Heist Royale (Thieves’ Gambit #2)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

10:50pm, 341 of 2,000 victor chips accumulated.

“I don’t believe you.”

It was the first thing that came out of my mouth, and whether that was part of my cover or my genuine thought, who knew. Maybe the more accurate statement would have been that I didn’t want to believe him. Count hadn’t had much information to share on the elusive Quinton Hart. Apparently a man who banked secrets was good at keeping a low profile. But I was sure Count would have mentioned if he was a freaking teenager.

He didn’t laugh, but his lips tilted into a smirk that felt like his version of a laugh. “Do I look like a liar?”

“You look like someone who’s too young to sign a lease without a guarantor, let alone own this place.”

He couldn’t have been that much older than me. In fact, I would’ve bet he’d gotten in with a fake ID too if I’d had to put money on it.

“Well, if you want to get technical, it’s my great-uncle’s. But he’s one coronary away from a dirt nap, and since I’m the only family member he doesn’t wish he could drag to hell with him, it’s practically mine.” He extended his hand. “Kiah Hart.”

Hart. Like the name outside the building. He was serious.

It’d be best if I just gave him the chip back and left. Just shake his hand and go on my merry way.

I extended my hand in return, but instead of shaking it, he pulled me into motion, stumbling behind him.

I tensed. Did I screw it up? Was I getting kicked out?

“Where are we going?” I kept any panic as far back as I could.

“I’ve never seen you before.” He ignored my question. I wanted so desperately to yank my hand away from him, but something told me that might make whatever this situation was worse. “How interesting.”

“I’d think new visitors would make up at least half of your guests.” He tugged me past the pool tables and around to the edges of the first floor. Where was Taiyō? Mom? Did I want them to do something? That might have made things worse too. For all I knew, I’d just been compromised, and it’d be a foolish thing to drag anyone down with me.

“Most people with these chips are repeat customers.” He skipped the forged black chip between his knuckles and peered into my open purse, which I quickly closed. “My, how many chips you have.”

A quick glance around, and I realized at least half a dozen waiters and bouncers were watching us. Waiting for some kind of signal. One they might get if I decided not to play along.

Steeling myself, I let Kiah lead me through the lobby and the secret elevator and into the private teller room. The bouncers by the entrance, as well as the tellers behind their glass walls, postured when we entered.

The cashier at the first booth held a halting hand out to the guest she was about to help and made eye contact with Kiah. He waved her off and guided me to the back of the short line instead.

My heart was hammering. Was he making me cash out early? Granted, that was better than what Count implied would be the punishment for being caught cheating, but still disastrous. How was I supposed to finish my third of the mini cons?

“I hope you’re not making me cash out. I was actually having a good time.” I folded my arms, trying to play it at least a smidge cooler than I felt.

“I bet you were.” His gaze returned to my purse. “Having a lucky night?”

“And if I am?”

He flipped the forged chip high in the air, catching it with practiced ease. “Want to know how I knew this was a forgery?”

Pettiness made me want to snap no, but honestly, yeah, I kinda did. “Tell me.”

Satisfied with my curiosity, Kiah opened his palm to reveal the chip. He pointed to the tiniest string of numbers running alongside one of the inner curves. Twelve, maybe thirteen or so characters long. “The first number here is 101.”

I fished a handful of the real chips I’d swiped out of my purse. Of the four I held in my palm, three of the serial numbers didn’t start with 101, but lo and behold, the fourth one did.

“So is this a fake too?” I asked, holding up the very real chip. Maybe we weren’t the only ones running this scam tonight.

“No, but see this?” He took mine and compared the fake and real chip side by side. “The trim on the edges of yours is maroon, not burgundy. It’s a newer design. This fake has a darker shade of red around the rim. The serial numbers for this printing of chips didn’t happen until after the redesign and the shade change. This combination of color and serial number should be”—he curled his fingers over the chip—“ impossible .”

It was a meticulous, obsessive attention to detail. And it had taken Kiah only a couple of seconds with the chip to realize it.

“Remind me what your name is?”

He knew damn well I hadn’t given him my name yet.

“Kennedy,” I said.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he could taste the lie. He scrolled through his smartwatch. I tried not to make my leering at it obvious, but I was too close not to notice the scan of the passport I’d used to check in, and a scan of what looked like the fake passport I used when we landed in France. Thank god Count had warned us about that.

He clicked his watch to black, a shade of disappointment on his face. Sorry, I won’t be that easy to catch.

“You wouldn’t happen to remember where you picked up this chip? It was in your hand when you accidentally ran into me. You must have gotten it recently.”

I shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Do you remember where you got your chip?”

A razor-sharp silence sliced between us. I bit the inside of my cheek, waiting. “Guess not.”

The guest ahead of us collected his chips and moved on. The teller behind the glass beamed too wide. “Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?”

Barely sparing the employee a glance, Kiah slid the chip under the glass. “Get me a replacement. This one is a forgery.”

The young man nodded and disappeared for a moment.

“Since I graduated high school, I’ve spent most of my nights here,” Kiah said, resting his weight on the counter. “You know why?”

“Because they don’t charge you for drinks?”

“I’m actually not very fond of casinos, in and of themselves.” He kept on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Once you know all the games and machines and tables, it can get kind of stale. But you know what never gets old? What always keeps me coming back?”

He leaned in, and like the most stubborn little mouse, I held my ground, glaring back. “Cheaters,” he said. “They’re always evolving. Always trying something different. Always so confident they’re going to get away with it. Plucking them out is like…popping my knuckles or cracking my neck, you get it? It’s just so satisfying. I stay thrilled to come back every night, desperate to get my fix.”

I swallowed. Our eyes stayed locked. “So what are you trying to say?” I started. “You think I’m a cheater?”

“I hope so.” The teller returned with my new chip. Kiah pressed it into my palm, grasping my hand with both of his. His pulse thrummed with exhilaration. “Weeding out cheaters is satisfying, but getting to punish them is like…” He blew out, breathless for a moment. “Well, I’ll let you fill in the blank.”

His eyes were practically glowing with a ravenous bloodlust. I swallowed a shudder, suddenly feeling not quite like a lamb in front of a tiger, but a tiger careless enough to hunt in a dragon’s lair.

Despite the overwhelming anxiety, a little bit of that electricity from earlier started teasing up my spine once more. He hadn’t called me out, which meant Kiah hadn’t won yet. This match was just getting started.

Game on, Kiah Hart.