And wouldn’t you know, it’s the same one Maddock bets without hesitation not three deals later. Deals be damned.
And that’s when I realize maybe I’m not as good at losing as I think I am.
Something has gone wrong.Reallyfucking wrong.
Maddock is standing from the table, cards thrown down so he can point a finger at the man who remains seated across from him. His usual all-black ensemble partially hidden by the frankly obscene pile of money now in front of him.
“You’re a fuckingcheat,” Maddock snaps, enraged. “How thehelldid you pull that card?”
“You sure like to make a lot of wild accusations, Maddock,” the older man from the night before says, stamping out his cigar before getting to his feet himself. “I saw the whole thing, and you lost fair. You shouldn’t play unless—”
“Fair?” Maddock replies, disbelief clear. “All week he’s barely been playing well enough to keep his shirt and now all of a sudden he can’t lose? It’sbullshit, and you know it.”
The conversations around the bar are growing progressively quieter as their table gets louder, similar to last night, only this time I’m not caught in the middle. Still feel like I am, though,even before I find myself up from my barstool and inching closer.
“Maddock,” the older man tries again, calm as he holds up a hand for order. “You understood the stakes and you agreed. It’s no one’s fault but yours if—”
“You can’t tell me you’re really buying this,” Maddock says, starting to sound a little frantic now. “You can’t be planning to accept this when he’s—you’velost almost as much as me. Nearly half the money in that pile is yours.”
“It is,” he replies, still appearing more amused than upset. “However, it would seem that your pocketbook apparently does run out before mine. You’re done, Maddock. Time to call it a night and get to moving on.”
My boss stares back at him, purposefully not looking at his men, who I suspect are far more shocked than I am that we’ve arrived at this conclusion, all their hopes for a share of the week’s profits now dead because of a man who really does look more than ready to preside over the funeral.
And who is…still remarkably quiet.
“I’m not leaving without my money. I can’t—” Maddock clears his throat, but his voice remains as unsteady as the hand he lowers to hover over the pistol that is most definitely at his belt tonight. “I won’t stand for being cheated.”
At long last, Cypress sighs, his head tilting up from where he had been looking down at the table, and neatly compiling his winnings. Now that I can see his face again, the unaffected demeanor he has somehow appears far more menacing on him than I think it would on anyone else. “I’ve not cheated you tonight, Maddock. Although, even if I had, I do not think you ought to be talking about dishonesty.” His eyes flick in my direction, but only for a moment, and I wonder what it means before he continues, “You can lick your wounds all you like, but don’t for a second pretend you are not the one who inflictedthem.”
“Youwillgive me back—”
Maddock’s sentence cuts off as Cypress pushes away from the table, tucking all the money into his vest before drawing himself up to his full height. He smirks as his opponent unconsciously takes a step back.
Can’t say I blame Maddock. Because suddenly, there’s not a trace of the charming aristocrat who has been sitting at the poker table with him for half the week, the disguise wholly abandoned to reveal the captivating thief I keep meeting in the shadows. The one who walks right up to a gun without flinching. The one I’ve known all this time.
“Believe I’m done here,” Cypress says, turning his head in the older man’s direction just enough that he’ll know he’s talking to him even if he never takes his eyes off my employer. “You’ll mind my other winnings, won’t you? All except—”
I know Maddock is going to do it. Maybe before he even knows it himself. I see the way his fingers twitch, see the way he widens his stance too far again like a goddamn idiot, making it all too easy for me to draw my gun before Maddock even reaches for his.
Around us, the previously silent room erupts into exclamations of panic as pistols are pulled and aimed. Tables and chairs scrape loudly against the wood floor as people hurry to take cover beneath them. And, God, I can’t say I fault them this time, because I’m almost as shocked as they are.
Maddock hadn’t outdrawn me. Not by a long shot. But Cypress sure as hell had.
“Gentlemen.” He calmly aims the gun in his left hand at Maddock while the one in his right moves to each of his men in turn. All except the kid, who has joined most of the other bar patrons in hiding beneath the table. “Being a poor loser really is so…unattractive. And as you already have so few redeemingqualities, I’d recommend not adding it to the list.”
Twin pistols. He hastwoshining silver pistols, though I would have sworn he only had one. Drawn faster than I’ve seen perhaps anyone else do so from a shoulder holster beneath his coat. Anyone but me when I’d been at my best, and since I’m certainly not right now, he would’ve had me had he been aiming my way.
But he isn’t. And he hasn’t been. Several times now we’ve been alone, and he clearly could’ve killed me during any one of them without me seeing it coming. Hecould’ve, but he didn’t. He hasn’t even tried to hurt me. Not even when I hurt him.
As if he can hear me thinking, his focus switches momentarily to me, and in that brief second, I see him take in not only my raised weapon but preciselywhereit is I’m aiming. He grins, those blue eyes of his practically dancing, and I know exactly the reason why.
Because I’m also not aiming at Cypress. I’m aiming at Maddock.
Or at least, I am, until I see the distinct outline of a shotgun appear to my right.
“That’s enough,” the bartender says, pointing the barrel past me toward the table, although with far less accuracy of target. “I’m not having this. All of you need to take this out of here. Now.”
At the order, I glance in his direction without changing my aim, and I’m surprised to find him to be around my age, even though I’m certain I’ve ordered a drink from him every night this week. “Not sure that’s such a good idea,” I say, quietly. “It goes into the street and there’s likely to be bloodshed.”