COLLIN stared across the green felt expanse at Oliver. A sense of inevitability washed over him. Of course it had come down to the two of them pitted against each other. Panic hovered just behind his sternum. They both knew Oliver to be the better player. But the cards and lady luck were in charge now.
Did he dare try to bluff Oliver? God knew, the man could read every nuance of his body language in bed. There was no reason to believe it would be any different at a poker table.
Would Oliver try to bluff him? Possibly. The guy had been less than forthcoming about his feelings for the past several days, ever since Collin had tried to dump him for his own safety. And Oliver had dumped him back for not guarding his own safety.
A new shoe was brought out. The wooden rack held three new decks of cards randomly shuffled together to minimize the effect of card counting. Which benefited Collin, no doubt. Oliver was hell on wheels when it came to counting cards. He eyed Oliver’s chip stack. They were pretty even in that department, which didn’t mean much. This was now all about skill and nerve.
He was shocked to realize he wanted to win. It wasn’t so much about finding out what the prize was as it was proving himself worthy to his lover. Or more accurately, proving to himself that he was worthy of a man like Oliver, he corrected. He realized he was scowling in Oliver’s general direction.
Oliver looked hurt for a millisecond, and then his bright blue gaze hardened.
So. It was going to be like that, was it? One-upmanship had always been part of their relationship, from the very first moment they met. Out in the Mediterranean Sea, he’d tried to save Oliver, and Oliver had insisted on trying to save him. As if either one of them had needed help. Ha! Collin released a slow breath and girded himself for battle.
The first cards were dealt. He had an uninspired nine of clubs and eight of hearts. Oliver peeked at his cards and didn’t look any more thrilled. Collin didn’t bother trying to bluff, and it didn’t appear Oliver was going to try either. They bet out the hand anemically, and the next several hands in similar fashion, neither one risking many chips. Sort of like their relationship. Neither one willing to commit too much, circling around one another, sizing each other up.
He picked up his next cards. Another ace-jack combo, both spades. Now this he could work with. Although the calculations were worlds easier with only two players in the game, a greater element of uncertainty entered into all his math. He matched up the jack on the flop, bet it strongly, and went down in flames as Oliver turned over a pair of pocket kings.
“Nice cards,” he murmured.
“Lucky.”
Right. Luck. That ineffable, unpredictable lady who made gambling more than simple math. And tonight she was a stone-cold bitch who hated his ever-loving guts. As the night progressed, it seemed like every time he got a half-decent hand, Oliver’s cards were just a little bit better. It got so bad he actually started calculating the odds of it happening again and started coming up with some truly astronomical numbers.
After yet another edge out by Oliver that ate into Collin’s dwindling stack of chips, the dude had the cojones to murmur, “You never give up, do you?”
His competitive instincts flared. He’d show Oliver he could play cards with the big dogs, dammit—
He checked himself sharply. The bastard was playing him! Oliver knew how competitive he was and had poked at him, trying to get an emotional rise out of him. And it had worked!
“Nice try,” he murmured back, smiling in genuine amusement.
A flash of frustration passed through Oliver’s sapphire gaze. Why was he frustrated? The guy had nearly three-quarters of the chips and couldn’t buy himself bad cards if he tried. If Collin didn’t do something drastic, and fast, to win a big hand, he was going to be finished. Oliver would be able to nickel-and-dime him to death without ever risking a significant portion of his chip pile.
As if he’d willed the cards into his hands, his next hold cards were a pair of queens. There were still a lot of hands that could beat those ladies, but they were a decent start. More than a decent start. Oliver opened the betting strongly. So. He had decent cards too, did he? Well, then, this could get interesting. The first three turn cards were all over the place. Low cards. Two spades, which was mildly worrying if Oliver had two spades in his hand and a possible spade flush. He made the allowance in his calculations and still came out way ahead in the odds. The bets climbed, with raises and reraises back and forth. Oliver seemed to realize that Collin had picked this hand to make his stand.
Silently, Collin asked Oliver to give him a break. To let this hand fall his way. The longer the two of them could draw out this competition, the more time they’d have to figure out what was actually going on with this tournament’s end game.
He noticed Oliver glancing up at the black glass bubble of a surveillance camera, and his jaw muscles tightened. It was an unwelcome reminder that George Elliot could see their hold cards. If either one of them failed to bet their cards appropriately, the bastard would know… and no doubt kill one or both of them.
Oliver announced, “I raise a million.”
The huge bet would all but force Collin to fold. Staying in the hand and losing now would cripple him.
So much for love over blood.
Collin pushed his entire remaining stack of chips into the middle of the table. “All in.”
He looked up and made grim eye contact with Oliver, whose eyes were are hard as chips of blue bottle glass. No sympathy there. Pain blossomed in his chest. They’d never really had a chance, had they? The deck had always been stacked against them. His job. Oliver’s father. Their own insecurities and unwillingness to commit to a real relationship. At the end of the day, they just hadn’t been strong enough to overcome all the obstacles between of them.
He had a feeling it was going to be a long time before he recovered from Oliver Elliot. The guy had wrecked his heart. God only knew if and when he would ever take a chance on someone else. It had been hard enough to open up to this man, and Oliver was damn near perfect in every way that mattered. Where would he ever find someone else to compare?
