Page 3 of Wild Card (Foster Bro Code #2)

Axel

I threw back a shot of tequila and grimaced as it burned a trail all the way to my gut. “Ugh, this cheap shit is the worst.”

“Best profit, though,” Jett said, eyes gleaming as he surveyed the piles of cash on the poker tables—guys trading it back and forth as they won and lost at cards, trash-talking, swearing, sometimes threatening one another.

That money wasn’t ours. To the victor went the spoils and all. We made our cash on the price of admission, along with liquor sales.

A guy won more cash? He bought rounds of celebratory drinks. A guy lost more cash? He drank away his regrets.

We couldn’t lose.

Fox stood up. “I’m out of money. Shit. That went too damn fast.”

Jett rubbed his hands together. “That’s my cue. Time to go run this table.”

He took Fox’s chair with a predatory smile. “Deal me in.”

Jett was a hell of a card shark. Everyone knew it, too.

Rick stood up and went to the other table, grabbing a chair that had just been vacated by someone else who blew their wad too soon.

Faith tossed down her cards. “Shoot, I’m down to my last few dollars as it is. You’ll wipe me out.”

Jett smirked. “Sorry, darlin’. I play to win.”

She fingered her cards suggestively. “Well, maybe we could both win if you spot me some cash now and I repay you later?”

It was clear from her tone that she wasn’t going to be paying him back in dollar bills.

Jett’s gaze flickered over her body. “Tempting.”

“Faith, you know we don’t do IOUs,” I called.

Jett hadn’t met a boundary he wouldn’t cross, but I didn’t want her using sex as currency. If we let her do it once, she’d be working these tables over every chance she got.

“It’s not an IOU. It’s an exchange of goods,” she said. “You do that all the time.”

“Are you a prostitute now?”

Her face reddened. “Fuck you.”

I smiled sweetly. “Been there, done that. Don’t you know that a product loses its value when it becomes too easily accessible?”

She shoved back from the table. “You’re an asshole!”

Jett laughed as she stormed off, shaking his head. “You’re never getting between those legs again.”

From across the room, Ruby smiled at me. “He’s got better offers, anyway.”

Shit, she was kidding herself if she thought I was going home with her. Even if I didn’t avoid repeats, tonight I was craving something a little more…masculine.

Fox came over to the bar. “I need a drink. Damn it. I’ve got rent due at the tattoo parlor too. Cyrus is gonna kick my ass.”

See? Drinking away his regrets.

I poured two fingers of the Jack I’d seen him favoring earlier. He scrounged up a five-dollar bill from his pocket, but I waved him off. “This one’s on the house.”

“So generous of you to spot me after I lost all my damn money to that asshole calling himself Ace.” He rolled his eyes. “Guy probably shits in a golden toilet.”

I chuckled. “He likes to pretend he’s hot shit, but he loses more money than he ever takes out of here. Why do you think we let him play?”

Fox threw back his drink. “I must really be shit at cards, then.”

“Eh, you had a run of bad luck. It happens.”

He set down his glass. “Really couldn’t afford to. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

He cast one lingering look at the cash littering the tables, then turned to go.

I grabbed his arm. “Hold up.”

His biceps flexed under my palm, and I let my gaze skate over his lean frame. Fox was pretty hot, his ginger hair and sharp features suiting his name.

My mind conjured up brown eyes simmering with distrust, then an ugly uniform and sheriff’s office badge. Yeah, I was one sick puppy when I had a hot guy in front of me and all I could picture was the deputy who’d just as soon thrown me in jail as fuck me.

Even if he did watch my every move like a man dying for a taste.

“What?” Fox asked, glancing down at my hand.

“I could maybe help you out.” I slid my hand down his arm suggestively. “One favor for another?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What about your better offer across the room?”

“I’m in the mood for something else tonight.”

He stared at me, conflicted. “Didn’t you just tell Faith no IOUs?”

My lips quirked. “Why make the rules if you can’t break them?”

He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m flattered, but, uh… I’m kinda seeing a guy right now.”

“All right, no worries. I’ve got another proposition for you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, guarded now. “Yeah? What can I possibly offer you?”

