Page 5

R euben’s fingers moved across the stack of chips like a pianist warming up, an unconscious habit born in the past three weeks of working Nikon’s tables.

His third fourteen-hour shift this week, and somehow, he wasn’t tired. The thrill of the game was gone. Instead, it was the weight of Nikon’s gaze from the security cameras that kept him more alert than any amount of coffee.

His new apartment in upscale Hayven Heights was another reminder of how far he’d come - a far cry from counting twenty-seven steps between bed and desk in his old cramped studio.

Now he had floor-to-ceiling windows that turned the city into an abstract painting of lights, and enough space that he could pace for hours without retracing his steps. The doorman still gave him questioning looks, as if sensing he didn’t quite belong among the lawyers and tech executives who filled the other units. Maybe he didn’t.

Funny how three weeks could normalize anything, even working for Nikon. Even waking up to a view of the river instead of a water-stained ceiling.

Still, the ghost of his old life haunted him in small ways. Like now, when his hand lifted to adjust a tie he no longer wore. Nikon had fixed that particular habit with a single suggestion that left no room for debate.

‘ You look too much like a banker, ’ Nikon had said, his calloused thumb brushing against Reuben’s neck just above the starched collar. ‘ We want them to underestimate you. ’ The phantom sensation of that touch lingered longer than Reuben’s tie had.

Reuben’s phone sat dark and silent beside his chips, recently purged of all those job sites that had served up two hundred flavors of rejection. Now, his screen filled with text notifications from Nikon, instead of automated HR responses.

The transition from job hunting to playing million-dollar pots felt like stepping through a mirror - everything familiar turned strange, everything straight turned crooked. Yet still, in quiet moments, usually around 3 AM, when the adrenaline ebbed and the weight of what he was doing settled in, Reuben’s thoughts drifted to Corey. ‘ Dead? Alive? Some state in between? ’

But those questions stayed locked behind his teeth, along with others he wasn’t ready to voice, such as ‘ why did Nikon keep watching me? ’ and ‘ when did I start watching back? ’

The steady clip of poker chips hitting the felt matched Reuben’s heartbeat as he watched Benni return to the table.

Benigno—though the regulars called him Benni—was back at the table for his fourth visit this month. Same crisp suit, same perfect posture, same controlled expression that never quite reached Benni’s eyes. While the tech bros slouched and the hedge fund managers postured, Benni maintained the kind of stillness that spoke of training rather than breeding.

A waitress appeared at Benni’s elbow with his usual scotch. “Compliments of the house.” Her rehearsed smile didn’t waver when Benni’s hand brushed her ass - too long to be accidental, too brief to be obvious.

Reuben kept his face arranged in careful boredom while his mind cataloged the touch. Three weeks at these tables had taught him to distinguish between casual flirting and coded signals. While the touch might have been messaging, it was more likely just Benni showing his true colors beneath that controlled facade.

The cards whispered across the green felt. Tonight’s poker dealer - Luka - had his own rhythm as he dealt. But something about his usual rhythm changed whenever Benni played - a microsecond pause or a slight adjustment in angle.

“Raise.” Benni’s chips flew into the pot. “Twenty thousand.”

The hedge fund kid across the table - Tommy or Timmy or some other name that probably came with a trust fund - flexed his jaw. “Call.”

Reuben folded his queen-jack suited, using the motion to check his watch. Forty-two minutes since Benni’s last phone check. Right on schedule.

As if summoned by the thought, Benni’s phone appeared. His casual glance upward caught Igor crossing the room in his usual patrol pattern. Igor, Nikon’s head of security, was a mountain of a man in an expertly tailored suit. He moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew exactly how much damage he could do, exchanging a subtle nod with other staff as security rotations changed.

Reuben remembered the lessons during his first week working here. Nikon had stood close behind him, speaking softly near his ear. “ Our security guards switch places every forty-five minutes,” he’d said, his hand heavy on Reuben’s shoulder. “They overlap for three minutes. Don’t forget that. ”

The river card slid into place. Benni bet. Trust Fund Baby called. Benni showed the nuts.

Reuben’s fingers twitched toward his phone, muscle memory from his finance internship days wanting to run the numbers. But pulling out a calculator would draw attention. Instead, he tracked the patterns in his head while pretending to scroll through sports scores.

