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"Put the money on the table, Cole. Now."
Eve’s voice was like a razor blade—thin, sharp, and cutting right through the haze in my head. She didn't look at me. She was too busy counting the stack of bills with a practiced flick of her thumb, her eyes cold and calculating.
I didn't move. I couldn't. My hand was still shaking, the skin where the Pact Card had touched me feeling like it had been branded with a hot iron. The air in the basement room was thick with the smell of old copper and ozone.
"I said now," Eve snapped. She finally looked up, her gaze locking onto mine. She stepped closer, the scent of her expensive, woody perfume clashing with the grime of the room. She stopped just inches away, her presence crowding me into the edge of the scarred wooden table. "You won the hand, but the House always takes its cut. You know how this works."
"I won," I rasped, my throat feeling like I'd swallowed glass. "The guy... he just vanished. He didn't even scream."
"He didn't vanish, you idiot. He paid," Eve said. She reached out, her fingers brushing against my wrist. The contact was electric, a sudden jolt that made me flinch, but she didn't pull away. Her grip tightened, pinning my arm to the table. "The deck doesn't take cash from the losers. It takes what's valuable. And right now, you're the one holding the winning ticket. Which means you're the one who has to pay the tax."
I tried to yank my arm back, but she was stronger than she looked. She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Don't fight me, Cole. You're drowning in debt. This money could clear a month of your sister's interest. Do you really want to walk away from that because you're feeling a little lightheaded?"
"What do you mean 'tax'?" I demanded, staring at the stack of cash. "I won the bet. I played the card. Why am I paying?"
Eve smirked, a slow, cruel expression that didn't reach her eyes. She let go of my wrist and stepped back, crossing her arms. "The Pact Deck is a mirror. To get something out, you have to put something in. You wanted the money. The deck gave it to you. But it doesn't give gifts. It trades. You just traded a memory for fifty thousand dollars."
I froze. "A memory? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means a piece of your head is gone, Cole. Something the deck decided was worth the cash," she said. She sounded bored, like she was explaining the weather. "Usually, it's something small. A first kiss. The name of a childhood pet. Maybe the taste of your favorite meal. You won't even notice it's gone until you try to find it."
I laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "That's bullshit. I remember everything. I remember the way the air smelled the day I got kicked off the force. I remember every single cent I owe the Council. I remember..."
I stopped.
I tried to think of Maya. My sister. I could see her face—the way she used to tilt her head when she was lying. I could remember her laugh. But then I tried to remember the last time we'd spoken. The last conversation.
Nothing.
Just a grey, static-filled void. A hole in my mind where a memory should have been.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."
"Looking for something?" Eve asked. She walked back to the table and slid the cash toward me, her expression almost pitying. "Check the void, Cole. What's missing?"
I gripped the edge of the table so hard the wood groaned. Panic surged through me, a cold wave that started in my gut and rushed up to my throat. "What did it take? Eve, what did it take from me?"
"I don't know! I'm the broker, not the psychic," she snapped, her patience snapping. "But look at the bright side. You're fifty thousand richer. Use it to buy her a better hospital bed or pay off the sharks. Who cares about one conversation?"
"I care!" I roared, slamming my fist onto the table. The money scattered, bills fluttering like dying birds across the floor. "That was her! That was the only thing I had left that wasn't a bill or a threat!"
Eve didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. She just sighed and started picking up the bills, one by one. "You're so dramatic. This is the life now, Cole. You signed the contract. You're a Holder. You don't get to keep your soul in a jar while you play the game. You pay the tax, or you get erased."
She stepped toward me again, her eyes scanning my face. For a second, the hardness flickered. She reached up, her thumb grazing my cheekbone, almost a gesture of comfort, but it was gone before I could process it.
"Get it together," she whispered. "The Council isn't going to care if you're having a mental breakdown over a lost memory. They only care that the deck is active. And if you can't handle the tax, they'll find someone who can. Someone who won't hesitate to burn everything you love just to see the cards flip."
I stared at her, my chest heaving. I hated her. I hated the way she controlled the room, the way she knew exactly which nerve to twist. But I also knew I was nothing without her. I was a dead man walking with a cursed deck in my pocket and a hole in my heart.
"I'm going to get it back," I said, my voice trembling. "I'll win it back."
Eve laughed, a short, sharp sound. "You can't win back memories, Cole. Once the deck eats, it's gone. It's fuel. The only way to get more is to win more. But the more you win, the more the deck wants. It's a hunger that doesn't stop."
She gathered the last of the money into a neat pile and shoved it into my chest. "Take it. Go home. Try to remember what you forgot. And for God's sake, don't let the Council see you crying over a few lost thoughts. It makes you look weak."
I took the money, the paper feeling heavy and filthy in my hands. I didn't say thank you. I didn't even look at her as I turned to leave.
As I reached the door, I felt something odd. A slight stiffness in the envelope the money had come in. I stopped and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment that had been tucked inside the winnings. It wasn't a receipt. It wasn't a note from the man I'd just beaten.
I unfolded it. The paper was stained with a dark, brownish-red smudge. Blood.
There were only four words written in a jagged, desperate hand:
*DON'T TRUST THE BROKER.*
I froze, the paper crinkling in my grip. I slowly turned my head. Eve was still standing by the table, watching me. Her face was unreadable, but there was a slight, knowing tilt to her lips.
"Something wrong, Cole?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I shoved the note into my pocket, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Nothing," I lied. "Just... thinking about the next hand."
"Good," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Because the next game isn't for money. And you're not the one betting."