Home > Harley Merlin and the Secret Coven (Harley Merlin #1)(2)

Harley Merlin and the Secret Coven (Harley Merlin #1)(2)
Author: Bella Forrest

“It’s showtime,” the dealer said.

I shifted my focus back to our table as cards were dealt.

Oh, you have no idea.

Chapter Two

One by one, four of the ten security cameras in the room slowly turned and zoomed in on our table. For good reason, too. We were at the turn of another game, and the cucumbers were busy signaling each other.

Had it not been for the guy’s stretched nerves and my ability to sense them, the cheaters might have gotten away with it. A mixture of excitement and fear, guilt and desire rumbled through the couple, while the other three players were simply hopeful that their luck might turn around. I was getting a little angry at this point—it was bad enough that these people were struggling with an addiction. The cucumbers were literally preying on them while carrying out their little we’re-strangers-at-the-same-poker-table charade.

I folded, then homed in on the familiarity between them. They’d been doing this for years, and, when they thought no one was looking, I could see the longing in their stolen glances. They got off on these thrills.

The air changed. I couldn’t exactly describe it, but it felt different, as if it were electrically supercharged. A rush of tingles tickled my spine, and I slowly turned my head to get a better look at the rest of the room. I’d yet to learn how to fully detach myself from what I was feeling as an empath, so I suspected that whatever anxiousness the cucumbers were experiencing, it had been passed on to me, too.

I settled on a pair of deep green eyes that belonged to a tall young man, maybe in his early twenties, who took a seat at one of the booths, just ten feet away from our table. His hair was dark brown, almost black, curled and unruly on the top, and smoothly shortened into a fade on the sides. He wore a navy-blue suit—elegant but a little casual—paired with a black shirt, its collar unbuttoned. His facial features were clear-cut, matching his equally sharp gaze.

The way he looked at me made my back automatically straighten itself. I wasn’t sure what that reaction was all about, but I quickly realized that he was responsible for the sudden flow of energy through the room. The intensity pressuring my shoulders and stomach seemed to radiate from within him.

A waitress came for his order, while my table got ready for the river. I caught a glimpse of the cucumbers signaling each other, before the girl folded. I had to give them credit: they were making an effort to be inconspicuous.

“Sparkling water with ice and lime, please,” the electric dude said.

I couldn’t help but turn my head to look at him again. His voice sounded like liquid velvet. And who the hell comes into a casino and orders water?

“Coming right up, sir,” the waitress replied.

“A lot of lime, please,” he added, then glanced at me.

Holding my breath, I shifted my focus back to the table. We were going into another round, after the cucumbers had just cleaned out the veteran gambler. He muttered a curse under his breath, then started walking over to the cashier at the other end of the room.

“I’m gonna go get some more chips,” the gambler grumbled. “Don’t start without me!”

The dealer raised his eyebrows at us. “Is everyone okay if we give the gentleman a couple of minutes to rejoin us?”

“Damn straight,” the cucumber guy grinned, annoyingly overconfident. “I can’t wait to clean him out again!”

The one thing I hated most about these confident guys was that, when it rubbed off on me, I got cocky and made dumb mistakes—like, really stupid, what-the-hell-were-you-thinking types of mistakes that either got me in trouble or, worse, hurt.

I watched the waitress return with the electric dude’s lime water. He gave her a brief nod, then frowned at the highball glass.

“Can I get more lime, please?” he asked, his voice low.

The waitress gave him a perky smile and a wink, then rushed to the bar for more lime. She liked him. I knew that for a fact, because I was having a hard time taking my eyes off the guy. Damn my empathy.

She returned with a small bowl filled with lime wedges at the same time as our veteran gambler, whose energy and hope of getting a better hand filled me up with unwarranted optimism. Nevertheless, my attention was fixed on the electric dude, who stuffed more lime into his glass, turning its contents into an almost-limeade.

Only then did I notice the rings on his fingers—ten sterling silver bands, one for each finger. There were inscriptions engraved on all of them, but I couldn’t make out the words from where I sat. His gaze found mine, and he lifted a curious eyebrow. My cheeks heated, and I slowly turned back to my table as the dealer started the next game.

The strangeness in the air didn’t fade away, though. It lingered around me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Something was… off.

As the first three cards were laid out on the table, I glanced over my shoulder. The electric dude had this look about him, a quiet but bone-rattling charm that reminded me of British rock stars—the tall, dark, and handsome type, not too bulky but not skinny either, who look good in whatever you make them wear. Except skinny jeans. Nobody looks good in skinny jeans.

