Invaders_Hotbloods 7

by Bella Forrest

  “I’m in,” the female gambler replied, tossing her own share of chips, worth thirty thousand dollars, while the fourth player folded, shaking his head.

  The cucumbers seemed to ignore the woman, and continued taunting each other, while the dealer watched, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

  “Raise you another thirty,” cucumber girl said, grinning, as the guy bit the inside of his cheek and added more chips to the pile.

  “You’re bluffing,” he replied. “Thirty.”

  The female compulsive gambler frowned, but the energy coming from her echoed confidence. She felt like she had a good hand. A really good hand. My guess was that it had something to do with the queens. She raised them another thirty, then narrowed her eyes at her own cards.

  “I’m not bluffing,” the girl said. She raised an eyebrow and pushed forty thousand dollars’ worth of chips forward. “Raise.”

  The guy scoffed, scratching the back of his neck as he contemplated his choices for a couple of seconds. The female gambler, on the other hand, had quickly sunk into despair. I realized then that maybe her hand wasn’t all that good. If I wanted to confirm collusion between the cucumbers, I needed the lady to fold so I could then watch the guy fold as well, and let the girl win. It seemed like the natural way for it to play out at that point.

  “Okay, now I’m pissed,” the guy said, and raised her another twenty.

  The female gambler cursed under her breath and folded, nervously counting the chips she had left, while the cucumbers pretended to glower at each other. It was getting a little too dramatic for my taste. Even a non-empath could tell they were slightly over the top.

  “All in,” the girl challenged the guy, and pushed the rest of her chips into the middle, prompting the others to stare at her in disbelief.

  The pot was somewhere over $350,000, and it was time for the guy to shake his head in disappointment, then fold. My fingers gripped the edge of the table, my nerves anticipating the moment I’d get my proof of collusion. I knew they were hot for each other in ways no two people meeting for the first time would ever be.

  He tossed the cards, facedown, feigning irritation as he gulped down his drink, then motioned for a waiter to bring him another one.

  Bingo!

  Once they got away with this, they were going to get more brazen. I wanted them to dig themselves into a hole as deep as possible. The bigger their winnings at the end of the night, the bigger my prize.

  I straightened my back as the dealer collected the cards and shuffled them, while the girl raked the mountain of chips over to her side of the table. She stacked them quickly into groups of $20,000, between sips of her fruity drink.

  Personally, I looked forward to watching that smirk get wiped off at the end of the night.

  It was time to get security to pay attention. I fiddled with my onyx earring, giving the head of security a brief sideways glance. Malcolm the bouncer stood at the end of the bar, ten yards away, pretending to chat with the bartender. He noticed my signal and discreetly brought a hand over his mouth, communicating a message through the tiny mic mounted into one of his cufflinks.

  “It’s showtime,” the dealer said.

  I shifted my focus back to our table as cards were dealt.

  Oh, you have no idea.

  Chapter 2

  One by one, four of the ten security cameras in the room slowly turned and zoomed in on our table. For good reason, too. We were at the turn of another game, and the cucumbers were busy signaling each other.

  Had it not been for the guy’s stretched nerves and my ability to sense them, the cheaters might have gotten away with it. A mixture of excitement and fear, guilt and desire rumbled through the couple, while the other three players were simply hopeful that their luck might turn around. I was getting a little angry at this point—it was bad enough that these people were struggling with an addiction. The cucumbers were literally preying on them while carrying out their little we’re-strangers-at-the-same-poker-table charade.

  I folded, then homed in on the familiarity between them. They’d been doing this for years, and, when they thought no one was looking, I could see the longing in their stolen glances. They got off on these thrills.

  The air changed. I couldn’t exactly describe it, but it felt different, as if it were electrically supercharged. A rush of tingles tickled my spine, and I slowly turned my head to get a better look at the rest of the room. I’d yet to learn how to fully detach myself from what I was feeling as an empath, so I suspected that whatever anxiousness the cucumbers were experiencing, it had been passed on to me, too.

