Page 6 of Silent Schemes

She never looks up at me, not directly.

But the way her body shifts, her chin angles, tells me she’s tracking every step I take.

Shit’s tense, whether its sexual attraction, or deadly chemistry.

I step closer, just to see if she’ll flinch.

She doesn’t.

When her chips run low, she pouts.

For a moment, I’m distracted by the perfect shape of her lips.

I wonder what it would be like to ruin her.

To destroy her.

Instead, I watch.

A little performance for the table.

The man on her right, some overfed city councilman, slides a stack of his own chips her way.

She grins, thanks him with a touch on the arm, then doubles down and wins it all back.

He doesn’t even realize he’s being robbed.

I move to the bar and order a whiskey, neat.

The bartender pours it with shaking hands, his eyes never quite meeting mine.

I like this place.

The people know their place.

A waitress glides by with a tray of shots.

She’s new, which means someone’s expecting trouble.

I log that away, too.

The twins from earlier are gone, replaced by a pair of Bulgarians who watch everything but pretend to care only for their cards.

One is left-handed and has a military haircut.

The other is missing a tooth.

They’re probably not here for me, but I never assume.

I finish the whiskey in one drag, set the glass down, and walk toward Sienna’s table.

Her smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes flicker, just once, to the empty chair across from her.

Invitation. Challenge.

I take it.

The old man next to her coughs, clears his throat, and tries to stare me down.