Heir (Omaera Playfair Chronicles #1)

1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Omaera Playfair

Chase City, Washington, US

“Four of a kind,” I said, placing my cards down on the worn felt table in the underground wine cellar. I kept my face neutral because even though I was doing a little touchdown victory dance in my head, I wasn’t a sore winner on the outside. But I also knew that nobody at that table had a better hand than my four of a kind. Four queens and ten of spades.

Groans echoed around the table, as well as from some spectators who were betting on me not winning.

Not a wise move.

This filly races to win.

The dealer, Damon, nodded and I scooped my winning chips forward, already coming up with at least five ways I intended to spend my winnings tonight. First and foremost, though? A Greek pizza with feta and extra Kalamata olives for me and my best friend, Gemma, who stood behind me telling off some guy who was making noise about me cheating.

Fuck him .

I was no cheat.

I didn’t even count cards.

I just had this deep-seated intuition about the other players that not even I could explain. I knew when they had a crappy hand. I knew when they were bluffing, and I knew when I needed to fold. Of course, I read their tells; but it was more than that too. It was almost like I read their minds. I read their energy, their indecision, their confusion, their confidence. I felt their emotions like they were my own.

And by leaning into this . . . talent, for lack of a better word, I won nearly every game I played. To the point where players came from all over the country—and from other countries—to try to beat me.

I wasn’t banned from places like Vegas and Monaco, but if I went, I probably would be. But I didn’t give two shits about those glitzy idiot-magnet type places anyway. I liked the local underground circuit better. It was more my style.

“She’s cheating,” the loud, obnoxious, and slightly drunk guy continued to say to Gemma. “She has to be. No girl can be that good. She’s counting cards. Or she’s—”

“Just a girl that kicked your friend’s ass?” Gemma retorted.

I snickered and gave Gemma’s bare knee a loving little pinch. As always, she wore a short skirt with a schoolgirl pleat, even though it was black and leather. Her combat boots hid her black socks decorated with little hot pink cats. Her hot pink crop top covered by a dark denim bolo jacket completed her “I don’t give a fuck” look.

“Buy in for this next game is five grand,” Damon announced. “We’ll begin in fifteen minutes.”

Gemma leaned down. “Are we sticking around for another game, or heading out?”

“What would you rather?” I asked, indifferent to whether we stayed or left. I knew I’d win the next game. I could read the over-confidence and hesitation of every person letting the dealer know they were in. Easy marks. The next game would be child’s play.

She yawned. “I do have an early morning shift at the coffee shop tomorrow. ”

I shrugged. “Then let’s go. Just make sure you order the pizza from Mario’s on Fifth this time, not Mario’s on Douglas. They scrimped on the olives last time.”

Gem nodded and pulled out her phone.

I stood up, preparing to take my chips to cash in.

“What? Is the big baby girl leaving now?” taunted a square-headed man with a thick Eastern European accent. He had a buzz cut and one lazy eye. Or maybe it was a glass eye. He’d just finished paying his buy-in to the dealer. “Afraid to play against real men?”

I grinned at him. “Yep. That’s exactly it. You terrify me and I’d rather cut my losses and go home with some money.”

He wasn’t expecting that kind of response. When people around him chuckled, he quickly caught on that I was fluent in sarcasm and every syllable I said dripped in it. His face went red and his nostrils flared, reminding me of a bull stomping the dirt and preparing to impale the matador.

“You making fun of me, Big Baby Girl?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Because it sounded like you were making fun of me. Nobody makes fun of Ivan Novák.”

I glanced around. “Who’s Ivan Novák? Is he here? I’ll be sure not to make fun of him.”

The man surged to his feet and pointed at himself with a thick sausage finger. “I am Ivan Novák and you are making fun of me.”

“You’re Ivan Novák?” I asked, continuing to play dumb and enjoying the chuckles of entertained spectators around me.

“I am.”

“Oh shit! Well, I will be sure not to make fun of you then.”

His brows bunched and his face scrunched. Then one of his minions, or lackies, or whatever leaned over and whispered something into his ear. His face flushed red again, and he glared at me like he wanted to rip my head clean from my body. “You are making fun of me.”

With her arms full of the overflow of chips I couldn’t carry myself, Gemma whispered in my ear, “Maybe you should leave him alone. He’s getting a little scary. Do you see the vein sticking out in his forehead?”

