Page 5 of Queen of Diamonds

“He’s your type, Ice Queen,” Tallow said with a grin. We played a bit of a good cop, bad cop scenario, covering the bases of clients who liked the fun-loving male Omega energy Tallow brought to the table, or the much cooler energy I gave out. “Besides, I’ve got gossip to hear from over there.” He nodded his head toward a pack in the corner. They were regulars, and very up in the know with High Roller politics. “Apparently, a mob guy… Forbes? I think, commandeered Spades for the night, brought his full security team and all. Bet Travis is fuming.”

I raised my eyebrows, the news catching me off guard a little. Private security wasn’t usually allowed in the club. It explained why there were less of the guys up here—they were probably making it a pissing match.

“It’s Spades. Don’t care if he’s mob, no way he stands a chance against Annika,” Tallow scoffed.

I snorted. He wasn’t wrong. Annika was one of the Omegas who worked here, and Spades—one of the private card rooms—was hers. She was a no bullshit type—spotting card counters a mile off, and I was also convinced she had secrets just like I did. I couldn’t be sure, but something about the way she held herself felt like looking at a reflection. Especially if she’d been recruited just like I had. I had a suspicion the manager, Travis, was a little more in the know of the city’s underbelly than he let on. I don’t think I was the only Omega who had found refuge in this place.

I tried to pull myself together and not think too hard about the Rose Royale order, even as I made it, then took a breath, steadying my nerves as I glanced back at the Alpha and his solitaire game.

None of it meant anything. I had gossip waiting for me when Tallow returned from that pack—that was much more worth focusing on.

I forced a smile on my face as I reached him, the clink of the crystal glass sliding across the bar was nearly drowned out by the music and hum of conversation around us. “No petals right now,” I told him. “Come back in February, I’ll do you up a proper one.” Thank God my voice was steady.

There was a curve at the edge of his lips as he took it, and I didn’t like the way his eyes lingered on me, dark as charcoal and far too intense.

Alarm bells were going off like sirens, and goosebumps pricked my skin. “Here with a pack?” I asked, swallowing back panic. I was paranoid—that was all. But the sounds of the club were distant, as if muffled through water. I couldn’t help glancing down at his wrist, but it was covered by a white cuff.

His gaze followed mine to his wrist for a moment, then flicked to the balcony that overlooked the main casino below. “At the tables.”

“Not for you?” Bartenders weren’t the primary entertainment of patrons, but packs sometimes had an Alpha or two who felt ‘dragged along’, and they sometimes enjoyed their time at the bar.

Was that all this was?

He let out an amused breath. “I don’t have a poker face good enough to salvage luck that bad.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Doesn’t look to have turned up quite yet,” he mused, peering at his cards. I could see he’d only revealed three of the four starting suits in the game, missing a stack for diamonds. “Soon, perhaps.” Still, his eyes held mine curiously.

I nodded, stepping back and forcing myself to turn from his unnerving smile to replace the Glenmorangie to the mirrored shelf it came from. When I drew my hand away, I could see my fingers trembling.

But I was tired.

Seeing things.

The drink meant nothing.

When we’d caught up enough behind the bar, I gave Tallow a heads up and took my break.

Two sleepless nights in a row had put my paranoia through the roof.

On my next break, I sat alone in silence. No coffee—not when I was jumping at shadows. It had been over an hour, and the Alpha at the bar never left. It was like I could feel his eyes on me with everything I did.

“Get a grip,” I breathed to myself again as I pulled out my deck of cards. It wasn’t like the cards on the tables below, with fresh packs for every game. These were mine.

Broken and beaten up, shuffled to oblivion. Bent and faded.

A deck of forty-eight.

“There are no roses,” I whispered again. The soft sound of my cards sliding together mixed with the distant clatter of cocktail glasses being stacked—just not enough to ground me.

“Why don’t we play a game?”

Ace’s taunt echoed in memory. “A rose for every night you try to escape, and for every event in which you think you can undermine me.”

And with that promise, I would step into my room to find a rose on my pillow, and a card that read, ‘A rose for a queen’.

I shivered, shoving the memory away.

---