Chapter 8
T raffic crawled past, red brake lights bleeding through the Mercedes’ tinted windows. Reuben counted the passing cars with his fingers. It was a habit he’d developed during these pre-game meetings with Nikon.
“You’re going to leave marks.” He tilted his head, exposing more of his neck to Nikon’s mouth.
“Good.” The word vibrated against his skin. “Let him see them.”
“Territorial much?” But Reuben’s hands were already slipping inside Nikon’s jacket. “I thought the point was for him to think I’m available to recruit.”
“Available to recruit.” Nikon pulled back, eyes dark. “ Not to fuck.”
“Such a romantic.” Reuben’s laugh was fond, exasperated. The kind of laugh he reserved for moments like these when they were alone. “Is that why you insist on dropping me off every night I come to play here?”
“No.” Nikon’s hand slid to his throat, then paused, his grip deliberately gentler than it would have been months ago. “I insisted because you’re mine.”
Reuben’s pulse jumped against Nikon’s palm in time with the twitch of his own manhood down below as he leaned into the touch.
“I think I’m close to...” Reuben started, but Nikon’s grip tightened playfully.
“To coming? Just from my hand?” Nikon’s voice was low and teasing. “I know I’m good, but...”
Reuben rolled his eyes with a laugh. “No, you egomaniac. I meant with Dmitrii. He’s been more attentive lately. Not just the flirting. He’s sharing things. Personal things.”
Nikon’s grip shifted from playful to serious. “About?”
“You, actually.” Reuben traced the line of Nikon’s jaw with his free hand. “Apparently, he said you used to work your way through quite a few beds before I came along.”
“Did he now?” The words came out soft, dangerous.
“Mmhmm.” Heat pooled in Reuben’s groin at Nikon’s tone. “But it seems you’ve settled down recently.”
The tension broke. Nikon’s laugh was low and rich, his hand sliding from Reuben’s throat to cup his face. “ Very recently.”
Their lips met, and for a moment, the mission faded. No Dmitrii, no poker games, no carefully crafted deceptions. Just the lingering taste of black coffee and mint from Nikon’s preferred gum, and the scratch of his stubble against Reuben’s chin.
A car horn blared outside, shattering the moment. Reuben pulled back, chest heaving. “I should go. Can’t be late.”
“You should get out here.” Nikon’s thumb traced his lower lip. “We’re a block away from the club. Can’t have my car seen anywhere near it.”
Reuben checked his watch—ten minutes until the game. His fingers lingered on the door handle as Nikon’s hand fell away. The warmth between them cooled, replaced by the reality of what lay ahead. Time to become someone else. Someone who might be tempted by Dmitrii’s offers of freedom and power.
“And if he touches you...” Nikon’s fingers curled into a fist against Reuben’s thigh, his jaw tightening until a muscle ticked beneath his skin.
“You’ll kill him.” Reuben smoothed Nikon’s jacket, a gesture that had become familiar - comfortable even. The memory of his fear of such casual violence from months ago felt distant now. “I know. Though next time you might want to leave some hickeys where they won’t show. These—” He gestured to his neck, “—might be a bit too obvious for someone supposedly considering switching sides.”
The walk to Dmitrii’s club gave Reuben time to settle into his role. He let his fingers brush the marks on his neck one last time, before shoving his hands in his pockets and getting into the role he had to once again play tonight. The role of a man considering his options, not one whose skin still tingled from another man’s possessive touch.
The club’s entrance hadn’t changed in three weeks; same brass handles polished to a mirror shine, same doorman with the perpetual scowl. But what had changed was how they treated him.
“Mr. Hoyt.” The doorman inclined his head. No ID check needed. “Mr. Miroslav mentioned you’d be joining us again tonight.”
Inside, the main gaming floor thrummed with the low murmur of voices and the soft click of chips. Dark wood paneling absorbed the amber glow from recessed lights, while vape smoke gathered in lazy spirals above the green-felt poker tables. Waitresses in black cocktail dresses navigated the maze of chairs and players, their heels silent on the thick carpet.
A perfectly legitimate front for the real business conducted upstairs.
Reuben noted the regulars as he passed. James Donovan was here tonight, at his now usual blackjack table, down at least a hundred grand, judging by his loosened tie. The Williams brothers, who always played together and always lost exactly the same amount. And there, at the high-stakes room entrance, Roman the dealer, watching him with calculating eyes.
“You’re early tonight.” Roman’s Russian accent thickened when he was nervous. “Boss is waiting upstairs.”
Interesting. Roman kept rubbing his thumb against his finger more and more this past week. This matched up with more of Andrey’s men showing up at the club. That same week, Nikon reported weapons going missing. And Andrey’s friends started betting bigger than ever.
“Good crowd tonight.” Reuben gestured at the floor below. “The usual suspects are all here.”
“Yes, yes. Very good night for business. All kinds of business.”
Roman’s thumb kept moving against his finger. Reuben nodded, kept his expression mild, even as he cataloged every nervous tic and sidelong glance.
The private poker room upstairs felt different tonight. The usual players were there; the oligarch who always sat with his back to the wall, and the New York banker who never bet on the river unless he had the nuts. But the buy-ins had doubled, and Reuben recognized three of Andrey’s lieutenants among the new faces.
“Ah, there he is.” Dmitrii’s voice carried across the room, smooth as aged whiskey and all false charm. His eyes tracked Reuben with the same obsessive attention he’d shown for three weeks straight. “Our talented young friend.”
Reuben turned, allowing himself the small smile that weeks ago would have been forced. Amazing how quickly one could adapt to dancing with devils.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” Dmitrii stood too close, as always. His hand landed on Reuben’s shoulder, fingers brushing the spot where Nikon’s marks lay hidden beneath his collar.