I did see it. But I was a button-pusher by nature, and something about this guy just irked me. And it wasn’t the fact that he called me Big Baby Girl either. I mean, yeah, that was annoying as fuck, but it was the way he’d come into the wine cellar with his entourage, barking orders and leering at the waitresses. Then I saw him reach out and grab one girl, Danielle’s, ass. She giggled and smiled at him. Because what else could she do in a place with so many criminals and dwellers of the city’s seedy underbelly? The tips were good. She needed this job to pay for medical school.

I made a point of getting to know all the staff at all the venues I frequented. They were human too, and deserved kindness and respect. And Danielle was in her second year of med school and drowning in student loan debt.

So she put up with the handsy guests because she knew she had a better life coming to her and her son soon.

“Is Big Baby Girl going to stay, or what?” Ivan asked. “Or is it her beddy-by time? Run home to your mommy, Big Baby Girl. Waa! Waa! Waa!”

“Don’t bite,” Gemma gritted.

Too late.

“My mother’s dead,” I deadpanned, keeping my gaze locked with Ivan’s as I put down enough chips to buy in for the next game.

Gemma sighed behind me. “Shit.”

As I expected, I kicked Ivan’s ass at the table. And every other player there too.

The rest of them weren’t happy about it, but they weren’t sore losers either. They knew what they were getting into in the high-stakes underground poker world. They knew the risk.

I was well known. Famous in certain circles.

But Ivan wasn’t happy about his loss and he made sure everyone in that entire wine cellar knew about it. “She is a cheater,” he said as I scooped up my winning chips and the dealer collected the cards.

Damon huffed out his nose. “Mr. Novák, we have had many poker and card professionals come and assess Ms. Playfair and we can assure you, she doesn’t cheat. Nor does she count cards. She plays fairly and by the rules. I know it’s difficult to lose, but you must understand, we take this very seriously as well.”

Ivan wasn’t having it though. He reached beneath the table and flipped over the whole thing, sending nearly all of my chips flying in every direction.

Security was on him like rats on a brick of gouda, hauling him out. It took three security guards though. Ivan’s minions went without a fight, following after their cursing leader who kicked and screamed like a toddler being drug away for nap time.

With a weary sigh, I dropped to a crouch, along with several other people, and began scooping up my chips. I’m sure they wouldn’t all be accounted for. A few someones would pocket a chip or two. Whatever. Gemma and I would make sure we grabbed more than enough to cover rent for our loft, rent for Aunt Delia’s place, and groceries for the next few months.

Unlike Gemma, who liked to bare her pale midriff whenever she could, I preferred baggier clothes, at least when I played poker. An oversized men’s T-shirt was my top choice as it allowed me to scoop all my chips into it like a kangaroo pouch and carry it over to cash in. When I wasn’t working, I was happy to sport a crop top now and then.

I made sure to tip Damon before I made my way through the crowd. Conversations echoed around me like comforting white noise as I went to cash in my winnings. I spotted Danielle and gently grabbed her elbow, making sure it was not the arm carrying the tray of empty glasses. “Here,” I said, placing a yellow thousand-dollar chip into her free hand. “Thanks for all the club sodas tonight. Your kid deserves to go to music camp. Now you can send him.”

She blinked big doe eyes at me. “M-Ms Playfair, I can’t.”

“You’d better,” I said, giving her a wink before walking away.

We reached the cashier, and Gemma and I both dumped the chips on the table in front of him.

Enzo sighed. “Gonna take me a minute, Omaera.”

“I know, Enzo. All good.”

He went to work calculating my chips while I leaned back against the table .

My belly grumbled. “Have you placed the order for the pizza yet?” I asked Gemma.

She shook her head. “I was going to, then you decided to play another game.” She yawned and checked her phone. “Crap. I need to be up in like six hours for work.”

“Call in sick. I’ll pay your wages for what you’d make tomorrow. Hang out with me, your bestie who you love and would do anything for, including playing hooky at work.”

Gemma snorted. “Unlike you, who hates people—”

“I don’t hate people. I’m just very selective about who I bring into my inner circle of trust. Most people suck, but not all. Marty doesn’t suck. Right, Enzo? You’re a stand-up man. A wonderful father, husband, and cashier.”

Enzo merely smiled. He was too busy counting my chips.

Gemma rolled her pretty hazel-green eyes. “Okay, but unlike you, who hates the grind that doesn’t involve cards in your hand and chips on the table, I actually like my job. I like my co-workers and the mindlessness that is making the Karen’s of the world their double-shot, no foam, two-pump, hazelnut lattes.”

