Page 2 of The Gambler's Prize
“You’ve lost the last five hands,” Grimes says. His tone is openly insulting. I should challenge him to a duel for talking to me like that. Instead, his contempt makes my cock twitch.
“I know,” I say. “So stupid of me.” I play with my hair, and his gaze follows the movements. He likes my hair, too.
“Afiisn’t your game?” he asks.
“Not when I have something more interesting to distract me.”
No reaction to my compliment. He’s a tough one to crack. The hood shadows his forehead, which draws attention to the lower half of his face. He has a strong jaw and crooked nose. Probably been broken. I bet the guy who broke it ended up in a worse state. I do like a man who can handle himself in a fight. His skin is medium brown like most Rhennians’. Why is he all the way out here in Galbrava? This place is technically within the Rhennian empire but independently governed. Actually, “governed” is a bit strong. The authorities here are a joke, which means you can get away with all kinds of shadiness with impunity. Is he a prospector? A bounty hunter? A mercenary? Excitement prickles up my spine. Acriminal?
“Last chance,” he says. “Lose this hand, and you’re mine.”
I let the last syllable shiver deliciously all the way up my spine. I have no idea where any of the cards are anymore. I pick a facedown card from the table at random. It’s completely wrong, as I expected. A slow smile creeps across Grimes’ face. His fists clench, unconscious. Shit, hereallywants me. My cock would be lost in that fist. My throat tightens as I imagine him squeezing me, just enough to show that I’m his.
“Looks like you win,” I say.
“Seems like it,” Grimes says, looking me up and down.
The rest of the gamblers nudge each other and laugh. Some make bawdy comments about what he’s going to do to me later, which I bat away with a playful smile. But I hope he’s listening. Some of their ideas aren’t bad.
“Shall we take our leave?” I say, flicking my hair over my shoulder.
A glow of pride engulfs me as everyone watches me stand up, about to be carried off like a prize by this specimen of unrivalled hotness. I love the limelight. I might’ve been an actor if my father hadn’t made it clear that was an Unacceptable Professionfor any son of his. Actually, any profession was unacceptable for his aristocratic child.
Grimes reaches into his pocket. “Your contract first.”
“Contract?” I laugh; he doesn’t seem the type to put things in writing. “We don’t need to be that formal.”
I’m up for most things. And if I’m not, I’ll most definitely let him know.
He doesn’t smile back. The heat in his eyes switches to a harsher, calculated expression. An ominous feeling cuts through my alcohol buzz. I suddenly realize that he hasn’t been drinking at all, unlike me. He shoves the contract into my hand. I start to read, feeling the curious eyes of the whole table.
I hereby agree to provide Grimes Maccinn with two years’ indentured servitude. I will work in a capacity of Grimes Maccinn’s choosing, reside at a place of his choosing, and obey any and all of his orders within the bounds of Galbravan law.
The room gets very quiet. I look up. The musicians are still playing, and the percussionist still bashes away at the drums. It’s just in my head that silence reigns. I swallow, look up at Grimes.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
“Is there a problem? Are you struggling with some of the bigger words?” he says. A malicious smile twists his lips. His hood hangs so low, it shields his eyes from my stare.
“No, of course not. I just… don’t understand.” My voice trails away into pathetic, stunned silence.
He doesn’t want to fuck me? He wants two years of my life? As an indenturedservant?
He played me. The contract is already drawn up, so he must’ve planned this. Panic crawls from my stomach up to my throat. I glance around the table, helpless and desperate, hoping someone will announce it’s all a prank. Blank looks all around. The dealer’s hands are frozen on his cards, his forehead creased in uncertainty. No one is laughing. Everyone looks as baffled as me.
“Are you ready to go?” Grimes says.
He’s standing now, coming toward me, his huge hooded frame looming, and now his attentions don’t feel welcome and flattering and exciting. They make me feel like the walls are closing in on me. There’s a strange ringing in my ears: anxiety reaching fever pitch. I can taste the sugary cocktails I’ve drunk all evening, coating my mouth, making me want to throw up.
“Go where?” I say.
“To my house,” Grimes says. His voice has lost the hint of honey. Maybe it was never there; maybe I imagined it. “I’ll provide lodgings during your years of service.”
Years of service. I reach up with a weak hand to loosen my collar, feeling like I’m choking, but there’s nothing there. The shirt is already unbuttoned halfway down my chest. The choking feeling is all Grimes.
“I’m... I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m far from crazy, Florian.”
