Kes nudged me under the table.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, pretending to shuffle the deck. I hoped to fucking God I’d done all I could.

I hadn’t had enough time to prepare. What would happen tonight would be improv and sheer fucking luck.

If I didn’t pull it off…tonight would be a bloodbath. There would be no way to stop myself from slaughtering my entire bloodline—including myself.

So many things could go wrong.

So many unthought-of issues that could destroy my hard work.

Trust me, Nila.

Because you have no other choice.

Without a word, Nila took the used ashtray and spun to return to the sideboard.

Cut grabbed her around the waist, keeping her locked to his side. “I like this on you, Ms. Weaver. It looks rather…provocative.” He raised his hand to cup her breast. The wash of lust springing from him overrode my triple dose.

I shot to my feet, showering the table in fifty-two cards.

Everyone froze.

My chest pumped. My fists clenched. My body howled for fucking murder.

Cut cocked his head, glaring deep into my eyes. In a heated challenge, he twisted Nila’s nipple through the gauzy shirt.

Shit, shit. Do. Not. Deviate.

“Something you want to say, Jet?” Cut hissed, imprisoning Nila as she wriggled. Her lips pursed, sickness swimming over her face.

I couldn’t look at her without drowning in everything she felt. Horror, hatred, hopelessness. She expected me to be her champion. To save her at the final hour.

I will.

I’m trying.

Daniel cackled, stubbing out his cigar. “If what father says is true, brother, perhaps you should leave. After all, you’ve already had a taste which was against the rules.”

Kes stood up beside me. His hand planted on my shoulder. “He has nothing to say. Do you, Jethro?”

I never looked away from Cut. This was between him and me. No one else. We were the main players; everyone else was collateral in our war. Unlike Cut though, I meant to keep everyone alive in the aftermath.

A headache sprang from nowhere. The standoff vibrated stronger and stronger.

It was Nila who broke the tension. “Sit down, Kite.” Her voice was raindrop soft and just as watery. My eyes tore to hers.

I had so much to say and no time to speak.

“She calls you Kite now, huh?” Cut shoved her away. “That’s a disappointing development.”

My heart seized.

Kes’s hand pressed on my shoulder, forcing my knees to buckle and deliver me back to my seat.

Keep it together.

“Not an important development, I can assure you.” Swallowing my rage, I methodically scooped up the scattered cards. “I think the table needs another drink, Ms. Weaver.”

Cut relaxed a little; Daniel laughed.

Nila bit her lip, tears glossing before turning her back on all of us to collect the cognac.

I sighed, shuddering under the tangled thoughts coming from all three relations. Each emotion fucked me up inside until I couldn’t fathom my own conclusions.

It was easier to drink from the poisoned well than reject it. I would have to slip a little in order to win.

What Nila was about to go through would break her.

What I was about to go through would destroy me.

And no amount of pills could save us.

I just had to hope. Had to pray. Had to scheme.

Had to motherfucking implore that tonight I would win over Bryan ‘Vulture’ Hawk.

Clang.

The final chime struck midnight.

Two hours of torture.

Two hours of gambling.

Only Daniel was out; his chips distributed between Kes, Cut, and myself. My own stack dwindled, calling for drastic measures of going all in with an unbeatable hand. Kes was the winner, keeping Cut chasing as they puffed like chimneys and drank thousands of pounds worth of cognac.

Every few seconds, my attention wandered to Nila. She hovered like a ghost, jumping at my father’s commands and pre-empting his requests by stocking crisps and emptying ashtrays.

Her presence distracted the hell out of me, but the fact that she refused to look at me drove me insane. She wouldn’t let me silently explain or encourage.

She’d cut me out. In fact, she’d shut down emotionally. The only hint of feeling was dismal resignation.

“Your turn, Jet,” Kes prompted, pointing at the flop.

I ran a hand through my hair. My mind wasn’t on the game, only the fucking chimes of the clock.

One a.m. was the starting bell.

One more hour to go before the catastrophe began.

“I fold.” Throwing the cards face down on the felt, I took another sip of my drink. The liquor formed a decent barrier with the drugs in my system, relaxing me enough to remain myself and not fester on Cut’s intentions.

We continued to play.

Nila lingered in the background, and second by second, we all inched into the future. The setting was slightly different to what’d happened that fateful night—we weren’t in a local drinking hole and Nila wasn’t a tavern wench—but her role as waitress was the same.

Kes dealt the next hand.

He’d stopped smoking and slowed his pace on the cognac. His eyes were clear, hands steady. He’d fortified himself just enough with liquid courage but hadn’t slipped into drunk.

I’d been an asshole to him the past few weeks, yet he’d forgiven me before I’d even apologised. He was a true friend. A steadfast ally.

But will you ever be able to look at him again without killing him after tonight?