Page 79

REIGN

"Your turn to deal, Reign,"Ben says, sliding the cards across the rough wooden table. "And make it interesting this time. These penny ante games are boring."

I gather the cards and start shuffling. "Says the man who's down forty dollars."

"Forty-three," Koda corrects in his gravelly voice. The old mountain man sits hunched over his cards, a beer bottle dwarfed by his massive hands. "Boy can't bluff worth a damn."

"I can bluff just fine," Ben protests, reaching for the bowl of pretzels. "You just read tells better than anyone."

"Everyone has tells," Marcus chimes in, settling back in his chair. "Watch a man's hands, not his face."

"Speak for yourself," Ben grins. "I've got the best poker face in Wyoming."

"That why you're losing?" I ask, dealing out the next hand.

I settle back in my chair, enjoying the familiar rhythm of cards hitting the table. Ben invited us up to his training camp for the night—thirty miles deeper into the mountains than my place, accessible only by a dirt road that would challenge most vehicles.

But that's exactly why he chose it for his fight preparation.

Complete isolation, no distractions, just him and his coach grinding out the work needed to become champion. Tonight's poker game was his idea, a chance to blow off steam before the final push toward the Thompson fight. What started as just the four of us—Ben, his coach Koda, Marcus, and me—has turned into exactly the kind of evening I needed. No business calls, no complications, just cards and bourbon and the easy conversation that comes when men who trust each other can speak freely.

Marcus is already three beers deep and telling war stories that get more elaborate with each telling. Ben matches him drink for drink, his pre-fight nerves finally starting to ease as the alcohol works its magic. Even Koda, normally stone-faced and serious, has cracked a few smiles at Marcus's increasingly ridiculous tales of our deployments.

I'm about to call Ben's bluff when headlights sweep across the cabin's front windows.

All four of us freeze, the easy atmosphere evaporating instantly. Ben's place is more remote than mine, and unexpected visitors at this hour mean trouble.

"You expecting someone?" I ask, my hand automatically moving toward the Glock under my jacket.

Ben shakes his head, but there's something in his expression that makes my blood run cold. A flash of guilt, quickly suppressed.

"Actually," he says slowly, "I might have mentioned to Gio that we were having a game tonight."

The silence that follows is deafening. Marcus sets down his beer with deliberate precision. Koda's weathered face hardens into stone. I feel every muscle in my body go rigid.

"You what?"

"I ran into him at the gym yesterday. He seemed interested when I mentioned poker night." Ben's voice carries a defensiveedge now. "Guy's my sponsor, and he's been good to me. Figured it wouldn't hurt to invite him."

The headlights outside cut through the darkness, followed by the sound of car doors slamming. Multiple doors. Vega didn't come alone.

"How many people did you invite?" Koda asks, his hand drifting toward the hunting knife always sheathed at his belt.

"Just Gio. But he might have brought security." Ben stands, moving toward the window to peer outside. "Yeah, he's got two guys with him."

Marcus and I exchange a look across the table. Three men, isolated location, no easy exit routes. If this goes sideways, we're at a serious tactical disadvantage.

"Ben," I say carefully, "next time you want to invite guests, maybe give us a heads-up."

The doorbell rings with a harsh electronic sound that seems to echo through the cabin's modest interior. Ben moves toward the door, but I catch his arm.

"Let me handle this."

I open the door to find Gio Vega standing on Ben's front porch, looking remarkably composed for someone who just drove thirty miles up a mountain road in the dark. His left arm is still in a sling from the car accident, but he's dressed like he's attending a business dinner—expensive jeans, cashmere sweater, leather jacket.

Behind him stand two men in dark suits, their eyes constantly scanning the perimeter. Professional security.

"Reign," Vega says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "What a pleasant surprise. Ben didn't mention you'd be here."