Heist Royale (Thieves’ Gambit #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

I could’ve laughed with delight. We were saved, sort of. The point was, we could be back on track to actually get this job done.

“What’s so ticklish?” Kiah asked, jerking me back to reality.

Oh right, the reality that I might maybe still be on track to get thrown into the sea. But if it got us the chips we needed and secured the win that would keep my family from being destroyed, maybe that was a fair trade.

“Just you and your skepticism.” I flicked my single card as the dealer flipped over their first one. I played a card, not thinking about it nearly as much as I was about the look on Kiah’s face.

“Oh, is it just totally killing your vibe that you haven’t proved anyone at this table is a high-rolling con artist?” I pressed a hand to my chest. “I feel for you.”

“You win some, you lose some.” Kiah clicked his tongue. “I’ll have to catch that guy the next time. Him and whoever I assume was helping him count cards.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Such a disappointment. I would’ve loved to catch two cons tonight.” The dealer was busy resetting, and I noticed that the table was empty. There was still an audience watching from a respectable distance, but the bouncers must have been keeping them back.

When did he order that to happen?

Kiah thrummed his fingers over his thigh, watching two of the cocktail waitresses reeling in all the chips Mylo left behind.

“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” he said. “So frustrating. If you two were part of the same gang or something, how do any of you benefit by leaving all your winnings behind?”

We were far from home free. He was sharp, and still trying to puzzle this out.

We didn’t allay any suspicion; we just deprived him of the chance to get that elusive proof he wanted so badly.

“I don’t know that guy,” I insisted, not that it was helping at this point.

“So you don’t mind that I had them kicked out?”

It took all my training not to react. He was bluffing. When had he done that? I’d been sitting next to him the entire time. This had to be him just testing me to see how I’d react.

“I’m not a fan of the crowbar treatment for anyone, strangers included,” I said.

He chuckled. “I told you, only those found guilty get that treatment. But it’s no fun having cheaters around if I can’t keep an eye on them myself. I had those other fellows escorted out.”

“Seems like bad business to kick people out just because of a theory.” What if he wasn’t joking? If Taiyō and Mylo were out of the game, then it was even worse than before.

“Do you wanna know exactly what my theory is?” he teased.

“I have a feeling you want to tell me.”

“I think you’re a decoy. Somehow you and your friend knew about my fascination with forgeries and cheaters. So you were supposed to distract me with your admittedly forged chips, while your associate handled the real con upstairs. Am I right?”

Quite the opposite, actually. But I figured it was better than Kiah guessing the whole truth.

“And then, what, my ‘associate’ just got spooked and left when you decided to come up here?”

“Maybe.”

“Sounds like you haven’t actually figured out anything.” An idea, a weak one, was starting to bloom. “And if you were right, hypothetically, exactly how was my ‘associate’ managing to rig the Hart’s Bluff table in the first place?”

At this, he flinched. “There are dozens of ways to cheat at table games.”

“Prove it. How?”

“I can’t prove anything now that his boyfriend conveniently took him away before I could.”

I took a breath. “What if I played for him? If he was, again, hypothetically, on my team or whatever, wouldn’t I be able to slide right into his place?” No, no, it was really not the case, but it was all I had.

Mylo had won a lot of chips tonight. We never expected to actually count any of those chips in our grand total; he was always supposed to get caught and taken away. But , if one of us could actually make out with that decoy sum, then we might just surpass our two-thousand-victor-chip benchmark.

I gave Kiah a haughty grin. “You’re right, Kiah Hart. I am a con artist, and my friends and I came here tonight to walk away with a lot of your money. I want the chips you spooked my associate away from. So you’re gonna let me play, and cheat, just like he was. And when you can’t prove how I’m doing it, I want you to let me keep it.”

His eyes were alight with the challenge, and I fed it. “No more kiddie games. Let’s play for real, yeah?” He leaned closer to me. “And when I call you out, it won’t just be your last night in my casino, it’ll be your last night anywhere.”

He snapped his fingers, summoning the waitresses who were carrying away Mylo’s chips. “Bring those back, please. Dealer, new game. One player. Clear out this floor too. I don’t want anyone from this crowd here for next game.” He stood. “Good luck.”

···

The dealer didn’t just rake in the cards, he brushed down the table, unpackaged a fresh new deck, and counted the cards out, all fifty-two of them, for Kiah to see. The staff restacked Mylo’s chips, freaking one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of victor chips, in neat towers along the edge of the game table. Maybe it was meant to be an intimidation tactic, but I was grateful it gave me a few minutes to get myself together. This was my last-minute, last-chance foolish little idea, but there was one problem.

Kiah banned everyone who’d been on the floor when Mylo was playing. Noelia had been ushered out along with Devroe and everyone else. While new people were already filtering in, none of them were here to help me. Even if Noelia had been able to stay, it wasn’t like I knew any of the hand signals or calls. I was alone. I didn’t even have one of those stupid Hart’s rabbit feet for luck.

One bust, and I was out.

One suspicious move, and I might be dead.

Kiah, done examining the playing field, prowled the perimeter of his game floor. His anticipation was toxic, like acid on the skin.

