Page 2 of His Bet To Take
What else could the man have to lose?
“Interesting,” I say, knowing damn well I shouldn’t take anymore from this family, but like the greedy man I am, I’m too curious to know if what he has is what I’ve been craving.
“I thought you’d say that sir. He’s downstairs waiting.”
“You didn’t allow him inside, did you?” The last thing I wanted was for this man to be able to see the inside of my home.
He drops his head and lifts his eyes, giving me a look that says, ‘What the fuck do you think?’
“Right. I know you know better.” Giving the dock one last look, I pour myself another drink before walking around my desk. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
“Mr. Roulette—”
“Ian, James. Ian. We’ve known each other long enough. You only need to be formal in front of others.”
“Ian,” he corrects himself, his quick strides matching with mine as we head to the elevator. “When will Patrick stop being an issue? I can have him taken care of and you won’t have to worry about him again.”
I tilt my head back and smile, loving the ruthless nature of James. When the sleek stainless-steel doors open, I right myself, staring straight ahead. “When I get what I want from him.”
“When has he ever been useful?”
“Never.” My reflection glares at me from the polished elevator doors. “But everyone has something, James. And when I get it, then, I’ll decide what I want to do.”
“Yes sir.”
If I’m not mistaken, James sounds disappointed. I pat him on the back. “You’ll be able to fire your new weapon soon enough. Don’t be so sad.”
“I’m not sad,” he grumbles, his tone betraying him.
The elevator descends, with a classical ding sounding as we pass each floor.
Four to be exact.
The closer we get to the lobby, I will the exhaustion to disappear from my face and straighten my spine. Watching myself turn into a villain in the reflection of the stainless steel doors always surprises me. My features become harder and tighter, my jaw flexes, and annoyance is painted on my face.
This job, this business, it isn’t for the weak.
Men like me can’t afford to have weaknesses or we drop from predator to prey. It will be a cold day in hell before I’m at the bottom of the food chain.
The elevators open to my foyer, the chandelier gleaming, the marble floor freshly polished. No one would know that last night, I killed a man right here. His blood was a pool on my pristine floors. Death is always the answer when someone tries to undermine me.
James opens the oversized bulletproof front door for me and Patrick is pacing in my driveway, chewing on his fingernails. His hair is standing up in every direction from nervously running his hands through it. Dark circles stain his under eyes as if he hasn’t slept in a week. His clothes are filthy, and his body odor is atrocious, but I don’t let myself flinch.
I stand a few feet away, unbutton my blazer, shrug it off, and then hand it to James. I roll up my sleeves, showing the swirling designs of my tattoos, but it’s the tallies on my forearm I like to display the most.
One for every kill done by my own hands.
It’s my scorecard.
“Patrick,” I greet, letting my annoyance drip through my voice. James hands me a cigarette and I dig into my pocket for a lighter. I puff, letting the bright orange ember glow in the night. I exhale the smoke, clouding Patrick’s face. “What do you want disturbing me at my own home so late at night?”
“Mr. Roulette, I—I have something for you.” He takes a step forward and James blocks him, but I tug my security guard back and nod.
“It’s alright. Patrick and I are going to have a nice conversation, aren’t we?” I stare him down and Patrick nods with a gulp.
I take another inhale of my cigarette and smile, wanting to break the tension. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a while, Patrick. I thought you forgot about me.”
He shakes his head and looks down at his feet, his oily hair falling across his forehead. “No, Mr. Roulette, never. Never. I’ve been figuring out how to pay you.”