‘ Sixty-eight percent win rate on river bets with Luka dealing. ’ Reuben thought. ‘ The odds against that being luck stretches longer than my student loan debt. ’

“Another round?” The waitress set fresh drinks on the table.

Benni’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Always.”

As the waitress set down the glass on Benni’s coaster, Reuben’s eye caught a quick glance shared between Luka and Benni.

Something cold settled in Reuben’s stomach.

Reuben first noticed something odd about Benni’s play two shifts ago. Since then, he’d been watching closely, taking notes on his phone. To anyone looking, it seemed like he was just tracking poker hands.

Each hand became a data point, each betting pattern a piece of evidence. He tracked win rates, dealer rotations, and those precisely timed phone checks, building his case with the same analytical rigor that had earned him his finance degree.

“Small blind to you, Mr. Hoyt” Luka’s voice pulled Reuben back to the present game.

Reuben put his chips down for the blind bet, his thoughts still working out the odds. Numbers never lied. But he knew Nikon would need more than just numbers.

A shadow fell across Reuben’s chips. The air shifted with familiar weight. Reuben looked up to find Nikon standing over him.

“A word.”

Reuben’s chair scraped back before his brain fully processed the command. He followed the older man through the poker room, past the private gaming areas, and up to the office. Nikon didn’t look back - he didn’t need to. They both knew Reuben would follow.

The door shut softly behind them. Reuben looked around Nikon’s office, a room he’d seen before but still found mysterious. While the poker rooms below sparkled with crystal and gold, Nikon kept his private office space plain.

A massive oak desk dominated the room, its surface gleaming like dark water under the recessed lighting. Behind it sat Nikon’s only real indulgence: a high-backed leather chair that probably cost more than Reuben’s entire college education. The walls, painted a shade of grey that seemed to absorb light, held no artwork, no certificates, no photos - nothing personal at all. Just clean lines and empty space, as if Nikon preferred to keep his power understated, like a loaded gun in a velvet box.

The leather chair exhaled softly as Nikon settled behind his desk, eyes fixed on Reuben. “You’re distracted this evening.”

Reuben’s hands wanted to fidget. He locked them at his sides instead. “I’ve been watching.”

“Have you?” Nikon’s head tilted, predator-sharp. “Tell me what you see.”

The phone felt heavy in Reuben’s pocket. “May I?” He reached for it, waiting for Nikon’s nod before pulling up his notes.

“It’s Benni. He’s been here four times this month. When Luka deals, he wins over two-thirds of his river bets. He checks his phone like clockwork - every forty-two minutes, right when our security shifts change. And it’s always the same pattern: he picks certain drinks, uses certain coasters, and only plays at certain tables.”

With each detail, Nikon’s expression shifted - subtle as a poker tell, dangerous as a trap card. He rose, circling the desk with fluid grace. “And you waited to tell me because?”

Heat crawled up Reuben’s neck. Nikon stood too close, authority and power - and something darker - filling the space between them. “I needed proof. Luka’s been with you for a while. I wanted to be certain before...”

“Before accusing a trusted employee?” Nikon’s finger traced the edge of Reuben’s collar. “Loyal and thorough... You continue to surprise me, my little card shark. ”

The now familiar endearment hit like smooth whiskey - warm, dangerous, addictive. “There’s more.”

“Show me.”

Reuben’s fingers pulled up more evidence. “Benni loses hands now and then to look normal. But when you add up his wins, the numbers don’t make sense.”

“And you know this because?”

“Finance degree had to be good for something, right?”

Nikon’s laugh rumbled, low and genuine. His hand settled on Reuben’s shoulder, thumb brushing the bare skin above his shirt collar. “Watch the security feed tonight. I want you to see what happens to people who try to cheat in my rooms.”

“Yes...” Reuben’s voice caught slightly, the formal address sticking in his throat before he added, “sir.”

“Good,” Nikon’s fingers tightened briefly.

Later that night, Reuben leaned back in his chair, letting the security room’s darkness wrap around him like a heavy coat.

The security screens lit up the wall, each one showing a distinct part of Nikon’s carefully managed empire. But tonight, Reuben’s eyes stayed fixed on just one screen.

