Page 67 of Stolen Empire
He's a sleaze and a half.
"Every night's rough when your boss takes half your cut," I mutter, stacking my remaining chips.
The man with the cigarette leans forward.
"Half? That's steep."
"Tell me about it." I deal myself back in, watching the cards.
"But what am I going to do? Walk away? He'd break my hands before I made it to the door."
The courier exchanges a glance with the man across from him—the smoker.
I keep my eyes on my cards, pretending not to notice.
"You work for Vetrov?" the smoker asks, and I've hooked them.
It gives me a tiny rush.
I’m not feeling nearly as nervous about this time around as I was before.
Maybe it's the wire, or maybe it's because I know Dimitri's promised to have men ready and waiting to rush in at my command.
Or maybe I'm adjusting to this life and it's not as bad as I feared.
I nod, not looking up.
"Runner. Errands. Deliveries. Whatever he needs."
"And he takes half."
"Every fucking time."
I throw down two cards, draw two more.
A losing hand.
I fold before the betting gets serious.
"I'm bleeding money. Between him and the debts I owe, I'll never get ahead."
The smoker leans back, studying me.
"Maybe you are working for the wrong man."
I glance up, meeting his eyes.
"And who's the right man?"
This is where I have to sell it. I let some of that "anxiety" energy creep up.
I'm not actually feeling nervous, but I pretend I am.
Licking my lips, rubbing my empty hand on my skirt.
I blink a lot, glance around, let my breathing show more.
He smiles a crooked, sinister expression that disgusts me.