  I settled on a pair of deep green eyes that belonged to a tall young man, maybe in his early twenties, who took a seat at one of the booths, just ten feet away from our table. His hair was dark brown, almost black, curled and unruly on the top, and smoothly shortened into a fade on the sides. He wore a navy-blue suit—elegant but a little casual—paired with a black shirt, its collar unbuttoned. His facial features were clear-cut, matching his equally sharp gaze.

  The way he looked at me made my back automatically straighten itself. I wasn’t sure what that reaction was all about, but I quickly realized that he was responsible for the sudden flow of energy through the room. The intensity pressuring my shoulders and stomach seemed to radiate from within him.

  A waitress came for his order, while my table got ready for the river. I caught a glimpse of the cucumbers signaling each other, before the girl folded. I had to give them credit: they were making an effort to be inconspicuous.

  “Sparkling water with ice and lime, please,” the electric dude said.

  I couldn’t help but turn my head to look at him again. His voice sounded like liquid velvet. And who the hell comes into a casino and orders water?

  “Coming right up, sir,” the waitress replied.

  “A lot of lime, please,” he added, then glanced at me.

  Holding my breath, I shifted my focus back to the table. We were going into another round, after the cucumbers had just cleaned out the veteran gambler. He muttered a curse under his breath, then started walking over to the cashier at the other end of the room.

  “I’m gonna go get some more chips,” the gambler grumbled. “Don’t start without me!”

  The dealer raised his eyebrows at us. “Is everyone okay if we give the gentleman a couple of minutes to rejoin us?”

  “Damn straight,” the cucumber guy grinned, annoyingly overconfident. “I can’t wait to clean him out again!”

  The one thing I hated most about these confident guys was that, when it rubbed off on me, I got cocky and made dumb mistakes—like, really stupid, what-the-hell-were-you-thinking types of mistakes that either got me in trouble or, worse, hurt.

  I watched the waitress return with the electric dude’s lime water. He gave her a brief nod, then frowned at the highball glass.

  “Can I get more lime, please?” he asked, his voice low.

  The waitress gave him a perky smile and a wink, then rushed to the bar for more lime. She liked him. I knew that for a fact, because I was having a hard time taking my eyes off the guy. Damn my empathy.

  She returned with a small bowl filled with lime wedges at the same time as our veteran gambler, whose energy and hope of getting a better hand filled me up with unwarranted optimism. Nevertheless, my attention was fixed on the electric dude, who stuffed more lime into his glass, turning its contents into an almost-limeade.

  Only then did I notice the rings on his fingers—ten sterling silver bands, one for each finger. There were inscriptions engraved on all of them, but I couldn’t make out the words from where I sat. His gaze found mine, and he lifted a curious eyebrow. My cheeks heated, and I slowly turned back to my table as the dealer started the next game.

  The strangeness in the air didn’t fade away, though. It lingered around me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Something was… off.

  As the first three cards were laid out on the table, I glanced over
my shoulder. The electric dude had this look about him, a quiet but bone-rattling charm that reminded me of British rock stars—the tall, dark, and handsome type, not too bulky but not skinny either, who look good in whatever you make them wear. Except skinny jeans. Nobody looks good in skinny jeans.

  He took out a tablet and absently swiped its screen for a couple of minutes. A tap on my table made me check my hand, then the flop. Once again, my cards were useless. I folded, eager to get back to what my electric rock star was doing. I just couldn’t look away, and there was no perky waitress around to blame. I was the curious and interested one.

  He stilled, slowly putting his tablet down as he looked up and around the room. He seemed to stare at something, and I followed his gaze to the top left corner of the ceiling. I caught a glimpse of something dark slipping into the vent… a long, thick black tail.

  What the…

  I figured it could be an oversized rat. But since when do rats scamper across the ceiling?

