The thunderstorm was a good predictor of how the day would go.

The thing with the photos of Juliet and him had definitely been a nice little monkey wrench in the works. Chance wondered if whoever had sent them realized that Juliet and he had broken up. All the same, Chance didn’t want her in danger.

Since she wouldn’t go to San Antonio, and definitely couldn’t stay with his mother, Jacob was the safest solution. Everyone knew he was neutral territory, off limits when it came to starting any shit. Jacob had spent his entire “career” making damn sure that he never took sides. In a manner of speaking Juliet was also neutral territory. If she wasn’t safe at Jacob’s place, she wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

Chance brought his head back around to the game. It was taking place in a warehouse located in that industrial area of Houston that was slightly northeast of downtown. He huddled himself and his bag full of money against the wind and rain and ran into the building that Jacob had told him the game was going to be held in. He’d done additional reconnaissance this morning just to make sure the coast was clear and found everything to be in order.

Copacetic.

At least he hoped so.

It wasn’t a large warehouse. For their purposes it didn’t need to be. The poker table had been set up in the center of it

Peter and Leo were already standing inside, giving each other a wary but not too wide berth. They both looked over at him as he walked through the door. The air in the room seemed to freeze as though creating a photograph to recognize the significance of this moment.

One of these men had killed his father.

The other had tried to kill his brother.

Either or both of them had threatened Juliet.

Chance knew that if this game didn’t work out in his favor, he was going to kill both of them.

The dealer was supposed to be an independent party with no ties to anyone in the game. As such, he also served as the banker, taking Chance’s money to be counted before the game. He was also the security, meaning he was responsible for making sure everyone stuck to the no weapons or any other contraband rule.

That came even before the money was counted. Chance was in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans, still wet from the pouring rain. As the man patted him down, he began to feel the first stirrings of guilt. Presumably this man was an innocent party, an innocent party that would get caught in the crossfire depending on how this game went. On the other hand, if this game truly was legit, then the man had nothing to worry about.

Once the pat-down was done and Chance had deposited all personal items—phone (turned off), wallet, keys—on the table by the front door, he deposited his bag full of cash with the man. Games like this didn’t deal with credit or wire transfers. The three men in the room were some of the few in all of Houston who could gather up that much cash in only a few days.

Chance left the bag in the trusty hands of the individual whose name was purposely never mentioned, and walked in to greet the men he’d be playing that day.

Both of them had the same look about them that a natural predator had when approached by another predator. The eyes were calculating, determining how much of a challenge this newcomer presented. The bodies were erect, muscles flexed to show the maximum threat, but also tense, ready to act at the drop of a hat if need be.

Chance kept his body and face loose and easy. No threat here guys. Instead he took charge of the situation, heading toward Leo first. As he walked, he fiddled with his dad’s ring that he’d worn today mostly for good luck.

Today he was going to need it.

“Chance,” Leo said in an almost amicable tone.

The usual Russian way of greeting was more physical, a firm bear hug. Chance was fine keeping it perfectly American.

“Leo.” He reached out to shake his hand, looking him firmly in the eye. Leo hesitated for one moment, testing this simple gesture for any traps, before relaxing and taking the offered hand.

Leo was in his early 30s, too young to be the head of a family. No wonder he was desperate enough to resort to using Chip. The blue of his eyes was so pale it was practically white, which could either make them mesmerizing or terrifying. He somewhat resembled a younger, paler Christopher Walken with platinum blonde hair.

“Listen, about Chip. I had to defend myself. I never intended for it to happen like that.”

“What’s done is done,” Chance replied, which wasn’t the response Leo was looking for.

He removed his hand and headed to Peter. Peter’s eyes were drawn to it and Chance saw a hint of a smile appear on his face.

“Peter Antonov,” the man said by way of greeting.

“Chance McCoy,” was all he got back.

Peter was dark in all the ways that Leo was pale. Dark hair on his head and filling his neatly trimmed beard. Despite being almost sixty there wasn’t a trace of gray in anywhere. Neither man was as tall as Chance, but Peter was shorter and bulkier than Leo. His eyes were practically pitch black, intimidating in the same way Leo’s were at the other end of the spectrum.

This one wasn’t going to bother making excuses for his past sins. For a moment, Chance thought he wouldn’t even bother shaking the hand he’d offered. It took one too many seconds but he finally did.

Chance looked him hard in the eyes. Just the feel of his hand sent a wave of disgusted anger through Chance. He itched to remove it from Peter’s grasp and place it around the man’s neck instead. Instead, he placed his other hand firmly on top of Peter’s hand and squeezed tight.

Peter was the one to end it, pulling his hand away forcefully and giving Chance a murderous look. He ignored it and made his way to the table.

Chance quickly reviewed the brief bit of information he’d learned as he had looked each man in the eye while shaking their hands.

Both men were hiding something.

* * *

The game was Texas Hold’em, which was fitting. Texas Hold’em made it that much harder to read people’s tells, since so much was dependent on what lay face up on the table before them. The first cards placed there, face up, were called the flop. From there, after a round of betting, another card was placed face up during the turn. The river finalized the play with the fifth card joining the other four. Those were the cards that each player could use to fill out their hand in the best way possible.

Each player only got two cards—the hole—to play with. Often in other games, Chance could figure out what was in a man’s hand simply by the way he shuffled or fiddled with his cards. The two lying face down before each opponent made that a near impossibility.

This meant every man at the table had to rely on bluffing…or luck.