“Ink.”

“But Angel is your artist.”

“Yeah, but I had Emory draw a design for me, and it’s much more suited to your style.”

I tugged up my shirt to show him the open spot over my ribs. Fox’s gaze heated as he stared at my abs and lats—or maybe it was the ink covering damn near every inch that turned him on.

“Damn, no wonder I caught Angel sucking your dick on her table at work.”

I snorted with amusement. I’d forgotten about that. The endorphin rush had gotten me hard as fuck, and Angel had decided to give in to the obvious attraction between us.

“She couldn’t resist testing out my Prince Albert,” I said.

“Fuck,” Fox whispered, biting down on his bottom lip. “You just had to wait until I was unavailable to offer.”

I dropped my shirt with a chuckle. “Sorry, man. What do you think? Ink for cash? It’s basically just an advance.”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Angel’s likely to kick my ass for poaching you, but I’m desperate.”

“She knows she’ll always be my favorite.” I pulled out a wad of cash from the bar till and handed him two hundreds. “Don’t lose this.”

He shifted, gaze drifting over to the table where Jett was cleaning up. “How do I guarantee that?”

“I’m going to do you another favor,” I said, winking. “You know, just in case you ever break up with that man of yours.”

He groaned. “He better suck my dick so good tonight.”

“He damn sure better.” I nodded toward the far table. “Ryan always over-bets. If he hits the pot big, he never has shit.”

Fox’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, and Clay folds every time someone raises him on a bet. You should push him to folding, wait for Ryan to go big, and you’ll be golden.”

“What about the other two?”

“They can’t play for shit. You’ll be fine.”

His lips quirked in a half smile. “Guess if this works out, I’ll owe you.”

“Just don’t tell anyone about this. Jett will kick my ass.”

“You got it. Thanks, man.”

I gave him a push, sending him on his way.

Jett caught my eye with a smirk. “Make a round of shots for these losers, huh? My treat.”

The players at his table glowered, and I noticed a new guy, a big-ass dude with a bad haircut, clenching his fist at his side.

Introducing more liquor to this situation might not help frayed tempers. I picked up the liquor bottle and started pouring with a feral grin.

A good fight was almost as good as a fuck.

And no one came here for nice, orderly gambling. They could drive to a casino and join the old folks for that.

I delivered the drinks. Despite their glares, each player drank up. He ordered another round.

They kept drinking, and Jett kept cleaning up.

Finally, the big guy had had enough.

“You’re fucking cheating!”

“Nope. I just know how to play, and you, my friend, have the shittiest poker face I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck you.” He pointed at me. “He’s looking at our cards when he brings drinks.”

“I’m really not,” I said calmly. “Everyone knows Jett is tough to beat.”

“Bullshit. Give me my money back.”

Jett’s eyes hardened. “It’s my money now.”

“Then I’ll just have to take it back.”

He grabbed the edge of the table and flipped the fucker toward Jett. A cry went up as Tara hit the floor, and a table leg caught Shaun on the shoulder.

Ouch . Shaun was already a shrimp, so that was most definitely going to leave a mark.

Jett was faster than either of them, leaping from his chair, eyes wild. “Let’s go, fucker!”

His excitement cut through the big dude’s rage. He faltered, brow creasing. He didn’t know that Jett was a crazy motherfucker who lived for chaos.

We both did, or we wouldn’t be doing this shit.

Plus, we had an ace up our sleeves that he didn’t know about. Sully was a beast who’d clean up any mess when we called him.

But first, I’d let Jett have his fun.

He dove into the fight with a crazed whoop, kicking the big fucker’s knee. The man howled with pain and fury as his leg buckled. He went down swinging, though, a meaty fist slamming into Jett’s ribs.

Jett doubled over, wheezing. “Shit, fuck, sonuvabitch! Now I’m really pissed.”

He straightened, eyes bright with the rush of adrenaline. He looked almost happy, but then, Jett always had been a thrill-seeker.

The big dude clambered back to his feet, but his leg still wasn’t steady. He stumbled into Shaun, who had just gotten up after the table assaulted him.

