Maverick groans, looking back at the cash we won and the violin he still has. He grumbles under his breath, handing the violin over to Matteo as payment.

Matteo widens his eyes, holding out his hand. "I need payment for Noah, too, Maverick."

Maverick flares his nostrils and hands over the cash, then turns to face me. "Let's get this over with," he grumbles, storming for the exit. I follow behind him, and Rocco moves in after me.

"Call me!" Jillie yells out.

Rocco closes the door, and I shake my head while Rocco keeps his gun aimed at my back, pushing me along further.

"You know, I am looking forward to seeing what's in your apartment," Rocco states.

I side-eye Maverick, a silent prayer being said between us, hoping that the girls haven't been brought back to the hotel in the limousine we arranged for them. But if they are, as soon as we get back into the privacy of our room, it will be two-on-one, and Rocco won't know what fucking hit him if he tries anything with our girls. "I don't know what you think you'll find in there, Rocco, but you're gonna be bitterly disappointed."

He jabs the gun into my back with a little more force when we walk into the elevators. Maverick presses the button for our floor, and Rocco chuckles. "You know, Noah. I don't think I'm going to be disappointed at all ."

Something feels off.

The way that he knows my name.

When I know for sure , I didn't tell him.

The way he left the game without his winnings, even though he had fair-and-squarely won them.

All he is interested in is our apartment.

This whole thing reeks, and I don't like it.

We make our way to our apartment with anxiety rippling through me like a red-hot poker, every inch of me hoping Rhyan is not there. Using the key, I open the door slowly, but Rocco is impatient and shoves me through. "We don't have time for you to fuck around. Get inside!"

Not hearing any noise when I step through, my panic eases slightly when I walk into the large living area with Maverick beside me.

I throw my hands out to the sides. "So, what are your plans now, Rocco? We're renting this place. We don't live in New York. There's nothing here for you, man. We're out of the game. So take the shit we owe you and be done with it."

Rocco tilts his head. "Yeah… how about I proposition you with something else?"

Maverick exhales, and I huff. "Like what?"

"I work for someone. Someone you might be interested in, Noah."

My skin prickles. I knew something was off about him. "Who the fuck sent you?"

Rocco paces the living room, waving his gun around aimlessly. "When Atlas wants people followed, he finds a way to make it happen—"

I don't hesitate, rushing forward to try and reach for Rocco's gun, but he pulls back, aiming it at my chest, stopping my approach, and then bursts out laughing. "He said you'd be feisty. Told me to show you this." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a photograph, dangling it in front of my face. Narrowing my eyes, I check the picture of my mom, and my stomach falls through the floor.

"Don't forget, Noah, Atlas has reach. He has power and persuasion. You really think that you would just walk away without paying a debt?"

I snort out a mocking laugh. "I don't owe that cunt shit."

Rocco steps forward, his gun now aimed at my head. "That's not how Atlas sees it. You either pay him financially for the debt he's owed, or he will take it in another form." He waggles the picture of my mother in his hand.

A red haze flashes behind my eyes as I race forward, but Maverick reaches out, grabbing hold and keeping me back, causing Rocco to burst out laughing.

"You fucking threaten my mother again, and I swear to God, it won't just be Atlas I come after, Rocco."

Rocco smirks, sliding the picture of my mother back into his pocket. "We could always settle this another way, Noah. We can leave your mother out of this and take Rhyan instead?"

Heat flushes through my body so incredibly hot that sweat trickles down my skin. My pulse races at a speed so fast that my breath escapes me while the pounding in my ears drowns out all noise, and I can't fight my adrenaline anymore.

This asshole threatened my mom.

He's threatened Rhyan.

He can't get away with this shit.

Surging forward, my eyes wide as saucers, I don't hesitate, lunging for Rocco with every ounce of strength.

"Noah," Maverick screams out, but the sound doesn't stop me when Rocco brings the gun up, aiming at me. My hand sideswipes his wrist, knocking the gun just as he fires. The bullet just scrapes the edge of my torso as I rip his arm to the side and out of the way.

Rocco tries to fight me back. I shove him into the wet bar while glasses and bottles fall, smashing onto the carpet and breaking at our feet as I wrestle him for the gun. Our hands fight to get a grip on the cold metal, Maverick coming up behind us to help.

Suddenly, the gun goes off.

Bang.

Both Rocco and I stop.

Our eyes meet.

Our breathing stops.

And I panic as the warmth of blood seeps onto my skin.