Chapter 29 – Marlowe
Chapter Twenty-Nine
MARLOWE
The break is almost over, but no one seems in a hurry to return to their tables.
Across the room, Joel and Vick are already celebrating.
Their laughter cuts through the low hum of the crowd, smug, loud, and far too confident.
Joel lights a cigar with a flourish, the tip glowing bright red before he exhales a thick cloud of smoke.
Vick clinks his glass against Joel’s, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed from too much booze and a victory he hasn’t even earned.
They’re drunk on it. Drunk on my wins and the illusion that they’re already millionaires.
Vick’s tie hangs loose, his mouth running nonstop. Joel lounges back on a plush couch, one arm draped over Taylor’s bare shoulders like she’s his personal trophy. His other hand waves his glass around as he talks.
The sharp, bitter scent of cigar smoke drifts toward me, curling around my senses, and I can’t tear my eyes away from them.
Joel catches me watching. A smug grin spreads across his face as he lifts his glass in a mocking toast. Fiery rage rips through me.
I want to wipe that smirk off his face. Make him suffer.
Feel even a fraction of what he’s put me through.
I’m the reason they’re celebrating. I did everything they asked of me.
I won, I smiled, I played their game. I gave them everything.
Every hand. Every fake laugh. Every miserable minute of this night has been me performing like a trained puppet just to keep them happy.
And for what? I still don’t know how this ends.
I don’t know if I’m walking out of here alive or if they’ll decide I’ve outlived my usefulness.
All I know is that they’re already counting their fortune while I’m drowning in fear and anger.
What if they never give me my life back?
I want to scream, to tear the room apart, to make them understand what they’ve done. No matter what, I have to make sure they give back Delilah’s money.
A figure steps up beside me, close enough for her voice to barely register above the noise. "Hey."
I glance sideways. It’s Neve—the waitress again. Her dark eyes scan my face, serious enough to make my skin prickle. “Please,” she says, keeping her voice low, “don’t fuck them over.”
“Excuse me?” I gasp.
“Damian,” she says, the name coming out quiet, like it would cost her something if anyone hears. “He’s going to lose it if this all goes south. They don’t deserve this.”
"I’m not trying to screw anyone over," I say quickly. “I’m trying to get the money back to them. That’s why I’m still at that damn table. If I win, Joel and Vick will get what they want. Damian gets his mother’s money back.” I take a shaky breath. “Everyone gets what they want.”
Neve doesn’t respond right away. She shifts, eyes locking on mine. “Yeah?” she says softly. “So…you trust them?” Her chin nods toward Joel and Vick.
I don’t answer.
Neve leans in a little closer. “If you’re playing both sides, fine. I get it. But if you think for a second Joel is going to let you walk away once you give him what he wants, you’re a fool.”
I swallow. Hard. “I’m not playing any sides,” I hiss. “I didn’t want any of this.”
She straightens, smoothing down her uniform. “Damian’s been through enough. Please don’t hurt him.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat as Neve turns away and disappears into the crowd.
Across the room, Vick downs the last of his drink, smoke curling around his face. Joel sucks at his cigar by a big open window. Taylor throws her head back, laughing hard at something he says.
If I keep winning, Joel won’t kill me. He’ll want to keep me. Neve is right, isn’t she? Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I have to do something. I can’t go back to that table and win them any more money, but do I have enough to cover what was taken from Delilah?
I set my empty plate down and track Joel and Taylor as they leave the viewing room, disappearing down a long hallway. Where the hell are they going?
I hesitate. Just for a second. Then I follow.
I keep a few paces behind, staying close to the wall, slipping past clusters of players and dealers and servers who don’t even look at me.
The hallway bends, and I catch the tail end of Joel’s voice, low and serious.
“I can’t believe she’s really that good,” he says.
“It would be a shame if I have to kill that kind of talent.”
I stop moving and listen.
“Right after the games end, we take care of Vick, and the Cross boys, you got it? We bury them all.”
The words knock the air out of my lungs.
“And we get to keep all the money for ourselves, right?” Taylor asks. The sound of wet kissing starts. “We are going to be so fucking rich,” she purrs.
“Clay’s going to be very happy when he gets out.”
“Can I buy something tonight?” she says breathily.
“Maybe. Take this off first,” Joel rumbles.
“Oh, right here? Now?” Taylor starts giggling. “Daddy like?” she giggles. Oh, gross.