I snorted. “That sounds disgusting.”

“The order, or the job?”

“Both.”

It was Gemma’s turn to snort. “You will survive the day without me. You always do.”

Pouting, I simply said, “Order the pizza, but order two. I’m starving. And we’ll pick them up on our way. I promise to have you home so you can get a solid five hours of sleep.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes.

I smiled and fiddled with the rose-gold hoop piercing in my right nostril.

“All right, Ms. Playfair, your total winnings for the night are,” I turned to face Enzo, “fifteen thousand, six hundred.”

Gemma sucked in a breath, like she was sucking through a straw, as Enzo proceeded to count the bills out in front of me.

Once he was done, I smiled at him. “Pull out a hundred for yourself, my friend.”

“Thank you very much.” He pocketed a Benjamin, then handed me my wads of cash after wrapping them up nicely with a rubber band.

I pulled out the child’s diaper I kept in my purse and made sure to stash the cash in there. It was safer. People were less likely to steal a diaper they thought was dirty. I mean, yeah, they could take my whole purse, but they’d have to fight me for it. And I carried a switchblade and mace, and Gemma was a badass bitch who knew Krav Maga like a second language.

“I hope you’re calling yourselves a cab tonight,” Enzo said. “Walking the streets of Chase City with that much money isn’t safe.”

“We’ll call a cab from the pizza joint, Enzo. It’s all good.” I linked my arm with Gemma’s and we turned to go, my belly rumbling again at the thought of pizza.

We climbed the stairs, arm-in-arm, and were nearly on the dark and empty street when thunder boomed like it was right overhead and a bolt of lightning, so bright and so vivid, cracked out of the sky and hit me square in the chest.

All I heard was Gemma scream before everything around me went dark and quiet.

All I thought was, this can’t be how I end. I didn’t even get to eat my pizza first.

All hail Omaera Playfair, Queen of the Realm!

My chest hurt.

My body buzzed like I’d just been tasered or electrocuted or both.

My eyelids were too heavy to lift so I just stayed in the darkness.

A moan bubbled up from my chest, and my throat burned.

Oh god. If she dies, I’ll kill myself. I can’t lose my best friend. I can’t. Gemma sounded far away, almost in a tunnel. Her warm hand gripped mine. Wake up. Wake up, dammit!

I groaned again and stirred.

She let go of my hand and gripped me by the shoulders. “Maer! Maer! You need to wake up. Maer, wake up.” She shook me.

“Wh-what happened?”

She sighed. “Thank god. You were hit by fucking lightning!”

I was?

That’s right. I was. Coming out of the poker game. Thunder rumbled and then lightning, as if thrown by Zeus himself, came barreling out of the sky, almost like it was aiming for me. Like some kind of homing beacon.

I opened my eyes into thin slits, but the room was too bright so I shut them again. “Wh-where are we?”

“The hospital, obviously. You think I’d just bring you home after you were struck by fucking lightning?”

Did she hit her head too? Fuck. Thank god she’s awake. Thank god. I can’t lose my sister. My best friend. She’s all I have. She’s my only family.

Why did Gemma’s voice sound different? She spoke to me, then spoke like she was in a tunnel about me?

Maybe I did hit my head on the stairs.

“Is she awake?” came a soothing male voice. Curtains were drawn.

“Sort of,” Gemma said. “She’s speaking, but hasn’t opened her eyes.”

“That’s because the room is too bright,” I croaked, my throat raw.

“We can fix that,” the man said. “There.”

“He dimmed the lights, Maer. Try opening your eyes now.” Gemma squeezed my hand, and I tried to pry open my eyes again.

“Hey there, Ms. Playfair. You gave us quite the scare.” The doctor was crazy handsome and crazy young. Not as young as me, because there were very few twenty-two-year-old doctors out there, but if he was over thirty, I’d be surprised.

“Is she going to be okay?” Gemma asked.

The doctor shone a light in my eyes and asked me to follow it as he moved it back and forth. I glanced at my arms and I was hooked up to an IV, had a heart rate monitor on my left index finger, and there were a few things stuck to my chest. I was also wearing a hospital gown. “I think so,” the doctor said. “To be honest, you’re a bit of a medical marvel and incredibly lucky. You were struck by intense lightning and have managed to come out pretty much unscathed. You don’t even have any burns.”

“When can I go home?”

