Rosalie Kasten is out of luck and out of time. For the last two years, she's been living on borrowed time. After her involvement with the death of Edwin Pierce - Alexander Pierce's son - it's only a matter of time before Hydra comes for her.
James...
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 they hand out cards. No one is showing a hint of emotion. The cards haven't been dealt yet, but they know the game starts as soon as you sit down. Rosalie takes over Tony's chips.
Tony simply makes someone else move, so he can sit down. She wonders if that's what he's used to as the son of Howard Stark. She wouldn't be surprised. Does he even know the danger of the people within the room, how fucking insane most of them are?
"How much is each chip?" She asks and he grins.
"Lowest is a thousand," he says, and she nods. Fuck.
The adrenaline is immediately pumping as she puts on her game face. Rosalie needs to win this because she doesn't even have a hundred dollars in her bank account. The first bet is already three grand, probably starting from where they left off last round, and as usual, the big blind doubles the bet. She calls. Tony does the same thing with a smirk.
Rosalie bites the inside of her cheek. The big blind is also known as Bakuto, one of the founding members of the hand. South American, if she isn't mistaken. Their eyes meet, and he smiles. She does the same. The fear and adrenaline are mixing again. She's fucking terrified of ninety per cent of the people in here, but the game is addicting.
Even more so when they add another ten grand to the pot. She's throwing thousands upon thousands into the pile, completely careless, just like the men around her. The community cards show a queen. If she gets a royal straight flush, she is going to fucking scream. Fuck Hydra and that file. Rosalie just needs to win this game. There's more than a hundred grand in the pile. That would get Loki off her ass for a while.
Suddenly, a drink is placed next to her, and she feels a hand on her shoulder. Rosalie looks up only to be met with an ice-cold stare. James grabs onto the back of her neck as he leans down close to her ear.
"Hey, doll." His voice growls as his lips ghost the shell of her ear.
"Hi, babe," she smiles nervously. "Found anything good?"
"No, nothin'." His eyes discretely glance at the people at the table. "What're you playin'?"
His massive hand stays on the back of her neck, directing her like a puppeteer. Rosalie has to fight to not curl up her lip from the sheer feeling of disrespect in her body. At the table is where she feels the most powerful, and right now, he's taking that away from her. She knows it's because of the people around them, she's the only woman at any of the tables not on a man's lap. James has to do it. But what he doesn't have to do is enjoy it so God damn much.
"Poker," she reluctantly giggles.
No one else is able to see through her façade. She's played this game before.
