after this night (camren)

3. Camila

Tonight was for winning.

......

The venture capitalist with the laughing tell was back, and he spent most of the game staring at me. But Arthur must have gotten a tip to strike that laugh from his repertoire because the first time he chuckled I went all in, and lost a cool grand. He'd really had three kings. No bluffing.

He'd likely snagged himself a poker tutor, some former pro player who now trained eager wannabe card sharks the ways of the game, or a grizzled old veteran needing to earn a dime or two after he'd retired. I'd seen it before among the hotshots. A pivot here, a change-up there - all signs that they were being coached on the side. And that they thought they were the hot shit.

He wasn't. No one was.

"I'm in" he said, shoving a black chip into the pot, eyes on me the whole time, like I was his prey.

So wrong.

I was the predator. They were all my enemies, every last one of them, and just because I'd lost a hand didn't mean I was going to lose the game. I rubbed my index finger against a black chip, checked out my cards again, then scanned Arthur's face. Pale skin, pockmarks from acne probably garnered only a few years ago when he was in high school, and a nice, straight nose. His blue eyes were locked on me, and that was another clue he'd hired a tutor. He'd probably been told to stare me down, the tutor thinking that would knock me off my game.

Didn't work. Not in general, and certainly not tonight, when I had jetpacks of anger fuelling me. I was pissed at Shawn, pissed at Matthew, pissed at Austin, pissed at Arthur, and most of all, pissed at Lauren for not believing me. If only she could see me now, she'd feel like a goddamn heel for casting all that doubt on me. She'd acted like I was a lying drug user, like her ex. Ha. Couldn't be further from the truth. I wished I could record this game with a secret hidden camera and show her, "There. See? I'm this scumbag's ringer till my debt is done. Happy now?"

Screw her and her lack of faith. Screw Arthur and his lack of tell. Screw his tutor. Screw them all. I was more ballsy than Arthur, and I'd play to my strengths. Guts.

I had two tens, and I was betting on them.

"I'll see your $500 and I'll raise you $1000" I said, pressing my long red fingernail against one chip, sliding it in, then methodically doing the same with the next two chips.

He showed no response for a few seconds, as if he were trying to hold in his reaction. Then his eyebrow twitched, and I wanted to pump a fist. New tell, perhaps?

The rest of the crew had folded. The guy who owned a sporting goods shop leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering between Arthur and me. He was a regular, and a plant. He won some, lost some, and generally was in attendance to balance out a game. There was also a young guy with chiselled cheekbones and wavy hair who drives one of Austin's limos. All here to pad the table.

Over in the kitchen, Matthew the Squirrel sifted through a plate of fresh-baked cookies, scarfing down another one. I had no idea who'd baked cookies for a rigged card game, but maybe it was his Mama or his wife. Or maybe it was his colleague. There was a new guy with him, a baby-faced fellow named Brad with brown eyes and a barrel-like body. Perhaps he was a trainee of Squirrel's, I had mused when I'd met him before the game. No gun on his ankle yet, though. Maybe he hid it elsewhere.

Arthur surprised me by grabbing two chips and dropping them in the pile, "Time to show the cards. Lucky sevens" he said with a lopsided grin, all confidence and bravado now. I wondered if his tutor would pat him on the back for that move, and say good boy. I wondered if I cared what his tutor thought. I decided I didn't. All I wanted was that money, so badly I was damn near salivating it. All those black beauties in the pile would bring me a touch closer to freedom from Austin's thumb, and his knife, and his goon who followed me around with a gun.