The Council of Dark Root: Armand: A Daughters of Dark Root Companion Novella (The Daughters of Dark Root Book 0) by April Aasheim

Author:April Aasheim [Aasheim, April]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-13T00:00:00+00:00

The game was going well. Armand lost the first several hands, even folding when he’d held three aces while his companions held nothing better than a pair of queens between them. But if he wanted to win the big money, the money that would get him back to L.A., he’d have to be patient.

After two hours and several more rounds of drinks––all on the house, courtesy of his young waiter friend––their wagers grew as large as their egos.

Eventually, his patience paid off.

“I bet it all,” said the stool-throwing man, whose name was Josef. His eyebrows knit into a single line across his forehead as he pushed his entire stack of winnings into the center of the table. “I feel lucky,” he said, bobbing his head and grinning.

“Your wife, she is going to kill you if you lose so much,” said his friend. He thumped his chest proudly. “That’s why I don’t get married. No woman to tell me how to spend my money.”

“That’s not the reason,” said the third man. “It’s because no woman can stand your smell.”

They all laughed and Armand joined in.

While they joked about wives or lack thereof, Armand scanned their thoughts. A newsreel of lackluster images played before him: work in the morning, an asshole for a boss, a church service. He tried not to linger on any of these images too long. He only needed to see their cards.

He directed his energy on Josef, who continued to smile as though he held the best hand of his life. Sorting through his drunken brain, Armand saw that Josef held nothing but a pair of fives.

“Who’s in?” Josef asked, his eyes gleaming and his stubby hands already reaching for the pot.

“I do have a wife, and she will kill me if I lose so much,” said the married man, folding his hand in front of him and calling for another beer.

The third man’s face beaded with perspiration. Armand saw that he held a natural straight but was unable to match the bet.

“I’m out, too,” he said, tossing his cards onto the table and leaning backwards. “Josef, if you’re bluffing, I will kill you.”

“He’s too mean to die,” said the other, laughing.

Josef ignored them, his eyes intent on Armand. His bushy brows twitched over the top of his hand. “And you, are you out too, American?”

Armand opened his wallet. He had exactly seven dollars left and he’d need eighty to match the bet. He cleared his throat and then peeled five, one-dollar bills from his roll. “I see your bet and call.”

Josef’s friends shook their heads in anger. Josef rose from his seat, clenching his fists. They were drunk, but they were not fools.

Armand broadcast his dwindling energy in a smooth arc around the table, counting silently to himself: 1…2…3…

Josef threw a glass across the room. It smashed into the wall behind Armand. “Do you think we are stupid?”

4…5.

As suddenly as their anger manifested, it faded. Josef sat down again, looking dumbfounded as he stared at the bills on the table.

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