Free High Stakes by Vanessa Waltz

hand still wrapped around his throat. “You fucking moron. Counting cards at one of my games. You must have a death wish.”
    My blood runs cold at the venom in his voice. I’ve never seen this side of Vince—the ugly, violent side, even though I always knew it existed. Vince’s soldiers swarm around the man like hungry wolves. They grab his arms and drag him into the next room. He screams for help, but one of them sinks their fist into his stomach to shut him up. I hear them in the other room.
    “You can tell your friends what happens to people who try to cheat us. We’re not fucking around. Nicky, get the hammer.”
    The players seated around the table flinch horribly as they hear his screams, until someone stuffs something in his mouth to muffle them. Then there’s a hard, knocking sound and more muffled cries of pain. One, two, three, four, five. Every time the hammer smashes down, my heart jumps.
    I don’t know what they’re doing, but I have an idea. It must be fucking painful. An image of swollen fingers with joints the size of grapes floats in my vision.
    What have I done?
    Three of them grab him while he moans, cradling his hand. They drag him back into view and throw his ass out. The door slams shut and we all jump in our chairs and look at the table.
    I bite my lip hard. He did decide to count cards at a mafia card game. I mean, what did he think would happen? I tell these things to myself in an effort to make myself feel better, and I feel worse for attempting to alleviate my guilt. I should feel guilty, but his hand will heal and he’ll learn a valuable lesson.
    I still can’t help but flinch when Vincent reenters the room, and his sharp eyes zero in on me. The stolen pen floats in my mind and I suppress a shudder at the thought of what he might do to me if he found out.
    “Jesus,” one of the players mutters. “I’m out of here.”
    Spooked, he gathers up his chips and hesitates near the guards surrounding the man with the money. My face is hot and I feel slightly sick, like I should leave, too.
    It takes us a while to calm down while they reclaim all of the chips the cheat won. To my surprise, Vincent dumps a very sizable amount in front of me. His hands fall on my shoulders and he squeezes them in thanks, and my body heats up like nothing happened, like he didn’t just smash a guy’s hand with a hammer.
    God, what’s wrong with me? Why am I attracted to this man?
    I don’t know if it’s the incident with my mother that triggers this feeling, but I’m tired of letting opportunities slip away. I wish I were stronger. I wish I could scream at her to go fuck herself, and turn my back on her forever. I wish I could be the girl who asks the hot guy out.
    As I watch all the players leave, I see myself leaving this place and going back to my boring life at Columbia, of watching him make out with waitresses while I sit there, feeling my insides rot.
    Do something about it, Adriana. You want him? Go get him.
    This is so fucking insane. He’s dangerous. I must be the dumbest person in the world.
    Approaching him with the box in my hand takes what seems like five minutes. He’s still talking with Paulie, so I wait patiently for him to notice me. Frankly, I’m content to wait forever. Unfortunately, his gaze flicks towards me and both men gaze at me with admiring looks.
    “Adriana, you did a great job over there.”
    Great job? Is that what he calls getting a man’s hand smashed? I hardly feel anything from his compliment because I’m so nervous. “Can I talk to you in private?”
    “Sure.” He takes the box of chips from me and hands them over. “Paulie, cash these out for me.”
    Vincent brushes past me and for a moment I’m startled by his brusqueness, but I follow him into another room, a room with a queen bed. It’s dark inside. For some reason, this makes my face incredibly hot.
    The door shuts.
    We’re closed in together in this small bedroom. Vincent’s turbulent energy clouds