I press myself tighter to the wall, the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
No one is getting out of this alive. They are going to take the money and burn every single loose end behind them.
My knees nearly buckle, my hand catching the edge of a small table to stay upright.
Think. Think. What the fuck can I do? How long do I have until they finish whatever the hell they’re doing in there?
Do I go for Vick’s bag—take it and run before they notice it’s missing?
My head starts to pound, hard and fast. My pulse is in my throat. I glance back down the hallway. No one’s seen me.
I turn and push myself back into the playing area, searching for Neve. She’s near the bar, tray in hand, tightly smiling with a couple of men. She sees me approaching and arches a brow.
I grab her wrist, not hard, but enough to make her come closer.
“I don’t trust them,” I say, my voice low and tight. “Joel and Taylor. They’re going to kill us. They’re going to Damian and his brothers. I need…” I choke on the words, then force them out. “I need your help.”
Neve’s smile fades. She sets the tray down slowly, the bottom of it clinking against the bar. Her eyes narrow, scanning my face, searching for truth. She must see it, because she nods. “Okay,” she says. “What do you need me to do?”
“Help me steal back that bag,” I say, pointing to where it lays next to my father’s feet. “Now, before Joel comes back.”
Vick is exactly where they left him, drunk, loud, bragging, hands waving in big gestures on the couch as he tries to impress no one. His cigar ashes are falling onto his shirt. His drink sloshes every time he laughs. The leather bag is slumped at his feet, forgotten in his haze of ego and scotch.
“I’ll go behind him and grab it. Can you distract him?” I ask.
“I can do anything that helps Bridger and his brothers,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go.”
I rush up just behind the couch, heart pounding. Neve slips in front and mouths, “Now or never.”
I crouch low, slowly reaching for the strap. My fingers wrap around the cracked leather handle. It’s heavier than I expected. I slide it away from his feet under the couch, careful, steady.
Neve slams her body into him, splashing his drink across his chest.
“Jesus Christ,” he slurs, swiping at his shirt. “Watch it!”
Neve climbs off his lap and offers him a wide-eyed apology. “Sorry, sir, slippery floor.”
He mutters something foul and pushes his empty glass toward her. “How about another drink then?”
I already have the bag in my hands.
I back away from the couch, fast, but every movement feels slow and magnified. My skin buzzes, nerves firing too quick. I look at the hallway, expecting to see Joel flying at me. But he isn’t. He isn’t there.
I run.
The noise of the room—cards shuffling, glasses clinking, low murmurs of conversation—blurs into a haze around me as I weave through the tables.
A man steps into my path and I swerve, my knuckles white on the strap, my heartbeat thrashing in my throat.
Don't look back. Don’t look back. I head straight for my game table, Neve a silent shadow at my back.
My chips are still stacked where I left them. I open the front flap of the bag and sweep the bulk of them into it fast, my hands shaking. Some spill. Pearl Necklace opens her mouth to say something.
“Please,” I say, my voice cracking. “Don’t. I’m being forced to play. I don’t want to. He’s going to kill me. I need to get out of here.” The words pour out, followed by tears. Panic bubbles up, and I don’t have time to hide it.
Pearl Necklace—calm, graceful, still in her chair—cocks her head without blinking. Her gaze drops to the chips in the bag.
I pull out a handful of chips and toss them into her pile.
She leans in, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Cash out,” she says softly, her voice cool and sharp. “I’ll stay quiet. And I’ll show you a back way out.”
I nod once.
Neve tugs on my arm. We don’t stop. We leave the table behind. The weight of the bag pulls on my shoulder, heavy, awkward, so obvious, and yet no one is chasing us. Not yet.
Neve pulls me left through a narrow hallway, past a row of low-lit rooms. Suddenly, we’re in an enormous kitchen. “This way,” she mutters, pointing left.
We stop in front of a plain black door. She opens it fast and pushes me inside.
The banker sits behind a glass divider, a stack of cash already being counted for another player on his way out. He glances up at me blankly—until he sees the bag full of chips in my hands.
“Cash out,” I say breathlessly. “Now. Please.”
He squints. “You got a name?”
I glance over my shoulder. Panic claws up my spine. “I’m playing under Lucky,” I whisper. “It’s all under Lucky.”
Neve slips into the room beside me. Pearl Necklace follows right behind her like she owns the place. She stands just behind me, casually adjusting the sleeve of her blazer as if she’s waiting for a martini and not helping me flee a death sentence.