“Mate, I wouldn’t know how to count cards even if I was trained by f**king Rain Man. The repercussions are beyond me.”

“You think you’re funny?”

I sat back in my chair, exhaling heavily. This was pants. “I think I’m baffled. I lost all my chips. Even if we were counting cards, we’re not exactly good at it, so I can’t quite suss out what we’re doing here.”

“The best counters let themselves lose sometimes. You think by counting you’ll only ever win?”

I sighed, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. This was going nowhere with the continued rhetorical questions. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Hammer looked surprised, straightening. “Go.”

“I’ve never played blackjack in my life before tonight. This one?” I said, nodding to Bennett. “He negotiates drink prices when we’re sitting at a table and they’re already free. He doesn’t f**king gamble.”

Snorting, Kim said, “And yet here you are, in a two-deck pitch, you stand on s-seventeen, double after split.”

Bennett leaned forward, genuinely curious. “Was that English?”

For the first time since we walked in here, I saw the corner of Kim’s lips twitch as if repressing a smile. Or a snarl. I couldn’t actually be sure.

“I’m going to give you two choices,” Hammer said. “One, I break your fingers. Or two, I break your face.”

I blinked, feeling a brief moment of pride that I had correctly predicted our punishment. But something felt off. Just because I hadn’t played blackjack in Vegas before didn’t mean I had been living under a rock. Finger-and face-breaking seemed a touch off-protocol for a couple of guys suspected of counting cards.

“Let’s see your hands,” Kim said, patting the table.

“You’re delusional,” Bennett replied, laughing incredulously.

“I’ll start with the pinkie,” Hammer said, lips twitching. “No one needs their pinkie.”

“Get stuffed, all right?” I growled, feeling a disorienting mix of impatience and righteous indignation building in my chest. “Forget the accent, I’m a f**king American citizen, you arseholes—I know my rights. If you’re going to start talking about getting violent, get a f**king cop or lawyer in here.”

The door swung open, and bloody Will entered, clapping slowly. Ice trickled into my veins, and I leaned back in my chair with a harsh exhale.

“Oh, you wanker,” I sighed.

“It was perfect!” He smiled at Hammer and Kim, and I groaned, dropping my head onto my arms on the table. I should have known. “You were angry, but convincing,” he said to me. “You might have thrown in an indignant fist slam for full effect, but I really like what you did with the American-citizen bit. Really got me right here.” I looked up just as he tapped his chest, over his heart, eyes soft and praising.

While Hammer and Kim stepped to the side, laughing, Bennett stood, walking over to Will. For a second I wondered if he was going to punch him or maybe just kick Will in the goolies, but then I realized he was smiling. He looked Will in the eye for a count of about three, and then patted his shoulder before simply walking to the door. “Well played,” he murmured before disappearing down the hall.

Hammer and Kim moved to me, hands extended and smiles full and easy now. “Sorry, man,” Hammer said, laughing. “Mr. Johnny French called. Said we needed to help your friend Will even the score. Apparently you deserved some payback for acting like p**sy-whipped little babies earlier?” He held his hands up, shrugging in a way that made me wonder whether he was officially associated with the mob. “We just wanted to f**k with you a little.”

“Seemed the easiest way to get you away from the ladies,” Will said, rocking on his heels.

I sighed, rubbing my face and feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal. All said, this was a pretty brilliant prank. “Well, while you had us back here, I’m pretty sure Chloe was out there cleaning up.”

“She did pretty well,” Will agreed. “Few thousand at least.”

“Come on,” Kim said, helping me up and slapping my back. “Go out there and get drunk.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, returning his handshake. “I’m staying the f**k away from cards.”

“I’m an American citizen!” Will yelled, and then collapsed into the couch in hysterics. It was probably the tenth time he’d made this proclamation in the past fifteen minutes.

“So,” I began. “You paid those men a hundred dollars to scare the piss out of us. How’d that work out for you?”

Ignoring me, Will pretended to wipe away a tear. “Your patriotic battle cry at the end is going to stay with me for all my days.”

“It was pretty amazing,” Bennett agreed.

We sat around a low glass table in a posh bar at the Bellagio, lounging on soft suede couches and sipping what felt like our millionth cocktail of the night. My inebriation snuck up on me; until this moment, I hadn’t really felt it. But with my adrenaline slowly slipping from my veins, and knowing the girls were safely somewhere in their beds, my limbs grew heavy with the effects of our adventures, and the accumulated alcohol.

All around us, the bar was quiet; it was well past three in the morning, and most of the people remaining were in the casino, or at one of the more wild bars.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a man approach our table. He wore a tailored suit, an earpiece, and had the distinct look of importance about him; the waiters made room for him, all offered him nervous hellos. Clearly someone of circumstance was headed our way, and since Will was seated at the table with us, I was disinclined to think he was f**king with us again.

“Gentlemen,” the man said, standing at the head of the table. “You must be Bennett, Max, and Will.”

We all nodded, sharing pleasantries.

“The elder Mr. Ryan has joined us in the high rollers room,” he then said. So that’s where Henry had gotten to. “But his phone is dead, and he asked me to come check on you. My name is Michael Hawk, and I’m the vice president of client relations here at the Bellagio.”

I chanced a look at my friends, to see when they registered that, with some people in his life, this man might be known as Mike Hawk. Will closed his eyes for a beat, swallowed with effort, and then opened them again, containing himself. Bennett nodded, and to my complete fascination, had to bite his top lip to repress any further reaction.

“I wanted to make sure that you were enjoying your night,” Mr. Hawk continued, looking at each of us in turn.

“It’s been fantastic,” I answered, unable to look away from Bennett. I hadn’t seen anything like this from him in at least a decade: his lip shook, he covered it with his finger, and his eyes started to water. Finally, he looked over to me . . . and then he absolutely f**king broke.

With a hand splayed over his face, Ben leaned back into the sofa and shook with laughter, just drunk enough, and tired enough, and full up to f**king here with the insanity of the night to completely lose his shit over some guy named Mike Hawk standing in front of us. Beside him, Will turned red before bending and covering his face with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” Will gasped from behind his fingers. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Hawk. It’s just too much.”

Turning back up to the man beside our table, I smiled. “Thanks very much for checking in. Go ahead and let Henry know we’re sorted.”

Mike Hawk wasn’t a tall man, and he didn’t look as hard and intimidating as the casino executives in movies would lead me to expect. He was average height, with a round, friendly face and eyes full of understanding. He gave a little laugh, shaking his head before leaving us with, “Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.”

“I would like to state for the record,” I started once he’d left, “that I am the only f**king bloke at this table who was able to keep his arse together.”

“Mike Hawk!” Bennett practically yelled at me, dropping his hand. His eyes were red from laughing. “How am I supposed to keep it together over that? That’s like meeting a f**king unicorn.”

Will leaned over to high-five him, and then sighed, leaning his head back against the back of the couch. “Holy crap that may have been the highlight of the night.”