Conceal

Thank God that idiot dropped his wallet because as I weave through the dark streets lined by trees and nothing else, I realize getting stranded here would have been awful.

I’d most certainly be in trouble. A large part of me knows I should feel bad about stealing, but since I’ll never see that man again, I don’t dwell on it.

With everything going on in my life, stealing—or “finding”—money is the least of my problems.

Chapter Five

Jaxson

I’m early, again. Not something that happens often, but since I’m trying to be taken seriously, it’s becoming an annoying habit of mine.

Now I’m here at what I’m sure is Cyrus Reed’s place, or one of his properties, ready to play poker.

With my work taking over my whole life and whatnot, I haven’t played in a while. It’s been even longer since I’ve been in a game with a one-hundred-thousand-dollar buy-in. It’s a hefty price to pay, but poker is a game of skill, and I have that in spades.

As I sit in a chair in the corner of the room, waiting for the rest of the players to show up, I see a woman with dark hair walk by.

She reminds me of the gorgeous woman at the gas station. The one I caught staring at me.

I was a complete dick . . . but usually that works for me.

Apparently, she didn’t agree. The woman in front of me can’t be her, though. She’s wearing a skintight black dress that shows off her every curve. She’s also holding a drink in her hand and walking up to Cyrus.

When she turns, our gazes lock, and she stumbles. Actually, she almost falls forward in her heels.

She’s quick to right herself.

It is her.

I’m one hundred percent positive she’s the girl from the gas station, and when she notices me, she looks as if she’s seen a ghost. I’m about to stand and go up to her, another waitress appears in front of me. The same one who previously took my drink order.

Don Julio 1942. I accept the drink and pull out my wallet. I remove the cash and start thumbing through it, looking for the fifty to give her.

Drinks might be free, but I tip well. Since I don’t have chips yet, cash will have to do for this round.

I move to stand and reach into my pocket.

That’s odd.

I could have sworn I broke a hundred and had a fifty.

But now it’s gone.

Grabbing two twenties, I place the bills on her tray. It’s not exactly what I wanted to give her, but it will have to do.

Sitting back down, I lift the tequila to my mouth. The liquid pours down my throat while I try to remember where I put it. I had it when I left the city.

I didn’t go anywhere but here.

No.

That’s not true.

I went to the gas station. I dropped my wallet, but all my shit was in it when I found it next to my pump. I had my money, dropped my wallet, and now it’s gone . . .

A crazy thought pops in my brain. More like a look, or rather a lack thereof. The way the waitress refused to look at me in the convenience store.

It almost appeared as if she was caught.

Because she was.

Not only did she find my wallet but . . . she also took money from it. Then she returned it and tried to pretend it never happened.

That’s why she was scared when she saw me again. Because she stole from me . . .

Interesting.

A million things that I want to say to her play out in my mind. First, I want to call her out on it, and then . . . what then?

Before I approach her, I need to think. I need to formulate my plan. But before I can, Cyrus Reed is standing in front of me along with my buddy Trent.

The Devil came out to play, bargaining lives for a price, sending those to hell who crossed him.

I stand from my seat to greet him.

“Jax, this is Cyrus Reed. He’s the host of tonight’s game,” Trent introduces.

I extend my hand, and we shake.

“Thank you for having me,” I respond.

“Pleasure is all mine.” His voice holds no warmth or sincerity. It’s ice water on a snowy day.

“We have a mutual acquaintance. My brother, Grayson, is marrying your cousin’s daughter,” I say.

“That she is.” He doesn’t say more, just nods before he looks down at his phone that must be ringing. “Gentlemen. Enjoy the game. I have to take this.” And then he walks away.

“A man of many words,” I say to Trent.

“Scary as fuck, if you ask me.” He laughs.

“Then why play in his game?” Other than the obvious fact, Trent loves trouble.

“Because it’s the best. Not only for money but for connections. Everyone who is anyone plays. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you or your brother here before at a game.”