Shaun might be a little fucker, but he didn’t shy from a fight.

“Asshole!” he growled, tackling the big dude from the side, diving against his hip with all his body weight. With the weak knee the dude already had, his size didn’t hold up against Shaun’s momentum.

He staggered to the left at the same time Jett rushed forward, swinging. His punch missed the target, catching Ace in the ear instead.

“Ooh!” someone exclaimed behind me. “That’s gonna hurt!”

Ace swore loudly as he charged into the fray, looking for some payback.

Now, we had the makings of a full-out brawl.

Tara crawled out from the mass of stomping feet, grabbing up what cash she could, before she made tracks for the door. She’d always been a smart cookie. The other table had all stopped playing, staring at the madness overtaking the room.

Ruby ran up to me, clinging to my arm. “You have to stop this! My dad’s warehouse?—”

“He can file an insurance claim.”

“No, Axel! What if he finds out you all got in with a key? He’ll know it was me.”

I shook her off, more intent on keeping an eye on the cagey-looking fucker creeping up behind Jett.

She whipped out her phone. “Fine, I’m calling the cops and telling them you all kidnapped me!”

I snatched her phone and threw it across the room. She let out an unintelligible scream and slapped the shit out of me. Her palms cracked against my face and chest, the only real pain coming when one of her rings bashed my lip.

A glint of silver caught my eye over her shoulder.

I shoved her aside, ignoring her outraged insults about how I was a bastard and a son of a whore.

Someone had brought a blade to a fistfight.

“Behind you, Jett!” I called as I charged forward. Time to end this mess before we got in serious shit. Illegal gambling was one thing. Brawling, too. But I drew the line at stabbing. “Sully!”

Jett turned, distracted by my call, and took a fist to the face. Ouch.

Our doorman—a beast who was well over six feet and built like a brick shithouse—barreled into the crowd, grabbing up men by the back of their necks and throwing them aside like they were rag dolls.

“Party’s over!”

I kicked the knife away from the scrawny biker dude, and Sully shoved him toward the door so hard he went airborne, landing in a heap.

“Get the fuck out,” Sully snarled.

The room emptied real quick after that. Fox sent me a look as he passed. “Glad I’m on your good side.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

“Ax, you shit, what am I gonna do about this mess?” Ruby demanded.

I’d feel bad if she hadn’t done this kind of shit to her dad since high school. She was a spoiled party girl. Still, I handed her a hundred-dollar bill to sweeten her up.

“I’m sure he could use an extra tax write-off. He’ll never know you were here. After all, you’re a good girl. Right?”

She snatched the bill from me with a huff. “We’re not fucking after this bullshit.”

I pretended to look sad about that. “Right, well. Okay. That’s my bad luck.”

“It sure as fuck is!”

She stormed off. That was the second woman I’d sent running in one night. I might get a complex if I cared.

Jett laughed. “Damn, man, you ruined that.”

“Nothing to ruin.” I turned back to survey the mess. “Let’s get the rest of this picked up so we can divvy up our cash and get out of here.”

Sully shook his head. “Why does it always end in a fight?”

I grinned. “How else are we supposed to know when to call it a night?”

Jett laughed. “Game’s not over until someone’s got a black eye.” He poked at the swelling on his face with a grimace. “Kind of prefer it when it’s someone else, though.”

I snorted. “You fight angry giants, you get angry bruises.”

We picked up overturned tables and chairs, gathered up all the cash we’d taken in through admission, liquor sales, and the few bills that had slid under other furniture during the skirmish.

By the time we divvied it three ways, I had a nice roll to tuck into my pocket. It wasn’t going to make me rich anytime soon. We didn’t do these nights too often. That would attract too much heat.

Most of my take went to food and vet bills for my junkyard dogs, anyway.

Holden needed every penny we could squeeze out of the auto and junkyard business, and I wasn’t about to let a single animal suffer because their previous owner was an asshole.

The poker nights were a win-win. So long as we could stay off the sheriff’s radar.

Not so easy to do when Dalton was always fucking watching me.