The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Twenty

Booker's grip around Trinket's waist tightened, and she instinctively reached for his hand in an attempt to calm him. His gaze was fixed on Scales, and though he was managing to keep his expression free of emotion, she could see the muscles in his jaw clench.

"It's been a while since we've faced off at a card table, hasn't it, Larkin?" Scales said, finally pulling his attention away from Trinket and settling it on Booker. "And since you claim there was some dishonesty in our last game, I thought I'd offer a rematch."

"I'm not a sore loser, Scales," Booker replied with impressive control. "You can keep my money."

"Oh, I intend to. But you know that's not all I'm after."

Clearing his throat, Scales rapped his knuckles against the table. The dealer, his face drained of all color, began doling out cards. Booker paid his hand no mind as he watched Scales glance over his hand casually.

"Are you so afraid of losing that you're not even going to play, Larkin?" Scales asked, his eyes still on his cards.

Without taking his gaze off the thug, Booker reached down and picked up his cards. An eight of hearts and a three of diamonds. Trinket didn't know much about Knocks, but Gin had done her best to educate her. At the very least, she knew Booker wasn't going to luck out with an amazing hand like last time.

The player on the dealer's left knocked on the table, leaving the pot as it was. The next player did the same. Surprisingly, when Booker's turn came, he knocked as well, passing over the chance to open the betting.

This unusual move wasn't lost on Scales. "You're awful quiet tonight, Larkin."

"Caught me in a good mood, Scales."

"You're not going all domestic on me, are you?"

Scales' gaze flickered to Trinket, and her spine stiffened.

"Some of us have to grow up," Booker said, turning his eyes to his cards. "Thought I might give it a try."

Scales stared at him, slowly drumming his fingers against the table while the other players and the surrounding crowd waited for his next move. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, before tossing a handful of coins into the pot.

"Bet eleven shillings," he said.

It must have taken a lot of control for the other players to keep from groaning at the high bet. The dealer dutifully matched it and then leaned across the table to flip three of the cards set beside the pot. A queen of clubs, an ace of hearts, and a nine of clubs.

"Aren't you curious about what I've been up to?" Scales asked, tapping his cards against the edge of the table.

"I'm assuming you were busy obtaining that," Booker said, nodding at the scalp lying amidst the money.

A cruel smile pulled at one side of Scales' mouth. "You don't seem surprised."

"Why would I be? I know you, Scales. I know you'll do whatever it takes to get what you want. Whether that be wolves, dead bodies," he tossed in eleven shillings, "or a position in an upstart gang."

There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver of panic through Trinket's body. But rather than react to the insult, Scales simply grinned. "Jealous much?"

Booker gave a sharp laugh, rearranging his cards uselessly. "Jealous? Tell me, Scales, who got the Wolf? And the corpses? What is there to be jealous of, exactly?"

"My ability to rise to the top despite the world being against me."

Slamming his hands on the table, Booker leaned forward. "You have no idea what I've risen from, Scales. No idea. Just like you have no idea what you're sticking your nose into."