Time to play his part. Reuben didn’t flinch away from the touch, even as his skin crawled. “Traffic was hell tonight.”
“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble getting here.” Dmitrii’s hand remained on his shoulder, thumb tracing small circles. “But I’m guessing an employer can be rather protective of his assets.”
The double meaning wasn’t subtle. Reuben shrugged, a careful display of mild discomfort. “Nikon has his reasons.”
“I’m sure he does.” Dmitrii’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But the question is whether those reasons align with your own ambitions.”
Before Reuben could respond, movement at the main game caught his attention. One of Andrey’s men — Yuri, if Reuben remembered correctly? — was stacking poker chips with obsessive attention to detail. The amount seemed excessive for the usual game.
“Just a quick heads up. We’ve raised the stakes tonight.” Dmitrii guided him toward the table, hand sliding from shoulder to lower back. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”
The stakes weren’t just monetary. Every player at the table represented a piece of a larger puzzle, one that had been assembling itself in Reuben’s mind over weeks of observation. The Williams brothers’ consistent losses. Roman’s increasing nervousness. And Andrey’s men showing up with suspicious amounts of cash.
“No problem at all.” Reuben took his seat, noting how Yuri’s eyes tracked every movement. “Though I hope everyone’s prepared to lose.”
The first few hands played out normally enough. Reuben folded most, played small pots when he had a position. But his attention wasn’t on the cards—it was on the patterns emerging around him.
Yuri bet aggressively whenever the New York banker entered a pot. The Williams brothers folded to any significant action from Andrey’s other lieutenants. Roman’s deals seemed to favor certain players on certain hands, his thumb-rubbing tell more pronounced each time.
“You seem distracted tonight.” Dmitrii had positioned himself behind Reuben’s chair, close enough that his words carried to no one else. “Something on your mind?”
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. The money wasn’t moving randomly; Andrey, Nikon’s own brother, was laundering funds through specific players.
First came the pattern with the Williams brothers - their losses too exact, too coordinated. Then Roman’s tells grew more pronounced with each specific player combination. Finally, watching Andrey’s men move their chips meticulously like a banker counting bills, the last piece settled into place.
This wasn’t random gambling. This was a carefully orchestrated dance of money laundering, and Roman’s increasing anxiety suggested the operation had recently expanded beyond its original scope.
“Just thinking about what you said last time.” Reuben pitched his voice, low and intimate. “About freedom and autonomy.”
Dmitrii’s hand returned to his shoulder, squeezing. “And what conclusions have you drawn?”
“That there’s always more to the game than what’s on the table.”
A soft laugh. “Very good. You’re learning.”
Yes, Reuben was learning. Learning that Andrey wasn’t just selling out his family’s weapons shipments—he was using Dmitrii’s poker room to move the profits.
As the night wore on, each hand adding another layer to Reuben’s understanding. Money flowed through the table in predictable patterns; Andrey’s men losing to specific players, who then lost to others in an elaborate dance of seemingly random gambling.
“Another drink?” Dmitrii’s fingers brushed Reuben’s neck, right over Nikon’s hidden bites. It was a deliberate gesture, once again testing Reuben’s personal boundaries.
“I should keep a clear head.” Reuben forced himself not to tense at the touch. “Especially with the stakes this high.”
“Wise choice.” Dmitrii didn’t move away. His voice softened, taking on the warm tone he reserved for his most valued guests. “You play everything so carefully, don’t you? I’d love to see what happens when you finally let loose.”
Reuben allowed himself to glance up, meeting Dmitrii’s gaze for a fraction too long before looking away. Let Dmitrii think his charm was working on him.
Three more hands passed. The first hand: Roman’s fingers drummed against the deck.
The second hand: Williams checked his phone again, the third time in ten minutes.
The next hand: Yuri’s chip-stacking took on a focused urgency.
Each tell, each nervous tic, added another line to the map forming in Reuben’s mind.
They were all nervous. Something bigger than usual was happening.
Roman’s anxiety, in particular, had a different quality tonight. It seemed less about the usual rigged games and more about the whatever Andrey had entangled him in.
Reuben folded another hand, watching the money move. Each transfer followed the same pattern; Andrey’s cash filtered through multiple players, eventually landing with the New York banker.
Clean money, ready for transfer.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Nikon’s message was brief: “Time to go.”
Perfect timing. He had what he needed.
“Cashing out already?” Dmitrii’s disappointment seemed real. “The evening’s barely started.”
“Early start tomorrow.” Reuben stacked his chips, deliberately letting his fingers brush Dmitrii’s as he handed them over. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“Have you now?” Dmitrii stepped closer, blocking the view from the table. “And what thoughts have you had?”
“That maybe we should continue this conversation somewhere more private.” Reuben held his gaze. “Another time.”
Dmitrii’s smile was lethal in its charm. “I look forward to it.”
Twenty minutes after cashing in his chips, Reuben stepped outside and took a deep breath, letting the fresh air wash away the stale poker room atmosphere. His head was clearer now. Now, two blocks away from Dmitrii’s carefully crafted deceptions, he was finally able to process what he’d discovered.
He had the proof now. Andrey wasn’t just betraying the family. He was using Dmitrii’s operation to hide the evidence.
Another text lit up his phone: “Car’s waiting.”
Reuben smiled. Time to go home to the devil he knew, the one whose demanding touches didn’t make his skin crawl. The one who, despite everything, he trusted.
The Mercedes idled in the same spot as before, a dark outline against the neon-lit street. As Reuben slid into the passenger seat, Nikon’s hand found his thigh.
“Well?”
Reuben traced the outline of Nikon’s hand on his leg, considering how to explain that Andrey’s betrayal ran deeper than anyone had imagined. “The game’s bigger than we thought. Much bigger.”