The driver navigated the SUV around the corner, onto the street where the tournament would be held. It was lined with cars, with no open parking spaces.

Hans took Sophie by the back of her head, yanking her to sit beside him, and said, “We’re here, Gregor.”

Gregor zipped his pants and then squinted his eyes, looking the grounds over.

“This is the home of the fabled Luc Bellerive?”

“Yes.”

“Its size and beauty are nothing, compared to mine. It’s old, antiquated.”

“Where yours has been restored to a glamourous estate.”

“I’ve already won against them, Hans.”

“As I told you.”

Gregor rapped his knuckles on the roof, and the chauffeur came to the back and opened his door.

Remi’s words rang through his mind, angering him.

“You’re afraid of me. I’m more man than you in every way. I’ve got more skill in my little finger than you have in your entire body. Why else would you have to rely on something outside of yourself to perform well?”

Gregor glanced at Sophie, kneeling on the floor with glistening lips.

“Leave her here. I’m playing on my own.”

“Despite her teaching, I don’t think it would be wise for her first trip outside of the estate to be without my guidance. We’ll find a place to park a few blocks over and wait for your call.”

“I won’t be making one.”

“I’m sure, but just in case.”

Stepping out of the vehicle, as Hans issued another order to Sophie, Gregor centered his belt buckle and walked with determined steps to the open gate of the property. As he looked around, he didn’t see any obvious security personnel like he employed.

Maybe they’re hidden away.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Vance, his driver, following close on his heels. The glint of the steel of his gun at his waist shone when the light of the streetlamps fell on it.

“Make way!” Vance called out to the people waiting to enter the house. “He’s playing in the tournament! In the final game!”

“It’s TripleAce!” a man said, and Gregor’s chest puffed out at the recognition.

“Never heard of him,” another said. “Who?”

“You might know who he is, the way Remi calls him TripleFake.”

“No, it’s TripleFraud.”

“Yeah, he uses that, too, but mainly, it’s TripleFarce.”

“Aahh… yes, that’s it.”

“Hope you’re ready to meet the best motherfucking poker player on the planet!”

“Got your good luck charm? Remi posted on the site about your phone call to him. Hope you brought it, ‘cause you’re gonna need it!”

Gregor shouted, “I don’t need one! I’m going to take him down!”

Snickers met his outburst, and Vance nudged him forward.

“Don’t let them get to you.”

As they approached the house, the butler met them at the door.

“Bonne nuit. Welcome to Chez Bellerive. My name is Henri. Do you have anything to check?”

“Yes, Remi Bellerive’s ego,” Gregor replied. “Where is he?”

Henri gestured to the rear of the home and gave his attention to the next person in line, as Gregor and Vance squeezed their way through the throng.

“I need a drink,” he said to Vance, who kept shuttling him forward.

“Do I have permission to speak to you freely?” Gregor nodded. “Listen. You need to get your dick straight and ready to fuck this guy over,” Vance said, his agitation growing. “All the work we did, and you don’t even bring her inside! I risked my job, my pension, because I believe in you! Get it together!”

Seeing that the entrance was ahead, Gregor stopped to steady his nerves in a futile attempt to get rid of his anxiety. He itched to call Hans and tell him to bring Sophie to sit behind him.

“You don’t even have balls big enough to share your name publicly. Should I take a picture of mine and send it to you, so you can see how yours measure up?”

“Mine are huge!” he hollered, thinking back to when they were drained only minutes before and the way Sophie had looked up at him as she did it.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Vance asked.

“Nothing. I’m ready.”

“Good, ‘cause we’re here.”

Turning to step into the room, Gregor stopped in his tracks at the sight of the man at the table. Remi’s picture was on the website, but seeing him in person was an entirely different thing.

Remi was sitting in a chair, his legs splayed wide, leaning back, displaying his broad chest. He combed his fingers through his shiny hair, leaving nothing to hide his eyes. He laughed, smirking at something the man at his back said. Confidence exuded from him like a wall around him.

Gregor took a receding step to gather himself.

Vance nudged him and said, “He’s not better than you. He’s just a cocky fucker. I see assholes like him every day.” He snorted. “What a fucking punk. Just think about later, when he’s in your basement. You wanna visualize something? Picture that. Remi Bellerive, begging for your mercy while you sip a brandy and watch Hans do his thing. He won’t be such a prick then, will he? Keep that in your head while you’re playing.”

Gregor closed his eyes, imagining various scenes, each with Remi screaming for the pain to end. That made him smile.

“It will be glorious,” Gregor said with a sneer, seeing Remi in his mind, kneeling before him in ultimate submission.

He rejected his earlier apprehensions.

“There ya go,” Vance said.

As Gregor strode into the room, Vance bellowed from behind him, “The real poker king is here! TripleAce!”

“Oui!” the dealer said, gesturing to an empty chair. “Please take your seat, so we can begin.”

Remi flicked his eyes to Gregor and took a drink, effectively dismissing his presence.

“French fuck,” he muttered, as he took his seat. “You want to know who I am? My name is Gregor Gaines.”

“Hmm,” Remi replied, lifting the straw to his mouth

Rage seethed through Gregor’s veins, and he vowed that Remi would endure many horrors before he allowed him to die.