The Baby Gamble (Texas Hold'em)

With strength that came from someplace deep inside him, from the source of all power, he struck out at the chains that bound him, the thugs who, right then, were dragging him God knew where.

He couldn’t see. All was black. There was something over his head, suffocating him.

His skin burned. His throat burned. Oh, God, he couldn’t save himself. He’d promised Annie, and now he was being dragged like a sack of garbage, and he couldn’t stop them. His arms were jerked behind him, his wrists cuffed. Pain seared through his shoulder sockets, his collarbone. A blow to the chest and all he knew was red-hot agony.

No! He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He tried again and again. Needed someone to see him. To see what was happening to him. To give him just a chance at saving himself.

Another blow—to the stomach. More pain. He was going to puke…

“Blake…”

They knew his name. How in the hell did they know his name? He’d been held captive in a hellhole for four years and had never once heard his name spoken.

“Blake?” Another hand on him, on his shoulder, gripping him. He swung with enough force to break the bonds holding him, to bust the cuffs right off his wrists. The pain of their letting loose tore into his skin, burning. Always burning. He swung again. Connected. To flesh. Thank God.

He could hit. Blow after blow flew from him. Hitting air, but at least they’d let go of him.

“Blake. Come on, man. Calm down. Becky’s on her way over. And Annie, too. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay….”

The voice continued to talk to him as he fought. Almost continuously mentioning Annie. How she was driving her car instead of riding her bike. She’d be here in moments.

They were bringing Annie. It was a lie. Another cruel taunt. Another bit of manipulation meant to make him beg. To howl with misery. They took pleasure in making him cry.

They knew about Annie.

How could they know about Annie?

He had to stop. To think. If they touched him again, he’d fight some more. He was ready. Shaking, he held his arms out, waiting. Thinking. Always trying to think. To outthink. To maintain ownership of his own thoughts, rather than falling prey to theirs.

“Where is he?”

They had a tape of Annie’s voice? No, wait. He was sitting on something soft. And had clothes. He was wearing long pants.

“Blake?” Annie’s voice was beside him. He was hearing things again. For so many years he’d heard that voice, only to open his eyes and find himself alone in a cramped and cold cement hole. If he looked at himself, he’d see his naked torso, the too skinny legs and scabbed stomach—the unhealed sores from lying on the cold cement. He’d see bare feet—and on good days, a torn, dirty cloth covering his loins.

If he opened his eyes.

Shivering, Blake lay there, willing Annie’s voice to continue. Every second he could hold on to the sound of her was one less second of hell. Not daring to move, knowing that even the slightest motion would bring back the cold, hard floor, he remained inert. A skill he’d perfected during his captivity.

“Blake?”

Her voice again. Her sweet voice. If he could just hang on to it long enough to fall asleep…

The loud noise jerked him upright. A gunshot? Had they shot someone else? Like a game of Russian roulette, their captors had arbitrarily chosen members of their group to execute. The dead would be paraded past every hole, every captive made to look, knowing that he might be next.

“Hey, Blake, it’s Becky. How you doing?”

Becky? That was a new one. Becky who? The only Becky he knew was Annie’s friend. Had they taken her, too?

“I’m just going to touch your hand, Blake.” The voice came again. “Just to feel your pulse. Can I do that?”

They knew damn well, no matter what voice they used, that they could do anything they pleased with him. He was their property. Their toy. They could strip him naked, lay him out spread-eagled on a table, tie his hands and legs, shine a bright light on his body and laugh at him.

He waited, closing his mind off, only half wondering what means of humiliation they’d use this time.

“Talk to him, Annie.”

“I’m here, Blake. Becky’s going to feel your pulse, okay?”