  The hint of a bad feeling poked at my stomach, and I exhaled sharply. Maybe I’d imagined it.

  I checked the booth, and… he was gone. Whoever he was, he was weird. Devastatingly handsome, but weird. I looked up at the vent again, but there was nothing there to arouse any suspicion.

  “Miss?” The dealer’s voice dragged me back into reality. He was talking to the cucumber chick, who pursed her lips, then briefly glanced at her mate. He was pretending to look at his cards, resting his chin in his hand, index finger tapping the tip of his nose. I’d learned by now that it was a signal for a good hand.

  “I’ll put in twenty,” the young woman replied, smirking as she pushed blue chips to the center of the table.

  A large figure appeared to my right. I would’ve been startled, had I not recognized Malcolm’s pale blue eyes and round, bald head. He was big and soft on the outside, kind of like the Michelin man stuffed into an Armani suit, but a damn brute if ever crossed.

  It’s showtime.

  They’d probably seen enough through the cameras to confirm my suspicions, if they’d decided to send the big guy, directly. A wave of fear and panic hit me like a bucket of ice water—hard bucket included in the toss. The cucumbers were broiling, as Malcolm glowered at them. Their faces were pale, beads of sweat blooming on their temples. I had never felt anyone switch from giddy to petrified in just ten seconds.

  “You two.” Malcolm nodded at the couple, still separated by the three gamblers. “I need you to stand up and slowly step away from the table.”

  Malcolm never ordered anyone to do anything. He used his calm voice to simply tell people what they had to do, without a fuss. Nobody dared challenge him. What he said was going to happen… well, it always happened. With no exception. He told you to stand up, you sprang to your feet. No questions asked. This time, however, it didn’t seem to immediately stick.

  “Is… Is there something wrong, sir?” the cucumber guy asked, his voice a little pitchy, as the girl slowly stood up, gripping the edge of the table as if to stop herself from collapsing.

  Their world was crashing down on them, and it hurt like hell. My stomach tightened itself into a knot, and my blood went on the race of the century through my veins. I broke into a sweat as my heart skipped a couple of beats. Of course, the legal implications were damning. If caught cheating, players were taken to a back room, where the police would later find them. What happened from the moment they left the table until the police officers got there, however, varied from one establishment to another.

  Malcolm was big and scary as hell, and this couple seemed to have been through the motions before—otherwise, they wouldn’t be so terrified. What they didn’t know was that Malcolm only employed legal methods of detention. No one walked out with bruises or broken bones unless they assaulted someone, and security were forced to defend themselves.

  “I’m not going to ask you again,” Malcolm replied. He hadn’t even brought backup with him. To be fair, there were two guards stationed by the main entrance, anyway. There was nowhere to run.

  The guy stood and chuckled nervously.

  “Seriously, what’s going on here? What did we do?” he asked, while the girl pressed her lips tight together.

  “I think you know exactly what’s going on,” Malcolm replied dryly.

  The three gamblers stared at each other, then scowled at the couple. The old-timer was particularly pissed off. I could tell from how badly I wanted to shove my fist in the young guy’s face, as he continued to laugh it off.

  “No, I don’t! I’m just here playing my game. I’m not bothering anyone!” he insisted.

  “You really don’t want to do this here, buddy.” Malcolm was unfazed and nodded at the bouncers from the main entrance. They both walked over and flanked the couple. “We’re going to go into the back room now.”

  “Nah, man, I’m not going to no back room.” The guy shook his head, trying hilariously hard to keep his cool. I noticed a yellowish glimmer in his brown eyes but couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, exactly. It could just be reflections from the overhead chandeliers.

  Fear clamped on my throat and stiffened my muscles. He didn’t want to disappear into that back room. I thought I could maybe soothe him a little, tell him that nobody was going to hurt him back there, but that would mean revealing my identity as a casino employee. If I outed myself now, other players would learn about me, and my job would be compromised. So, I kept my mouth shut and tried to ride it all out.