“Ready, player?” the dealer said. I swallowed and nodded. He shuffled the fresh cards, drawing them into an arc, then a rainbow spread on the table before gathering them with one swipe of his palm and flicking out five into a tidy pile in front of me. Slowly, savoring the seconds I could, I pulled my hand in.

Lord Jesus, I know you don’t like the thieving thing, but give me the cards I need, and I swear I’ll start going to church with Auntie again when I go home. I won’t even swipe anything from the tithing plate.

Quickly, I committed my cards to memory. Black ace of clubs, black two, black seven, red king, red five.

The dealer dealt himself five cards, taking his time to hear the fwip of the cards as he piled them. Whispers and curious conversations surrounded me. What was the odd game going on, with only one player at a table by herself?

Even with a packed audience, Kiah made sure to keep a careful eye. He watched unblinkingly as the dealer revealed his own hand of five for me to memorize.

Red two. Black seven. Black queen. Red four, black ace—

He swiped his cards away, not giving me more than three or so seconds to get a good look. I was sure that when I saw Mylo playing, the table had gotten at least five or six seconds to ogle the dealer’s cards.

Kiah was smirking.

Like a street magician, the dealer slid and shifted his five cards over the felt tabletop. He was dizzyingly fast, pushing one card over the next, then another up, another to the side. I tried to remember which card was which, what went where, but keeping track of one card would have been near impossible, let alone all five.

Finally, he drew the five facedown cards back into a tidy row. His fingers danced over the set, teasing the second one from the left, before sliding the first one toward the center of the table, still facedown. He stole a quick peek at it before returning it to its place.

I thrummed the table, my own cards sweaty in my grasp. Okay, if I had to guess, I felt like that card was the red four he had? Yeah, that seemed right. If it was a red card, then I needed to place a card that had a value less than his to win. I eyed my hand again, specifically my ace and my two. Either of those would be a win if my hunch about his card being that red four was correct.

But was it correct?

The dealer slid a low-lidded glance at Kiah, who nodded. “Three hundred chips.” The dealer retrieved ten neat stacks of black chips from his table. “Match it or raise it, please.”

I pushed a cluster of what used to be Mylo’s stacks toward the center of the table. Three hundred chips? That was a quarter of what Mylo had won, at least. I told Kiah I would play until I completely busted. If I screwed this up, I’d be taking a major blow.

“Your move,” the dealer nudged.

What would Mylo say? Probably something like follow your gut. My gut said his card was that red four.

I made to grab my ace.

Then I switched at the last second, grabbing my queen instead. I practically slammed it on the table, drawing a slight jump from a fellow nearby.

The dealer flipped his card over.

Red, four of diamonds.

“Your loss.” He didn’t show an ounce of sympathy as he raked in my chips. Over three hundred black chips. Gone. I clenched my jaw, almost shaking. Why didn’t I trust myself?

“Four rounds remaining.” The dealer plucked two new cards from the top of the deck, one for me and one for him. He flashed his to me, a red nine, before adding it to his hand and beginning his disorienting street-magician-style shuffle again. I tried to keep up with the cards, at least the new one. It looked like when he evened the row out again that card was in the very center. Unless it was just an optical illusion.

But then he picked that center card. Was I getting lucky? The one card I actually thought I’d managed to keep an eye on was the one he selected. Maybe it was a bluff, he was toying with me, but I ignored my gut last time—look where it got me.

I’d assume it was the red seven.

“Two hundred chips,” the dealer said. With no choice, I matched. The remainder of Mylo’s pile was looking exceptionally diminished. Kiah had a crestfallen look. I’d promised him the chance to catch me in the act, and I was failing spectacularly.

How would he react if he thought I was losing on purpose to try and save my skin? Something told me Kiah wouldn’t take that well at all…

“Your move,” the dealer said.

Just play less than a seven. It’s fine.

I reached for my five.

“No way.” A familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t speaking to me, just another voice in the growing crowd around me. But familiar voices cut through background noise like a hot knife through butter, even if no one else noticed. And especially when they’re coming at you in a language you weren’t quite expecting to hear in the middle of Monte Carlo.

She continued, making giggle small talk in Korean. Pretending to take a nervous breath, I took in the crowd, following the words until I caught a glimpse of Kyung-soon, looking absolutely disco chic in a sequined minidress. She was sitting at a high table behind where the dealer stood, smiling as she spoke into her phone and playing with the candied rim of a glass. She truly was a master of not looking like she was paying a lick of attention to what was going on around her. I might have bought it too…if she hadn’t happened to be in the perfect position to sneak a peek at the dealer’s cards.

She went on, and I focused on her voice. In Korean. “I love Wistful Thinking . You would not believe me if I told you how many times I’ve rewatched that show.”

Wistful Thinking …We’d had this conversation before—that was one of Kyung-soon’s favorite dramas.

Ten times. She’s rewatched it ten times.

I bypassed the five I was going for and picked my king instead, giving the dealer and by proxy Kiah a sure look.

The dealer bit his lip, but flipped the card.

A black ten.

“Your win. Three rounds remaining.”

