“The refrigerator speaks.” He fished the deck out of his pocket. Soon, his hands and cards were flying all over the place in what was unnecessary grandiose shuffling. He was obviously pleased with himself and seemed like the type of guy who looked for any chance to show off. “The fuck do you think?”
“Ronin...” Repo grabbed my shoulder.
I brushed his hand off and took his seat across from Lucky. “I think you know your dynamo shuffle and a few dainty flourishes, but you haven't answered my question. Can you actually play, or are you just incredibly skilled at hand jobs?”
Lucky frowned. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. “What's your game?”
“Poker. Any way you like,” I casually replied, stemming a rising anger.
The fancy dressed fat man cautiously, but stubbornly, protested. “Mr. Hayes, the girls—”
“Can fucking wait,” Lucky barked, shuffling the cards back and forth, eying me in the silent room. “What are we playing for?”
Glancing at the girls, I considered the redhead again. For a split second she lifted her chin. She met my eyes, and I saw how gray hers were. Like storm clouds that wanted to drown me in rain.
“That girl,” I said, “In the big coat.” It was an easy choice.
“That's... an expensive ante,” Lucky said. He wasn't wrong. Buyers paid a premium for innocence. The rest of the girls had some miles on them, but not her. She had clear skin and hair. Sure she was high, yeah, they all were, but she didn't wear junkie as well as the others. Of all the girls, winning her would sting Lucky the most.
I convinced myself that was the whole reason I chose her.
“What's in it for me?” Lucky asked.
“My bike.”
“Goddammit, Ronin!” Repo protested.
“Girl like her is worth thirty thousand. I want both bikes.”
“Nope, I'm leaving,” Repo said. “You're on your own, Ronin. Try not to get yourself killed.” He pulled out his phone, no doubt to call Remy, and left the brothel.
Lucky chuckled. “Looks like you're going to have to pick something else.”
I shook my head, peering over my shoulder like I could see my vehicle through the wall. “My bike is fully loaded, valued at over twenty-thousand and I’m a nomad. If you win, I'm not just out a bike, but a club membership.” My teeth flashed. “Can't be in a motorcycle club without a motorcycle.”
Lucky thought on it and smiled. “Okay, but we're playing Blackjack instead. Two out of three.”
Blackjack, to me, was probably the game that was the hardest to manipulate. There was little in the way of long game tactics. In one or two hands it was hard to bluff or even gauge your opponent.
I was up for the challenge. I lifted my eyebrows in an expression that said to bring it on.
This was the closest I’d ever been to wagering my life on a game. Without my bike, I was nothing. And for what, some girl I'd never met? Or because my pride wouldn't let me walk away without hurting this guy?
Funny... riding over here today, I thought this assignment was going to be dull.
“Bring her in.” Lucky waved his guys over. There was no more reason to keep them hidden, I was outnumbered and alone. One of his bikers grabbed the prize by her hair and roughly pulled her into the room. “What's your name, bitch?”
“Screw you!” she blurted out, wobbling on her feet and scratching at the hands that held her.
“Alright! We got ourselves a lively one here! Those are my favorite.” Lucky snorted, then the mirth fled from his tone as he leaned in to taunt me. “After I take your bike, I think I'm going to bring her outside, bend her over your seat and... test the merchandise.”
I didn't flinch. “You going to deal at some point?”
“Did I strike a nerve?” Lucky asked, feigning innocence. He dealt the cards out onto the small table between us.
My smile was brazen. “I'll let you know when you do.”
In Blackjack, the goal is to get your hand's value as close to twenty-one as possible without busting by going over. I typically held at sixteen or seventeen if possible and tried to bluff my opponent into playing more cards.
Tapping his cards, Lucky asked, “You know why they call me Lucky?”
“I'm guessing it's because they can't call you handsome. Deal.”
The first game was over in a heartbeat. I'd lost by two points. It was almost like he could see my cards. I wasn't a sore loser, but something seemed very off about all this.
That's when I felt the slight scratches on the back corner of my cards. This motherfucker was playing with a marked deck, that's why he was so boastful! For all his gambling renown, Lucky was just another cheating thug.