Page 2 of Silent Schemes (Broken Blood)

“Buy-in’s two thousand,” Sienna says, her voice so sultry it makes me want to pull her esophagus from her throat and taste it.

The pit boss brings chips.

I pay in cash, stacking the chips in neat columns.

She raises an eyebrow, impressed or pretending to be.

We play.

I don’t count cards.

I don’t need to.

I win the first two hands without looking at the totals.

On the third, I throw it, just to see if she’ll take advantage.

She does, and the smile she gives me is the first real thing she’s shown all night.

After ten hands, we’re even.

The crowd is watching us now.

The table is a stage, and we’re the only ones who know it’s all theater.

“New in town?” she asks, shuffling the cards.

“No,” I say.

She laughs, low and bitter. “Didn’t think so.”

On her next win, she reaches for her purse and drops her lipstick. It rolls across the felt and lands at my side. I pick it up, feel its weight, and immediately know there’s a blade inside. Nice balance.

I hand it back. “Dangerous things, these little tubes.”

She takes it, unscrews the cap, and shows me the edge—just for a second. “Only if you open them the wrong way.”

I lean in, close enough to catch her scent, jasmine, rose, and some type of musk that makes me heady. “I never do anything the wrong way.”

Our eyes meet. Green and brown, both unblinking.

I see the moment she recognizes me.

Not just my face.

What I am.

She’s not afraid, but she is suddenly interested.

“I know who you are,” she whispers, barely loud enough for anyone but me.

“That’s the point,” I say.

She laughs again.

Real this time.

Then she shuffles the deck, hands trembling just a little.

The game is on.

The whole room feels it.

I lean back, savor the moment.

This is what I live for.

The dealer starts the next game when she waves her hand.

He knows not to speak unless spoken to, so he simply nods, dealing the next hand like nothing in the world has changed.

But everything has.

The other players at the table shift in their seats.

The city councilman wipes his brow with a handkerchief and mutters something about the air conditioning.

The pair of Bulgarians shoot glances my way and then quickly away.

Everyone feels the heat, the way a real threat distorts the whole room.

Sienna is unfazed.

At least, she plays it that way.

“Didn’t think you were the gambling type,” she says, voice flat, bored.

But her eyes measure every part of me.

I ignore the question. “You’re better at this than your father.”

She lets another laugh slip.

Another real one. “My father can’t bluff to save his life.” She flicks a card in my direction. “Can you?”

I pick up my card, look at it, and don’t bother hiding my expression.

Queen of hearts. On another night, I’d appreciate the irony.

“We’re all bluffing,” I say. “Most people just aren’t any good at it.”

The dealer sets down the river card.

King of spades.

I don’t miss the twitch of Sienna’s left eye.

“Raise,” she says, sliding a fat stack into the pot.

I match it, then double. “You sure you’re ready to play with the big boys?”

She stares at the chips, her lips curving into something dangerous. “I play to win, Mr. Bane.”

A little shiver runs around the table.

Someone coughs, another stands up, feigning a call.

The Bulgarians are suddenly gone.

It’s just us, the dealer, and the crowd of ghosts.

We play three more hands.

She wins one, I take the other two.

On the fourth, she goes all in.

“All or nothing,” she says, eyes boring into mine.

I lean forward. “You really believe there’s nothing left to lose?”

She considers that, tilting her head just so.

The move is deliberate, meant to draw my gaze to the line of her neck.

She’s good, but she’s not perfect.

Her right thumb rubs the side of her cocktail glass.

Nerves, perhaps.

The tension is so thick you could bite it in half.

She calls the bet, flips her cards.

Ace-king, both black.

A monster hand.

I turn mine over—queen and king.

She expects a loss.

But the flop is in my favor.

The dealer stares at the cards, then at me, like he’s waiting for a gun to go off.

Sienna’s expression doesn’t change, but her eyes flare, just once, then go flat.

She gathers her remaining chips, stands.

I can feel her anger, not at losing, but at being outplayed.

She stands and gathers her purse. “Dangerous game to play with me, Mr. Bane. You may have won, but you’ll never get close.”

I drop my voice to its softest register, rising to lean and whisper in her ear, the one that means I’m serious. “Closer than you think, Miss Cross.”

That’s the moment her mask slips.

Just a flicker.

Eyelids widen, breath stutters.

She knows I know.

And she’s not sure what comes next.

She recovers quickly, but it’s too late.

The opening is mine.

She straightens, smooths her dress, and says, “Until next time, King.”

She walks away, hips swinging with just enough sway to make me wonder if it’s an invitation or warning.

Probably both.

I finish the drink she left behind.

The lipstick taste is subtle, bitter.

The dealer breathes out for the first time in ten minutes.

Breathing out, my eyes narrow as she leaves.

A little spitfire.

One I intend to break.