There, in stark black and white, Nikon and Luka’s confrontation unfolded like a film that no-one in their right mind would want to star in.

Nikon stalked around the interrogation room like a wolf. His suit jacket was wrinkled, his sleeves now pushed up to show muscled forearms - a reminder that he was both businessman and fighter.

Nikon circled Luka, who sat tied to a chair, his once crisp dealer’s uniform creased and sweat-stained. The refined atmosphere of the poker room upstairs felt worlds away from this concrete confession box, where Nikon conducted his darker business.

In that room, there were no bluffs, no clever bets - only the brutal currency of truth and consequence.

“How long, Luka?” Nikon’s voice echoed in the sterile room, each word a measured beat of restrained fury. He tapped the leather sap against his thigh - a steady rhythm that made Reuben’s stomach clench. Not from fear, exactly. More from guessing what would come next.

“Nikon, please, I have a family,” Luka’s voice broke. His eyes darted between the door and Nikon’s stony face.

Nikon held perfectly still, shoulders set like marble beneath his tailored suit. When he turned, his expression had smoothed into something worse than anger - a calculated emptiness. “You think I haven’t heard that before?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You thought I wouldn’t find out, Luka?”

The first strike came without warning.

Luka’s head snapped sideways when metal wrapped in leather met flesh with a sound like a ripe melon splitting.

Reuben’s gut clenched, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. His eyes tracked every movement of Nikon’s arm, the practiced efficiency of violence that should have repulsed him but instead held him transfixed.

Nikon stepped back, his breath steady, his face unreadable. He observed Luka’s pain with the detached interest of a scientist studying a lab rat. Two more strikes with the leather sap followed, each landing with surgical precision - not random bursts of rage, but carefully orchestrated pain.

Reuben watched Nikon’s face on the security screen. He looked for any sign of emotion - anger, regret, anything that might break through Nikon’s calm mask. But Nikon stayed cool and focused, like someone doing paperwork or letting an employee go. For him, violence was just another business transaction in his world, and Nikon was nothing if not thorough with his accounts.

“Who else?” Nikon’s voice still carried that particular softness that made Reuben’s stomach clench.

Luka spat blood onto the concrete floor. His loyalty, like his teeth, finally giving way. “Just Benni,” the words came tumbling out with a wet cough. “He approached me. It was Benni.”

Nikon nodded, absorbing the information. “You know I can’t let this go, Luka.”

Luka’s eyes widened, fear replacing defiance. “Nikon, I beg you... I have a family.”

“And I have a business.” Nikon stepped back, his face hardening. “You chose your loyalties, Luka. So now, you face the consequences.”

The final blow was decisive, a full stop to the grim conversation. Luka’s head dropped like a marionette with cut strings. Final. Decisive. Done.

Nikon stood over Luka, his breath misting in the cool air. His gaze found the security camera, its red light pulsing steadily in the shadows - where he knew Reuben was watching.

Reuben’s fingers tightened on the edge of the control room desk as Nikon’s eyes found the camera. That smile - predatory, knowing - sent an unwanted shiver down his spine. He told himself it was fear.

He was getting worse at lying to himself.

Reuben forced his fingers to unclench from the desk’s edge, one by one. His reflection in one of the dark monitors showed someone he barely recognized - someone who should have been disturbed by what he’d just witnessed. Instead, he felt the same kind of small thrill that came from winning a pot.

Reuben straightened his shirt, switched off the monitors, and headed for the door. If his hands trembled slightly, well, that was between him and the darkness.

Minutes later, the reassuring weight of poker chips grounded Reuben as he returned to his regular table. Benni’s absence at the game felt like a pulled tooth - a space where danger used to live. Players came and went, none noticing how the room’s rhythm had changed. None seeing how Luka had vanished between shifts, replaced by a dealer whose hands never hesitated.

Three weeks ago, watching a man beaten for information would have left Reuben shaking. Now he found himself analyzing Nikon’s technique, noting the efficiency of each strike. The realization should have disturbed him more - that maybe he was becoming someone who could watch violence with such clinical detachment.

Reuben nodded at the new dealer.

“Deal me in.”