  “Relax, buddy,” Malcolm retorted, rolling his eyes. “No one’s getting kneecapped tonight. This is a legally compliant establishment, not a mobster movie.”

  The two security guards politely, yet firmly, nudged them away from their chairs and escorted the couple away as they both voiced their protests.

  “Wait! My money! What about my money?” the guy cried out.

  “You’ll get your buy-in back, but all your winnings will be returned to the house, since you’ve been cheating your ass off,” Malcolm shot back.

  It wasn’t over, though. The crippling fear didn’t leave me. The farther the couple got from me, the lower the intensity of their emotions was supposed to be. That was always the case. No exception. My unique ability was subject to physical distance.

  And yet, I was still terrified. I realized then that I wasn’t experiencing the couple’s feelings anymore. It was someone else. I glanced around the casino, catching glimpses of curious customers as they watched the couple getting escorted to the other side of the room.

  The three gamblers left at my table were just… upset. They felt like idiots, and, by extension, so did I. But no one here was afraid. The games we’d played were going to be annulled, and they were going to get their money back. Those were the house rules, where cheaters were involved. At the end of the night, they were going to walk away as the winners, so to speak. Of course, we all knew they were just going to gamble their money away at another table an hour later, but still. It felt like a second chance for them.

  Malcolm offered a warm smile to the remaining gamblers. “You’re free to put your money into another game.”

  That’s how a casino works, after all. They make their money from other people’s vices. It wasn’t Malcolm’s place to preach or to judge. Our key responsibility was to drive revenue.

  So, it was obvious that the fear making me tremble didn’t belong to the gamblers. I made brief eye contact with the dealer, who looked away, and it hit me. It was him.

  The dealer was absently shuffling a deck of cards, but his fear seeped through me. He was involved with the cucumbers. There was a whiff of familiarity that I hadn’t caught from him earlier because I’d been too focused on the couple. But how? The couple had only seemed to coordinate with each other during the games, so how had the dealer helped?

  A thought crossed my mind, and I opened my clutch and took out a pair of small, yellow-lens glasses. I looked through them at his deck of cards and exhaled. They were marked. The yellowish glimmers in the cucum
ber guy’s eyes weren’t a chandelier reflection. They were contact lenses, crafted from a material that worked like my special glasses.

  I quickly took my glasses off, chuckling. “I thought I could see better with my glasses, but the light really isn’t helping,” I murmured, flashing a smile to the other players.

  I then gave Malcolm a discreet nudge and nodded at the dealer, who was nervously eyeing us both at this point. He’d caught on. He’d realized what I’d done. The guy was a new employee—otherwise, he never would’ve used marked cards on my shift. No one had warned him, either. Good.

  “You,” Malcolm said to the dealer. “We need to talk.”

  “A-About what?” he replied, his voice barely audible. His enclosed position at the specially designed table made me feel trapped. The dealer could have no access to people near the table during the games, to avoid foul play. Hence, he was basically plopped in the middle of it. To get out of there fast, he’d have to jump over the table and crawl to the edge.

  He didn’t give Malcolm a chance to explain, as he did exactly what I’d expected, and sprang on top of the table. It was time for more… drastic measures.

  I held my breath, and thousands of cards burst out from the shelves beneath the table.

  The dealer fell backward, dazed and confused by the flurry of playing cards swarming all around him, like crazed birds in a horror movie. He yelped and cursed as they fluttered frenetically around him, swatting him over the face, defying the laws of physics.

  Gasps erupted from around the table and the rest of the room as the cards scattered in the air.

  Malcolm lunged after the dealer, but he rolled over the table, pushing the other players away as he made a run for the main doors. There was no security on that side, and he could easily escape. The two guards were busy with the cheaters, and the others were farther back in the room, with not enough time to reach us.

  “I don’t think so,” I muttered and set my sights on one of the empty chairs at the last blackjack table by the exit.