killshot | simon riley ✓

• Chapter 18 •

Later that day, when the night has already fallen, most of the Vaqueros had put themselves away to rest, only Rora, Soap and two other Vaqueros remaining in the smaller hall. Rora seated herself at a table close to what seemed like a small kitchen. A dim light hanging above her head, giving her face an ethereal glow as she inspected the cards in her hand, her brows furrowing in concentration.

„We don't have all day, Wellsy," Soap groaned, leaning back in the seat opposite her, holding his own cards close to him. She rolled her eyes, placing a card down, her icy eyes snapping to his face.

He looked tired, but the friendly glint in his eyes never dimmed, despite the late hours. She was wide awake, as usual, her thoughts keeping her awake, no matter how much she would love a good sleep right now. So, out of boredom, she looked around the lounge area, founding a stack of cards that based on the pictograms in the back, was like a child of poker, UNO and 21. She was good at UNO, almost shit at poker, and 21 was 21. But she needed a partner, and her choice fell on MacTavish, who seemed to be a pretty weak opponent to her. She wasn't that much of a good player, but she was a master at lying. So, bluffing and pretending that she had every card to even win over God, she was pretty much set.

„It's now time for your grumpy ass to get beat, Handsoap," she flashed him a mischievous grin, putting her booted legs up on the seat next to her.

He blinked several times, trying to stay awake as he looked through his cards, and by the looks of it, he didn't have many good cards. He had a pretty shitty poker face, and seeing his struggle she had to bite back a laugh.

„I'm a smart man," he mumbled to himself, letting his chin fall back in his palm as he tried to think about a good move.

„You're not fooling anybody here, MacTavish," she chuckled, earning a half-cold look from him. The tiredness in his eyes took off the edge of his gaze, her smile widening. „Go rest, Soap. Just admit you lost."

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but a yawn cut him off, only making it more sure that she won.

„We'll continue this in the morning, Wellsy," he threw his cards on the table, the cards facing down so she couldn't see them. She rolled her eyes, an amused smirk still lingering on her lips. „And I didn't lose."

„Yeah, I just won," Rora brushed him off, reaching a fist to the air, the Scotsman fist-bumping her on his way to his room. „Sleep well, loser."

„Fuck off, Wellsy!" he retorted, earning a hearty chuckle from her, her laugh bouncing back from the white walls.

Not soon after that, the two Vaqueros left, too, leaving only her in the mutual space. It was a nice little space, a worn-out couch tossed in front of a fairly big TV, a big table (where they played poker) splitting the living room space off the small kitchen, and another smaller table in the back corner. The kitchen was poorly furnished, with only a smaller fridge, a microwave, and a coffee machine tossed on the counter. She was sure they had multiple kitchens, she remembered seeing one on her way when she wandered around with Alejandro. Apparently, this one was just for emergencies.

It was nearing midnight when she opened up a book she found thrown on the couch, probably left there by a Vaquero. It was about a Russian man trying to go from Point A to Point B when an atomic bomb caused all types of creatures to roam the world, the population being forced to live in the metro tunnels.

It was not the type of book she would usually read, but it was not that bad, the dark humor here and there keeping her captivated so much, she only got dragged out from the paged by heavy footsteps coming from behind her.

Out of instinct, she reached for the knife readied out in front of her, her turning around in her seat just to see a tall figure emerge from the dark hallway, a skull-printed balaclava concealing his features.