I push all that shit aside.
I’m here now.
Living the dream.
Everyone at the table is holding their breath, or maybe just me. I have no idea if I can pull this off, and the suspense in the air is palpable.
The giant stack of chips in the center is holding 90 percent of the money I arrived with. I think about tapping my knuckles on the gold felt. I don’t. I wonder if I should fold. I don’t. I consider doing something certifiably insane. I might.
It’s not a bluff if you can back it up—and I almost can.
Almost.
I quickly allow my eyes to trace the perimeter of the table to see who still has cards. The Texan is out. Good. The movie star too. Great. The real-estate tycoon as well. Fantastic.
Not many sharks left in the game.
Looks like insanity it is.
Without another thought, another breath, another twitch of my eye, I announce, “Call!”
Everyone looks at me in shock.
“Call?” several players echo in bewilderment.
“Yes,” I say in a much stronger voice than I thought I had left in me.
One by one, the remaining players push their cards toward the dealer.
Fucking hell, I did it.
I fucking did it.
The dealer pushes the winning pot in my direction.
Setting my cards face up on the table, I stare down at all the chips in awe.
I should quit right now.
Walk away and head to some exotic place where the women are plenty and the drinks never end.
But with over one million dollars’ worth of chips in front of me, there’s no stopping me now. Yesterday, had I walked away, I’d have had two million. The day before that, I was broke. And the day before that, I was up three million. Tomorrow it might be four. The next day five.
You never know.
By the time I leave here, my fucked-up life might just have turned around. Who knows, I might do better than a house in the Hamptons. I might just be able to buy my own island, where I can lie in a lounge with girls in bikinis fanning me and feeding me grapes, ready to fuck with a simple curl of my finger. Screw the king of Wall Street—I could be king of the world.
All or nothing.
It’s all or nothing.
Chairs move; players leave; new players arrive; I stay put. Over the buzz of chatter comes the dealer’s booming voice, “Place your bets!”
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I’m more than ready for this.
Just as I’m about to pick up one of the giant stacks of chips in front of me, my biggest bet yet, a dark shadow looms over me.
“He’s out.”
The voice of the person is so close it makes me think he is proclaiming I’m the one that is out. I ignore it and take hold of my chips. Just as I’m about to toss them into the center, a hand grabs onto my arm.
“He’s out,” the voice repeats.
“What the fuck—?” Wheeling around with my arm in swinging motion, I’m about to clock this asshole when he grabs my arm again in midair.
The move is so familiar I don’t even have to look at his face to know who it is. There’s only one guy who knows me well enough to know I might rake with my right but I swing with my left, who’s fast enough to catch me, and who’s stupid enough to try.
“What is your problem?” I bark.
The glare he gives me reminds me of days gone by. I guess it is the wrong question to ask since it’s obviously me. “You. Everyone has been worried about you.”
That piques my interest. “They don’t need to be.”
“Well, they are.”
“You’re boring me with all the concern shit.”
“Then let me get to the point. It’s time for you to leave,” he hisses through gritted teeth.
My fingers spread and my hands are lowering as if to calm him down. “Whoa, man, chill,” I counter as I look into the eyes of Camden Waters. Cam has been my best friend since, well, maybe since I was born, and right now he doesn’t look any too happy about it.
He narrows his steel-gray eyes at me and then lifts the dark aviators from my face. “I’m serious. We need to talk.”
I check out his suit, his shirt, those shiny shoes. Then I reach and pull on the red tie. “Nice threads. I haven’t seen you dress like this since your brother’s funeral.”
Okay, that was way out of line. “Sorry, man, that was uncalled for.”
Cam shakes his head at me. “You can be a real asshole.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, man, you know me.”
Cam glares at me and then lets his eyes scan my attire. Black jeans, more on the dirty side than grunge, a very well-worn white button-down, and the Adidas that I normally only wear for running. Since I left Wall Street, I’m not even sure I’ve changed my clothes. “Now!” he snaps.