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The blond one in a black form-fitting suit holds up the gold coin with a V etched into it.
“We were invited,” he says smugly, flipping the coin in his hand.
It’s the only way someone can get invited into our little slice of Heaven.
No coin. No entry.
“It seems you were,” Jericho says, holding out his hand. “These were your invitations.”
“Yes,” a dark-haired one with the same suit on says, stepping forward. “Our invitation,” he says, holding up his gold coin, too.
“Wonderful.” Jericho collects the coins and places them down on the table. “You understand this was a one-time invitation. You can earn more by playing fair and not causing trouble. Win a few hands and get your names thrown back into the game. You’re going up against the best players in the country. No weapons of any kind are allowed inside. Bring one, and well, you won’t like the consequences. The buy-in alone is one hundred thousand dollars. You’ll pay the man back there once we escort you in. The game is set to start in...” He flips his watch over, eyeing the time. “About thirty minutes. Right at midnight. Are we clear?”
“You run this?” The blond-haired guy asks skeptically, raising a brow. His light eyes search Jericho up and down, eyeing his shiny dress shoes, slacks, and white dress shirt.
Dress the part. Be the part. It’s something Gabriel installed in us, time and time again.
“You gotta problem with that?” Arrow asks, standing up to face the men who blanch in his presence.
He crosses his arms over his chest, flexing his muscles against the three douchebags questioning us.
I smirk when the color drains from their faces. Their eyes pop wide, and they instinctively take a step back. That’s right, you cocky assholes. That’s Arrow Amour. One man you don’t fuck with or ask questions to.
Arrow’s knack for violence and blood has given him quite the reputation.
“No. We just wanted to make sure we were in the right place,” the third man, who has been silent the entire time, says as he steps forward. His black-rimmed glasses gleam under the soft lights of the room. “Here,” he says, offering his coin. “All the rules. The buy-in. Everything is fine. We’re just here to show off our skills.”
“Exactly,” the cocky blond one says, putting his hands in the air.
“This is your way into the room. Brandon here will escort you to your seats and take your payments. Have fun, Gentlemen. But always remember the rules.” Jericho grins, giving them their coins back and watching as they walk through the steel doors of the gambling room behind our seats.
They’re scared fish, hiding behind cocky attitudes but swimming straight for the world’s biggest sharks.
‘They’re going to get eaten alive,’ I sign with a huff after clicking my rings, then taking another puff of my cigar, really breathing it in and blowing it back out.
“More money for us,” Jericho quips with a shrug, getting up from his chair.
We may have the inclination to clean up the streets of Briar Cove, but we’ve always had the business bug running through our veins. From an early age, we were taught to be the providers for our wives and children, working long hours to conduct whatever business must be dealt with. Whether it’s loaning out money to the townspeople with lower interest rates than banks, which encourages them to come visit us. Or the high-stakes poker games and slot machines—that’s our empire. We build steady relationships with the townspeople and bring in steady business opportunities with the men and women who seek to play our games.
“Excuse me, Sir.” Aiden draws my attention again with a grimace. “Sorry to pester you. But there’s an older woman here with this,” he says, holding up a silver coin etched with a V on one side.
My heart beats rapidly against my chest at the significance. Normally, people with these wait until Wednesday nights when Arrow makes his presence known in the confessional booth at his father’s church. It’s there that people ask for help against others who are doing them wrong. Or brokering for a loan to get out of sticky situations.
“Of course, send her in,” Jericho says, waving a hand as he stands securely by the glass window overlooking the chaotic nightclub party in full swing. Taking one last look at the people moving as one to the music, he turns on his heel and heads to his chair.
Business never sleeps.
Aiden opens the door wider, providing ample room for a weary-looking woman who appears to be in her mid-forties and smaller than a stick. Brown hair. No make-up. Sagging skin. She’s definitely seen better days.
I sit up in my seat, taking her appearance in. Her entire body trembles under her baggy jeans and oversized shirt, probably hiding more bruises than the ones under her sunken eyes and neck. Her fingers play with the silver coin she must have gotten from the priest as she makes her way fully into the room.
“Please have a seat,” Jericho says, gesturing to an empty chair, letting her know it was okay to speak to us.
“Thank you,” she whispers so softly I barely hear her voice over the drumming of my heart.
“How can we help you today?” Arrow asks, placing his elbows on his knees. “You brought the silver coin.”
She swallows hard. “Someone gave it to me and said I’d know where to go when I needed help.”
