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"Don't move, or I'll make sure you never hold a card again."
The cold barrel of a Glock pressed right into the soft skin under my jaw. I didn't even have time to blink before I was slammed face-first onto the sticky mahogany of the poker table. The smell of stale cigars and old sweat hit me like a wall.
"Where is it, Cole?" the voice sneered. It was Jax, a low-rent debt collector with a high-rent ego. He leaned his weight into my shoulder, pinning me down. "The deck. Your old man didn't take it to the grave. You've got it. Give it up, and maybe I won't break your fingers one by one."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I spat, my cheek grinding into a spilled drink. "My father died broke. Check the records."
Jax laughed, a wet, nasty sound. He shifted his grip, and I felt the hammer of the gun click back. "Lying to me? Now that's a mistake. You're already drowning in your sister's debt, Mercer. You think the Council cares about your family's tragic little history? They want the Pact Deck. And I'm the one who gets to collect it."
I tried to twist my arm, to find some leverage, but Jax slammed my wrist down onto the table. *Crack.* I didn't scream, but my teeth clamped shut so hard I thought they'd shatter.
"Wrong answer," Jax whispered. "Last chance. Where is it?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because right then, I felt it. A heavy, cold weight in the inner pocket of my jacket. Something that hadn't been there ten minutes ago. A deck of cards. Black matte finish, edges sharp enough to cut through reality. It wasn't just there—it was pulsing. Like a heartbeat. A slow, hungry thrum that vibrated against my ribs.
"Still playing mute?" Jax shoved my head further into the table. "Maybe I'll start with the eyes."
"Get off me!" I roared, throwing my weight sideways. It wasn't a smart move, but it worked. I caught Jax off balance for a split second, and I scrambled back, hitting the edge of the table and sliding into a chair.
Jax didn't even look surprised. He just stepped forward, the gun leveled at my chest. "You're pathetic. You're a cop who couldn't even keep his badge. Now you're just a dog without a leash."
"I'm not a dog," I gasped, my breath coming in ragged stabs. "And I'm not giving you anything."
"Then you're dead," Jax said. He squeezed the trigger.
Time didn't slow down. It stopped.
I didn't think. I just reached into my pocket and ripped out the first card that touched my fingers. I didn't know the rules. I didn't know the cost. I just flipped it onto the table with a desperate, shaking hand.
*The Fool.*
As soon as the card hit the wood, a shockwave of black ink exploded from the center. It wasn't light—it was the absence of it. The room vanished. The dim bulbs of the gambling den flickered once and died, plunging us into a suffocating, absolute darkness.
Jax screamed. It wasn't a scream of anger; it was pure, unadulterated terror. "What is this? What did you do?"
I couldn't see my own hands. I couldn't even see the table anymore. But I could feel the card. It was glowing with a dim, sickly violet hue, and the air around me had turned ice-cold.
"I don't know!" I yelled, though I was terrified.
Then, the sound started. A wet, sliding noise. Like something heavy being dragged across the floor. *Sssshhh. Sssshhh.*
"Who's there?" Jax shouted. I heard him firing the Glock. *Bang! Bang! Bang!* The muzzle flashes lit up the room in jagged bursts, showing nothing but empty air and the terrified look on Jax's face.
Then, a hand—pale, long-fingered, and devoid of any skin—reached out of the shadows and gripped Jax's ankle.
Jax let out a sound I've never heard a human make. He was yanked backward so fast his head hit the floor with a sickening thud. He didn't even have time to scream again before he was dragged into the dark, his fingernails scratching uselessly against the floorboards.
Silence returned. Heavy. Oppressive.
I sat there, frozen, my heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird. The violet glow of the card began to fade. Slowly, the lights flickered back on, buzzing with a dying energy.
Jax was gone. There was nothing left but a few drops of blood and long, jagged scratch marks in the wood where he'd been pulled away.
"Holy shit," I whispered, staring at the card.
"You really shouldn't play with things you don't understand, Cole."
I spun around.
A woman was leaning against the doorframe. She was dressed in a sharp, charcoal-grey suit that cost more than my entire life. Long dark hair, eyes that looked like they'd seen the end of the world and found it boring. She held a silenced pistol with a casual, practiced grip, the muzzle pointed directly at my forehead.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked, my voice cracking.
She didn't smile. She didn't even blink. She just stepped into the room, the click of her heels echoing in the silence. She stopped just inches from me. I could smell her perfume—something like vanilla and gunpowder.
"The name is Eve Vane," she said. Her voice was a low, smooth velvet that sent a shiver down my spine. "And you just activated a Pact Deck without a broker. That's a very expensive mistake."
She reached out, her gloved finger brushing the edge of the card on the table. I felt a sudden, electric tension spark between us, a pull that made my lungs tighten. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear, the gun still steady in her other hand.
"Now," she whispered, "you're going to tell me where the rest of the deck is, or I'm going to let whatever just ate Jax come back for seconds."
I looked at her, then at the empty space where Jax had been. "I just found it. I don't have the rest."
Eve pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. Her gaze was predatory, calculating. She didn't look like she believed me. She didn't look like she cared if I lived or died, as long as she got what she wanted.
"Wrong answer," she said, and the hammer of her gun clicked.
"Wait!" I shouted.
"Wait for what?" she asked, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Your soul's already halfway to the basement. Give me a reason not to finish the job."
I looked down at the card. It was pulsing again. Not violet this time, but a deep, warning red. My wrist began to burn, a searing heat that felt like a brand being pressed into my skin.
"My wrist..." I gasped, clutching my arm.
Eve frowned, her eyes dropping to my wrist. She saw the red glow beneath my skin, the faint outline of a contract forming in the flesh. Her expression shifted from boredom to genuine shock.
"A Blood Bond?" she muttered. "That's impossible. You're not a designated holder."
She stepped even closer, her body almost pressing against mine. She grabbed my wrist, her grip tight and commanding, pulling my arm up to the light. The heat was unbearable, and I flinched, but she didn't let go. Her eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, the power dynamic shifted. She wasn't just a broker anymore; she was a woman staring at a miracle—or a disaster.
"Who gave this to you?" she demanded, her voice urgent.
Before I could answer, the deck in my pocket vibrated violently. A card shot itself out, sliding across the table with a hiss. It flipped open, revealing a name written in ink that looked like fresh blood.
*Silas Quinn.*
Eve stiffened. Her grip on my wrist tightened until it bruised. "That name... you can't possibly—"
Suddenly, the door behind her blew off its hinges with a thunderous crash. A man in a white suit stepped through the smoke, his face a mask of cold, aristocratic fury.
"Eve," the man said, his voice like a blade. "Step away from the boy, or I'll erase you both from the record."