I almost hugged the chips back to me. The focus in Kiah’s eyes was smoldering.

The dealer selected one new card for each of us. I paid careful attention to memorize the value and color. As long as I remembered the color of the card, if someone was telling me the number, then I’d know what to play.

“Your wager—”

“Five hundred.” I pushed an embarrassment of chips to the center of the table, toppling some precariously stacked towers in the process. A few gasps ran through the floor. Kiah looked like he might have an aneurysm.

“Matched,” the dealer said, and began his party trick.

If I thought he had supersonic hands before, then this was way past light speed. I had whiplash by the time he finally picked a card, stole his peek at it, and put it back facedown. Kiah’s gaze was ravenous over the crowd. Clearly, he suspected someone was calling for me; that was why he set this game up this way.

“I went to Jeju once, but it’s been forever…” Kyung-soon said to the imaginary person on the other end.

Jeju, Jeju. An island in South Korea. Oh my god, she mentioned this. Her family took her there for one of her birthdays. But was it four or five? The dealer had both, black four and red five.

I played my five. Worse-case scenario it would be a tie.

The dealer flipped, revealing his red five. “Even. No chip exchange. Two rounds left. Your wager.”

I let out a breath. Okay, no win, but no loss. “I wager five hundred again.” The dealer nodded. Apparently my tie hadn’t done much to ease Kiah’s nerves. As the dealer reshuffled, Kiah completed a full pace around the room, eyeing the cluster of people behind the dealer, the bridesmaids, the high roller with a barely legal girl on each arm, the plastered guy with sunglasses on inside, the Korean girl chatting away on her phone. Apparently, Kiah was unable to decide who was most suspicious. He angrily muttered something into his smartwatch. Oh god, was he calling some of his lackeys to get ready to drag me out after I lost?

The dealer put his card down. “Your move.”

“I think I’m going to dye my hair blue again,” Kyung-soon said carelessly.

I racked my brain for any conversations we’d had. I thought I remembered, during a weird late-night group chat session in which Mylo was discussing all the different hairstyles he’d had, Kyung-soon mentioning that she’d dyed her hair a shade of aquamarine not too many years ago. But she couldn’t have been any younger than, what, fourteen or fifteen when that happened? Neither of those numbers were viable in this situation. Was she trying to say one, as in she’d only done that once?

Just as I shakily started to pluck out my ace, at the worst drawing another tie, she spoke again. “Oh yeah, Madame did not like that at all.”

It clicked. The rest of her story. Mylo had asked how long she rocked it, and Kyung-soon said she didn’t get more than six hours before her mentor came back home; they were doing a long con that involved a certain amount of propriety. Her mentor had dyed it back to its original shade herself.

Six. The dealer’s six was black. I played my seven.

Win.

Applause wrapped around me. “She’s got a good eye for keeping track of them cards,” I heard someone say.

“Just dumb luck,” someone answered.

“One round remaining,” the dealer said. He hesitated pulling new cards for us, though, and I didn’t realize why until Kiah was slipping his way back into the crowd, now with one of his employees in tow.

A nervous-looking woman in a pencil skirt and a red vest—the teller that had cashed me in. I thought she looked Blasian. Wait, was she Korean?

The woman wrung her hands as she stopped next to Kiah, both of them within listening distance of Kyung-soon. Clearly he suspected she was calling the cards for me, but he couldn’t quite prove how.

Relax, Ross. Kiah wouldn’t act unless he could prove how she was signaling me. That was the fun for him.

The teller whispered into Kiah’s ear while Kyung-soon was now fake gossiping about some girl she was frenemies with at a country club I was sure didn’t really exist.

This was it, then, the last play. The one Kiah thought he was really going to call me out with.

Well, go big or go home.

I pushed all my chips into the center of the table, drawing an audible gasp from the collective new fans around me. “All in.”

The dealer, leaning back a little as if he might topple over, shot a questioning glance at Kiah. Was he really allowed to do this?

I cocked a brow at Kiah myself. He folded his arms, looking from me to Kyung-soon, then gestured for the dealer to get on with it.

“All right…” The dealer tugged at his collar. “Matched.”

The dealer made an extra show of shuffling this time around. Spinning and spiraling and shifting the cards in the most hypnotizing way possible. I gripped the underside of the table in anticipation. All this pageantry didn’t matter, just so long as I still had the assist.

And she didn’t get caught.

Finally, the dealer selected a card, did his mandatory peek, then slid it facedown between us.

The room was white noise. Everything that wasn’t Kyung-soon’s voice.

She sighed into the phone, then finished her drink and started collecting her things. “Maybe she deserved it, but do friends let you down when it matters?”

My heart froze, and I felt like the sappy but true answer was obvious. It took everything in me not to smile.

Never.

But what did that mean? One? Ace?

Or nothing.

He was playing a joker.

I put my cards facedown on the table. “Nothing,” I said.

The dealer swallowed hard, looking like he would do anything in his power not to flip the card. But with the audience around us, and the rules of the game, what choice did he, or Kiah, have?

He flipped the card. Joker, baby.

I freaking won.