Page 46 of Faith Among Monsters

At the center of it all, Sinclair watches me.

He’s seated at a long table, surrounded by five men who look just as relaxed, just as amused as he does. Cigar smoke coils in the air above them, mixing with the heavy scent of whiskey, sweat, and something more rotten underneath.

The table is a mess, stacks of cash, ashtrays overflowing with half-burned cigars, whiskey glasses smeared with fingerprints. A deck of cards sits in front of Sinclair, a hand already fanned out on the table.

It’s a fucking party.

It doesn’t stop when I walk in.

The only reaction is from the men nearest the monitors, one of them lets out a sharp laugh, tossing a folded wad of cash to the man beside him.

“You nailed it,” he says, grinning. “Finley’s down. Taking bets on who’s next.”

“Got a thousand says it’s that traitor Wilkes.”

My stomach clenches, but I don’t react.

They knew.

They knew Wilkes was helping Dax, and they let him walk out there anyway. Not because they didn’t care, because they wanted to watch him die.

A hand on my back presses me forward.

Priorities.

I can’t worry about Wilkes or Dax right now.

I need to worry about me.

Sinclair exhales a slow, satisfied breath and flicks his gaze toward my escort.

“Who’s dealing?” He waves a lazy hand, gesturing to the chair beside him. “Let’s up the ante. Bring her.”

I move without resisting, calculating. The guns, the exits, the way some of these men barely glance at me while others can’t stop staring. The ones watching aren’t the problem. It’s the ones who act like I’m just another chip in the pot.

That’s what I am to them. A game piece.

I step closer. Eyes on Sinclair.

When I’m within reach, his hand closes around my wrist, yanking me off balance.

He pulls me into his lap.

“Tell me, princess, you play jacks or better?” He grins, his teeth bared like a fucking predator. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m taking her first. Second go is up for grabs.”

He shifts, his hands heavy on my waist, anchoring me in place. “A thousand just to sweeten the deal.”

“I’ll see your thousand,” the man across from him says. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, eyes crawling over me like he’s already deciding what he’ll do. “Two hours with her?”

“Two, sure,” Sinclair says easily. He leans back against his chair, completely at ease. “I win, that’s four hours for me.”

The room doesn’t stop. No one hesitates.

The men around the table toss in their cash like they’re betting on a fucking horse race.

The ones not playing glance over occasionally, but none of them look surprised. None of them look like this is out of the ordinary.

It isn’t.