“We’d like to keep you here for another couple of hours for observation, but then you should be cleared to leave.” His smile brought out two deep dimples. And fuck me, he even had one in his chin. Dr. Dimples, M.D.

“Thank you,” I croaked.

“Here.” Gemma brought a straw to my lips, and I greedily sipped, relishing the way it softened my thick, dry sponge of a tongue.

Dr. Dimples left and pulled the curtain closed again, leaving Gemma and I alone- ish in our little slice of the ER.

“Did you hear that?” I asked her when I could speak without razor blades slicing my tonsils.

“Hear what? The code blue?”

I shook my head. “No. When I first woke up, there was this chant. Like a choir, or chorus, or something.”

She shook her head, jostling her wild red curls. “No. What did the choir say?”

“All hail Omaera Playfair, Queen of the Realm.”

Her hazel-green eyes narrowed. “Seriously? What the hell does that mean?”

“You didn’t hear it? And hell if I know.”

“I think you hit your head. Maybe I need to have the doctor request a CT scan or something. Maybe you have a brain bleed.” She stood up from the stool she was sitting on. “I’m going to go find him. See what he says. Be right back.” She disappeared through the curtain.

I felt fine.

No, that’s not true. I felt really different, but not in an “I’m going to die any minute from a subdural hematoma” kind of way.

I can’t be pregnant. Not again. Please, not again.

Who said that ?

Maybe this broken leg will get me out of my math test tomorrow.

What the fuck was going on?

Gemma and the doctor came back through the curtain.

“Tell him what you told me,” Gemma said, fear and worry etched across her face, competing with the endless freckles.

Okay, now I was beginning to worry too. I was hearing voices.

Is she going to be okay? Gemma asked, but without moving her mouth.

I gaped at her. “I’m going to be fine.”

She blinked at me, stunned.

“What did you hear when you woke up,” Dr. Dimples asked.

“You’re going to call for a psych consult when I tell you,” I said dryly.

He snorted. “Probably not. You were struck by lightning and your friend says you may have hit your head. I think we can hold off on a psych consult for now. Just tell me what you heard.”

“All hail Omaera Playfair, Queen of the Realm.” I fixed him with a look that said, “Just grab the straight jacket and wheel me to the nearest padded room.”

“Have you heard anything else?” he asked, without showing me any emotion or concern.

“Yeah. When Gemma stepped out to get you, I heard someone say, ‘I can’t be pregnant again.’ Then I heard some boy say something about maybe if he broke his leg he wouldn’t have to do his math test.”

Dr. Dimples gray eyes narrowed. “Well, the patients on either side of you have cases in relation to what you heard. So maybe they were saying them out loud?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” I glanced at Gemma. “I can hear Gemma too. Like one minute her lips are moving and she’s talking to me normally. Then her lips stop moving and I can still hear her talking, only it sounds like she’s in a tunnel and far away.”

My best friend is losing her mind.

I pointed at Gem. “See! She just said, ‘My best friend is losing her mind.’”

“No I didn’t,” Gemma protested. “I mean, I thought it. But I didn’t say it.”

I gasped. “Am I reading minds?”

“That’s not a real thing,” the doctor said. “Let’s get you upstairs for a head CT and double check there’s no brain bleed, or a concussion, or anything.

“Okay, so maybe I’m not reading minds. But explain the chorus chanting that I’m Queen of the Realm .”

But he wasn’t listening to me. He’d already flagged down some other hospital staff member, and they were unlocking the wheels on my bed.

Fear ripped through me, and I reached for Gemma. “I don’t want to be losing my mind. I also don’t want to read people’s minds. People are fucked up.”

She nodded and gripped my hand tight. “People are fucked up. I wouldn’t want to read their minds either.” She snagged the doctor’s gaze. “I’m coming with her.”

“You can come as far as the CT, but then you’ll have to wait outside.”

“Fine. But if you put her in a straitjacket or padded room without telling me first, I will unleash all the ginger rage on you.”

Dr. Dimples, the orderly, and I all snorted.

I kissed the back of Gemma’s hand. “What would I do without you?”

“Don’t even talk like that. You just got a little bonk and zap. You’re going to be fine.”

But I could see in her eyes, and hear in her thoughts, that she was only saying those things to reassure me and keep me calm. She didn’t believe I was fine.

And neither did I.

But something told me this was just the beginning of a whole world of fresh problems I was in no way prepared to deal with.