Page 22 of Thunder's Reckoning
“I heard the basement door shut, the sound of his boots fading as he headed down into the basement, leaving the house quiet except for the soft boil of the rice.”
I spooned food into bowls, set them in front of the kids. But all through dinner, I kept catching myself glancing toward that door, listening for the sound of footsteps coming back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I COULDA STAYEDin that kitchen longer, justwatchin’ her move. The way her wrist flicked the spoon, like her hands remembered somethin’ her mind hadn’t been allowed to do in years. There was a quiet strength in it, the kind that got under a man’s skin before he even realized it. But I knew better than to linger where I didn’t belong.
“Y’all eat,” I said, givin’ Malik a quick nod before pushin’ through the back door.
The air shifted soon as the wood shut behind me. Upstairs was soft—warm light, simmerin’ food, the hush of kids settlin’into somethin’ safe. Down here? Down here the air buzzed with somethin’ raw, restless, hungry.
The steel hatch to The Pit sat sunk into the ground like a tomb. I punched in the code, swung it open, and the world rushed up at me, laughter, groans, the snap of cards hittin’ felt, the high clink of chips stackin’ neat.
Cool air rolled over my face, draggin’ with it the sting of cigars, old whiskey, sweat, and the kind of adrenaline that turned men stupid if you didn’t keep ‘em in check.
The hallway was bare concrete, bulbs strung in a crooked line throwin’ long shadows. Each step sank me deeper, until the space opened up wide, alive, breathin’ sin from every corner.
Green felt tables stretched long across the floor, cards flashin’ like sparks in the quick hands dealin’ ‘em. Dice clattered sharp in the corner, voices risin’ when they hit big, cursin’ when they didn’t. The bar stretched the far wall, shelves stacked with top-shelf bourbon and bottom-shelf rotgut both. Music hummed low from hidden speakers, fillin’ the cracks between bets, curses, and the drag of smoke.
The waitresses were already movin’ fast, trays high, skirts short, tops tighter than sense allowed. They slid between men like they’d been born to it, heels clickin’, eyes sharp.
Leena caught me first. Tall, dark hair down her back, smile wide enough to cut. She angled her tray so nothin’ blocked her view.
“Evenin’, Thunder,” she drawled, like the word was dipped in honey.
“Leena.” I gave her a nod and kept walkin’. I’d had her once, back when she showed up at the clubhouse, eager and too damn sure of herself. Now she clung to it, like that night meant somethin’ more than a quick fuck.
“Got a fresh bottle stashed if you get thirsty,” she called after me, her voice slidin’ through the air with an invitation I didn’t plan to accept.
Teenie and June didn’t break stride, one bent low at the dice table, collectin’ empties without spillin’, the other slidin’ three shots down the bar smooth as glass. They knew the rules. No slowin’ the games, no distractin’ the dealers. If you had to flirt, you did it fast and kept movin’.
Leena liked pushin’ that line.
“Thunder!” Horse’s voice boomed from the far side, big bastard grinnin’ wide as he waved me over. “We’re runnin’ hot tonight. Got a table pullin’ five grand already.”
“Keep it clean,” I told him, clappin’ his shoulder hard enough to ground him. “Ain’t losin’ money to no bullshit. Somebody gets too drunk, cut ‘em off.”
“You got it.”
I made my rounds, eyes on the floor, dealers, gamblers. A drunk at the far table tried to shove his stack forward, swearin’ someone’d cheated him. I stepped in quick, laid a hand heavy on his shoulder.
“Ain’t nobody cheatin’,” I said, leanin’ down close so he could smell the pistol inside my cut. “Game’s clean. You push again, you’re out on your ass. Clear?”
He swallowed hard, nodded, sat back down. That was all it took most nights—voice low, hand steady, promise of worse if they tested me again.
From the corner, Wrath sat leanin’ back in a chair, one of the boys from up north who stayed after Drago’s mess. A blonde in a dress low enough to make a preacher sin leaned on his arm, spinnin’ a chip between her fingers like she was promisin’ him more than cash. Wrath wasn’t bitin’ like a man not taken. I’d bet money his reason for stayin’ had less to do with the Carolina sun and more to do with some woman.
This place wasn’t about glamour. It was about control. Every dollar moved under a watchful eye, every game played by house rules.
“Been slow comin’ in lately,” Leena said again, steppin’ into my path like we were just two folks catchin’ up. “A man like you shouldn’t be hidin’ out.”
Her perfume hit heavy, sweet in a way that didn’t sit right with me anymore.
“My business, Leena.” I jerked my head toward the bar. “Customers first.”
She laughed low, slid close enough her hip brushed mine deliberate. “Sure thing, boss. But you let me know when you’re ready for a reason to come in early.”
Her eyes said exactly what she meant.