Collin blinked, startled momentarily by the poker table, the cards, the chips, the man seated across the table. Oh. Right. He’d bet everything on the turn of a card. His pair of queens should hold up to anything except paired kings or aces—which he didn’t think Oliver had or he’d have bet differently—or a flush. He was good if anything but a spade turned up.
The dealer reached for the final card and flipped it over.
A queen of spades.
Good. And bad.
He’d matched up his queens for three of a kind. But his gut quailed at the possibility that Oliver had hit his flush. Surely the guy hadn’t done all that hellish betting with nothing else in his hand but the possibility of hitting a flush.
“Call,” Oliver murmured. Which was poker-speak for You show your cards first.
Collin tossed out his queens face up.
Oliver sighed. “Nice.” He tossed out his own cards. “But not nice enough.”
He had them. The spades. Oliver had started this hand bluffing like a big dog on junk—a two and six of spades. And Collin had completely fallen for it. So much for knowing his lover.
He stood, chagrined and, frankly, pissed off. He held out his hand to shake Oliver’s. “Congratulations. You completely faked me out. You’re a much better liar than I ever could be.”
Oliver’s eyebrows slammed together as he also rose. He opened his mouth on some undoubtedly snarky retort when a voice boomed from across the cavernous darkness of the ballroom. “Not so fast, gentlemen.”
They turned as one to face a trio of men striding toward their lone table under its stark spotlight. George Elliot was in the middle, flanked by two gray-haired men Collin didn’t recognize. Oliver stiffened across the table.
One of the other men spoke in a gravelly voice. “Congratulations on making it this far, gentlemen. You should take pride in your accomplishment. As it stands, Mr. Elliot, you will win the tournament. However, Mr. Callahan, you have one more chance to stay in the running. Although you are out of chips, we are prepared to let you play one more hand and make one more bet.”
Collin frowned. He glanced over at Oliver, who shrugged. He didn’t know what was going on either.
When the man didn’t continue, Collin finally asked, “And that bet would be what?”
George Elliot answered somberly. “You may bet your life.”
Collin blinked. His life? What the hell did that mean?
Oliver made a choked sound and then demanded, “Are you fucking kidding me? No way! That’s insane! I’ll concede the tournament to him if he accepts that offer.”
Collin glared over at Oliver. “It’s not your call to make.” To George, he said more calmly, “Could you elaborate on what that bet would entail?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. You win the hand, you win whatever chips your opponent has bet on the hand. You lose, your opponent kills you.”
Oliver flared up angrily, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. I’m not killing anybody!”
George glared at his son. “Then you fail the job interview, forfeit your winnings, will be disowned permanently, and my colleagues and I will see to it you never work an honest job again. Furthermore, we’ll irrevocably ruin you and your reputation, and we will still kill your opponent. In front of you.”
Oliver stared in horror nearly as great as Collin’s.
Enough of this crap. Collin spoke up. “And if I turn down the bet? Do I walk out of here ruined instead?”
The quiet man answered with a tiny smile, “You catch on quickly, Mr. Callahan.”
“What about my opponent? If I win, does he walk out of here alive and unharassed?”
“Of course.”
“I have your word on that?” Collin pressed.
George Elliot scowled and ground out, “Yes.”
“Let’s say for argument’s sake that I do accept this bet, and that I go on to win the tournament. What will I win? I have a right to know what I’m risking my life over.”
“Do you accept the bet?” the man responded.
And there it was. He would complete his mission and finally find out what the hell was going on around here… if he risked his life on a hand of poker. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he accepted the bet, he would not be allowed to leave El Rocca, and if he did flee Gibraltar, these powerful psychopaths would find him and kill him, no matter how good Wild Cards, Inc.’s resources might be at hiding him.
“I accept.”
“No!” Oliver cried.
“It’s not your call,” Collin bit out. “My life. My choice.”
“Damned idiot—” Oliver started.
George cut off his son, voice raised to talk over him. “Play will resume tomorrow evening at ten o’clock sharp. I’ll see both of you then.” The bastard strode away into the shadows from whence he’d come. Collin thought he caught a hint of a smirk on Elliot’s face as he turned away.
The other two men remained, and the quiet one spoke once more. “The winner of this tournament will be offered a position in the Erebus Consortium. We are arguably the most powerful group of human beings on the planet. And one of you will join us. That is what you are risking your life for, Mr. Callahan.”
Collin nodded in terse acknowledgment, his mental wheels spinning. Holy hell. Who on earth was this Erebus Consortium, and why could that guy make such an outrageous claim with a straight face? Why had this bunch never popped up on Wild Cards’ radar? His employer was plugged into every major intelligence agency on the planet, and he’d never heard even the name.
“What the fuck are you doing, Collin?” Oliver demanded aggressively.
A pair of goons stepped forward, restraining Oliver when he tried to come around the table, rage hot in his eyes.
Collin looked up at him bleakly. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” And with that he turned smartly on his heel and, escorted by another pair of goons, retreated to his hotel room to ponder the nature of self-destruction.
At least he’d completed his mission. After he reported in to Wild Cards ops about this Erebus Consortium, his work here was done. When he lost—for surely he would—and he was executed, he wouldn’t have to live for long with the knowledge that he’d loved and lost Oliver Elliot. It wasn’t much as silver linings went. But it was all he had.