High Stakes

*Contains profanity*

In a fine silk, black tailored suit Stephan Galen sashayed his way into the casino. Tonight was his lucky night, indicated by the itch he felt deep in his right palm.

He flexed his fingers, refraining from scratching the itch he so very much wished to rid. The silly man believed in even the smallest superstitions when it came to his money.

Flanked by his two body guards, Jericho and Kaden, he made his way through the front lobby, barely sparing a glance at the golden embellishments lining the wall, fine details etched into each surface.

In the middle of the lobby stood a ten-foot statue of an angel, standing, praying, golden wings wrapped around its lean torso. The features of the angelic creature chiseled to perfection would make anyone halt in their tracks to truly absorb the masterpiece, however, Mr. Galen found the statue to be entirely ironic to reside in a house full of sin.

With a curt nod to the striking, youthful brunette woman at the front desk he proceeded to the following room, his guards flanking each side.

Behind his darkened shades, his eyes dilated as the familiar scent of cigars, alcohol and cash drifted towards him in slithering waves.

To the right an older woman, wrinkled and retired, indicated by the sash across her sagging chest, hollered. Jumping from her seat she squealed as the slot machine screamed like a beckoning alarm.

Come play. Come win!

Stephan knew better. The real money was in the back. The tables reserved for the high rollers, gambling the average American’s life savings away without a second thought.

He eyed the cocktail waitresses with male appreciation behind his shades, their cerulean glittered outfits hugging their curvy figures.

“Would you like a drink, sir?”

A vibrant blonde approached him, the spark of interest clear in her eyes.

“No, thank you.”

Last thing he needed was a female distraction. He would be damned if he let Malik win his hard earned money again. The pompous male had conned him out of a half a million dollars in less than an hour, with a smirk and a light tsk, he had snuffed his cherry cigar out in the nearest ashtray, a gleam in his dark eyes and sauntered out of the room, leaving Stephan with his head in his hands, teeth clenched, ready to punch him square in his jaw.

“Mr. Galen, I think you have a new interested follower.”

Jericho referred to the voracious blonde still lingering a look at his backside.

“Then go get her Jericho, I have business to attend to.”

They stepped into the back room, the lights dimmer than the main floor, music drifting lightly in the stagnant air. A thin layer of smog from expensive tobacco lingered as if a blanket covering the entire room.

With a tip of his lips, Stephan prowled to the bar to his right, the top shelf liquor glowing in display.

Oh, but Stephan was a simple man.

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

He tossed a couple of hundreds on the onyx marbled bar top.

The young man with slicked back hair and a black velvet button-up vest nodded his way, quickly pouring his drink with ease, the ice crackling as it was lowered into they honeyed liquid.

Grabbing his drink from the table he looked around the room, immediately catching Malik’s eyes, which he was sure the man had been ogling him since he walked into the darkened space. Nothing but a big ass bag of cash is what he could imagine Malik sees when he looks like him, his glistening, hazy eyes turning into large, sparkling green dollar signs like a cartoon character.

Stephan made his way to the table, careful to show a lack of interest, though he felt quite the opposite. He was interested in getting his money back.

“Malik.”

He nodded to the serpent-like man that eyed him with an unsettling stare underneath thick eyelashes.

“Stephan.”

The dealer sat in the middle of the table. Posed at the ready to begin the game. Stephan threw a wad of cash on the table.

“Ready.”

Blackjack gave him a high. A simple game that he could make quick cash with and had plenty of previous times with bigger suckers. One night unexpectedly he’d gained a million from some drunk, old hotshot that laughed it off, his fingers happily sliding the bills from the table and into the briefcase Kaden had held. Gambling provided a high unmatched, it was his achilles heel.

The slick sound of each card sliding against each other was a melodic tune to his ears, that would either lead to the best day of his life or quite possibly the worst. Stephan would be enormously pissed if he didn’t get his lick back.

The dealer laid down a card face down on his side, circling the table until both him and Malik had both of their cards face up, the second dealer card showing a King of Hearts.

Stephan kept his expression level as he took in the eight and seven that lay at his fingertips.

He glanced at Malik’s hand. A three and a nine.

Malik smirked as the dealer looked to him for what he would like to do.

Stephan only had three shots to get his money back, may the gambling Gods hear his pleas.

“Hit me”

The dealer laid down a Jack.

“Bust.”

Dumbass.

He kept his hand flat in a forward flicking motion to indicate he was keeping his cards as is.

The dealer flipped his card revealing a three.

Stephan did his best not to grin like a shit.

The dealer gathered the cards, repeating the same motions. Malik had a Queen and an eight. He had a ten and a two. The dealer’s card faced up was a nine.

“Stand,” Malik grunted.

“Hit me,” Stephan flicked two fingers towards himself.

The dealer laid a four down next to his cards.

“Stand.”

Shit, shit, shit.

The dealer turned his card. An eight.

Stephan could hear Kaden flanked to his right fidgeting, knowing that his boss was going to be a complete ass for the next few days if he didn’t win.

The dealer set the cards out one last time. This was it.

Malik’s hand contained an Ace and a ten.

Stephan’s… a two and a four.

The dealer’s, a Queen faced up.

What kind of hand was that?

A frown escaped his lips, while Malik’s slightly tipped up at the corners.

“Hit me.”

The dealer passed Malik a Jack.

Oh you’ve got to be kidding.

"Stand."

Stephan's eyes snapped to the dealer.

“Hit me.”

The dealer passed him.. a nine.

“Hit me.”

Stephan didn’t even double guess himself and spoke too soon.

A King.

“Bust.”

He threw his Versace shades on the table.

The dealer flipped his card, the five gleaming, mocking Stephan.

As the dealer packed up the cards, Malik stood, patting him on the shoulder, leaning to speak low into his ear, his breath reeking of the familiar scent of cherried nicotine and liquor.

“The Devil loves a sinner Galen. You better triple that weak wad of cash laying in front of you the next time I see you.”

And with that, Malik was gone and so was his last chance to redeem himself.

Kaden and Jericho were tense as they watched the man hit the table, the force making his whiskey glass jump.

“I should’ve known better,” he groaned, leaning his head back on his chair, his legs sliding forward, his hands reaching up to rub across his face.

“I think it’s time for me to go to fucking rehab.”