He took out a tablet and absently swiped its screen for a couple of minutes. A tap on my table made me check my hand, then the flop. Once again, my cards were useless. I folded, eager to get back to what my electric rock star was doing. I just couldn’t look away, and there was no perky waitress around to blame. I was the curious and interested one.

He stilled, slowly putting his tablet down as he looked up and around the room. He seemed to stare at something, and I followed his gaze to the top left corner of the ceiling. I caught a glimpse of something dark slipping into the vent… a long, thick black tail.

What the…

I figured it could be an oversized rat. But since when do rats scamper across the ceiling?

The hint of a bad feeling poked at my stomach, and I exhaled sharply. Maybe I’d imagined it.

I checked the booth, and… he was gone. Whoever he was, he was weird. Devastatingly handsome, but weird. I looked up at the vent again, but there was nothing there to arouse any suspicion.

“Miss?” The dealer’s voice dragged me back into reality. He was talking to the cucumber chick, who pursed her lips, then briefly glanced at her mate. He was pretending to look at his cards, resting his chin in his hand, index finger tapping the tip of his nose. I’d learned by now that it was a signal for a good hand.

“I’ll put in twenty,” the young woman replied, smirking as she pushed blue chips to the center of the table.

A large figure appeared to my right. I would’ve been startled, had I not recognized Malcolm’s pale blue eyes and round, bald head. He was big and soft on the outside, kind of like the Michelin man stuffed into an Armani suit, but a damn brute if ever crossed.

It’s showtime.

They’d probably seen enough through the cameras to confirm my suspicions, if they’d decided to send the big guy, directly. A wave of fear and panic hit me like a bucket of ice water—hard bucket included in the toss. The cucumbers were broiling, as Malcolm glowered at them. Their faces were pale, beads of sweat blooming on their temples. I had never felt anyone switch from giddy to petrified in just ten seconds.

“You two.” Malcolm nodded at the couple, still separated by the three gamblers. “I need you to stand up and slowly step away from the table.”

Malcolm never ordered anyone to do anything. He used his calm voice to simply tell people what they had to do, without a fuss. Nobody dared challenge him. What he said was going to happen… well, it always happened. With no exception. He told you to stand up, you sprang to your feet. No questions asked. This time, however, it didn’t seem to immediately stick.

“Is… Is there something wrong, sir?” the cucumber guy asked, his voice a little pitchy, as the girl slowly stood up, gripping the edge of the table as if to stop herself from collapsing.

Their world was crashing down on them, and it hurt like hell. My stomach tightened itself into a knot, and my blood went on the race of the century through my veins. I broke into a sweat as my heart skipped a couple of beats. Of course, the legal implications were damning. If caught cheating, players were taken to a back room, where the police would later find them. What happened from the moment they left the table until the police officers got there, however, varied from one establishment to another.

Malcolm was big and scary as hell, and this couple seemed to have been through the motions before—otherwise, they wouldn’t be so terrified. What they didn’t know was that Malcolm only employed legal methods of detention. No one walked out with bruises or broken bones unless they assaulted someone, and security were forced to defend themselves.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” Malcolm replied. He hadn’t even brought backup with him. To be fair, there were two guards stationed by the main entrance, anyway. There was nowhere to run.

The guy stood and chuckled nervously.

“Seriously, what’s going on here? What did we do?” he asked, while the girl pressed her lips tight together.

“I think you know exactly what’s going on,” Malcolm replied dryly.

The three gamblers stared at each other, then scowled at the couple. The old-timer was particularly pissed off. I could tell from how badly I wanted to shove my fist in the young guy’s face, as he continued to laugh it off.

“No, I don’t! I’m just here playing my game. I’m not bothering anyone!” he insisted.

“You really don’t want to do this here, buddy.” Malcolm was unfazed and nodded at the bouncers from the main entrance. They both walked over and flanked the couple. “We’re going to go into the back room now.”

“Nah, man, I’m not going to no back room.” The guy shook his head, trying hilariously hard to keep his cool. I noticed a yellowish glimmer in his brown eyes but couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, exactly. It could just be reflections from the overhead chandeliers.

Fear clamped on my throat and stiffened my muscles. He didn’t want to disappear into that back room. I thought I could maybe soothe him a little, tell him that nobody was going to hurt him back there, but that would mean revealing my identity as a casino employee. If I outed myself now, other players would learn about me, and my job would be compromised. So, I kept my mouth shut and tried to ride it all out.

   
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