I know what this is. A reminder.

They were watching. All of them. Even before this.

I wasn’t winning this fight. Not against sixteen armed men.

New plan.

“Any extra wagers?” Sinclair asks, collecting bets as if this is just another hand of cards. “I’ve got an extra five hundred worth.”

They toss in their bets without hesitation.

Two of the guards fold.

Sinclair flips his hand.

Full house.

No one cares.

There’s no frustration, no disappointment. Because this was never about the game.

The quiet man doesn’t even glance at the cards. He’s still staring at me.

I turn to Sinclair, settling into my decision.

“Does that mean I get you all night?” I ask.

His fingers tighten at my hip. “You boys keep an eye on things,” Sinclair says.

I rise, steady and slow.

This is it. One on one.

That gun at his waist is mine.

We’re halfway to the door when Zachs steps inside.

His easy, lopsided smile is the first thing I see. That same quirky smirk. That disarming charm. Like he just wandered into a poker game and not this nightmare. For half a second, something like relief stirs in my chest. Then he speaks.

“Damn,” he says, dragging out the word, “I got here as soon as I could. Did I miss the bets?”

The room doesn’t react.

No one hesitates.

The relief dies fast and ugly.

Bile rises, hot and sharp.

Wilkes and Dax trusted him. For some reason his betrayal of them pisses me off worse than his betrayal of me.

Sinclair just laughs, still guiding me toward the door with easy confidence, like we’re on a fucking date.

“Safe to assume you won’t take an offer?” Zachs asks, cocking his head.

I blink. Trying to make sense of it.

Okay. He’s trying to buy me. That has to be it.