The dealer looks over at Evander. “Do you still need the host?’
For a moment there’s silence…
…and then Evander shakes his head.
“No, not as long as Don Sloor behaves himself.”
Evander’s slate-grey eyes turn coldly to the Bullfrog.
“You’re a poor loser, aren’t you?”
It’s a sharp prod at the Bullfrog’s ego, and the crime lord snarls in frustration. In response, he suddenly pushes his entire stack of chips into the center of the table, even when it isn’t his turn.
“The bet stands, but the action is on you.”
Evander smiles at the challenge.
“Call.”
Evander turns over his cards. His hand consists of a full set of four aces, the best hand possible.
Don Sloor says nothing for a moment, staring at the cards.
Finally, he gurgles: “Deal the turn and river.” His jowls are jiggling.
The turn is a blank. The river completes a flush, and Don Sloor flips over his hand triumphantly.
He had maybe a twenty-percent chance of winning, but now Evander’s chips are shipped over to him, and he has the short stack.
Coldness fills my belly. While there is skill to this game, it’s still a sport of chances. With enough luck, anything could happen.
Evander went instantly from having the best hand possible – not to mention an eighty-percent chance of winning the match right then and there – to an even balance again.
It’s horrible. We could have all been safe and sound. Now, instead, there’s everything left to play for.
If the lost gamble worries Evander, he doesn’t show it. He’s still got this aura of calm around him; one that permeates the table.
Even after winning, the Bullfrog seems uneasy.
Don Sloor looks down at his chip stack, which is now double that of Evander.
“I’m way ahead,” he gurgles. “Why don’t you just give me one of those slaves, and we’ll end the bet right here?”
Evander says nothing.
Despite his obvious advantage, Don Sloor runs his fat tongue over his lips. It’s an indication of worry. Clearly, he’s not as confident as he makes himself out to be.
“Alright. You’ve shown you’re a strong player. I’ll take five-thousand credits to let you buy out right now.”
Evander still says nothing. His hand rests gently on my thigh, tracing the skin of my leg as if he’s not sitting at a high-stakes poker game, but utterly relaxed at home.
Finally, his voice sounds out.
“I want your women, Don Sloor. Give me the choice of two for ten-thousand credits, and then you’re out of this game.”
Don Sloor sputters in indignation. “I would not call myself a Toad if I took that offer! Damn you to the hells, Aurelian scum.” He turned to the head of the table, and spittle flies from his blubbery lips as he snarls: “Dealer, deal!”
“Very well.”
Conan and Augustus are tense behind me – I can feel their barely contained energy. I turn my head to look back at them. They might appear to be sitting as stock-still as statues, but I can see from the barely perceptible tremble in their huge muscles that the two of them are like coiled springs, waiting to be unleashed if things turn ugly.
But that can’t happen. If it does, the Aurelians might win the skirmish, but they’ll instantly lose the war. Danielle could get killed right here and now, in the battle – and then we all might die when the Bullfrogs call in their favors and Peter Paradooli comes looking for vengeance.
No, the game is all that matters.
However, I feel my confidence returning as the competition continues. Evander plays like he can see the future. Piles of chips keep getting pushed his way, until Don Sloor looks down at nothing in front of him – just the bare felt of the poker table.
He stares at the emptiness with a shell-shocked expression.
“No! It can’t be!”
“Her, and her,” says Evander calmly, pointing at Tera and Danielle – as if they’re just pretty baubles, not human beings.
The Bullfrog is seething, but he reluctantly lets his lieutenants hand over the leashes to the two girls.
Conan takes the two women, and finally all three of the rescued slaves are affixed to his wrist.
11
Conan
I stride through the casino feeling like a king.
I have three gorgeous little human females attached to my wrist, but unlike the rest of my species – who are infamous for collecting vast harems of women – I barely glance at the three of them, except to make sure that Ashley’s friends are safe.
No, I only have eyes for Ashley – the gorgeous, curvy beauty who I hope beyond hope might be our fated mate.
My elation is palpable – but at the same time, I feel a strange exhaustion. The match had been intense. Augustus and I telepathed our thoughts to Evander constantly as he played, but just as always, it was he who was accountable for making the final decisions.
Evander had battled across the felt poker table with the same iron concentration with which he’d sparred during training at the academy. With the same unflinching focus that makes him the natural leader of our triad.
I can barely hold back my sense of triumph. We’ve saved Ashley’s friend, and now we’ll take her back to our penthouse and finally claim her as our own.
I can feel Ashley’s submission. She wants this. She craves this feeling of being cherished and protected. In the coldness of the universe, I will let no man ever touch her again – not with actions, or with words.
No longer will I let people insult her. Once I have my Orb-Sword back in my hand, nothing will stop Augustus, Evander and I from claiming this planet as our own, and bending it beneath our will.
Once we’re out of the casino, we can explain to the newly-freed slaves that they may have their freedom – or chose to be well-compensated servants to our estate, in return for offering them our protection. It’s the same deal that all Aurelian warriors give to
