✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

26-Hypotheses Of A Killer

Anna's pov

"We have a game between the husband and the wife," Thomas announced.

We both took our places in front of the dealer.

The room fell silent as the dealer began shuffling the cards, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. He made a dark spectacle of it. First, an overhand shuffle, then a riffle shuffle, finishing with a pile shuffle. By the time he was done, the cards were a labyrinthine mix that even I couldn't unravel.

The dealer placed the neat stack of cards down, his eyes flicking between Jake and me.

Jake jerked his chin toward me, a mockery of chivalry. I kept my eyes locked on the cards, splitting them into two stacks while memories of Jake's hands, those hands that had scorched my skin with their touch, clouded my mind. I was fixated, and I knew I was already drunk. I withdrew my hand and indicated for the dealer to choose from the right-hand stack.

We were each dealt two cards. The dealer dealt himself a hand as well, one card exposed, one hidden. I took another long sip from my beer. It was strong. The burn seared through me, an inferno igniting within.

The room's atmosphere was oppressive, suffused with the weight of unspoken threats and desires. Jake's dark eyes remained fixed on me, a silent tormentor, while Terence and Thomas watched with bated breath, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity

The first round was a swift victory for me, allowing a fleeting moment of relief. I let out a shaky breath, wondering if it was Jake's way of making me lower my guard. The second round went to Jake after I doubled down and lost, his devious smirk slicing through my confidence. The third was mine again. The fourth is Jake's.

An eerie suspicion took root in my stomach. The precise alternation of our wins and losses seemed too neat, too orchestrated. He was weaving a narrative where anything could happen, and that terrified me because it meant he knew he would win. I never lose.

No matter the result, I knew I would hate myself. "Don't worry. I'll make it fast and easy for you, Ace," Jake said, his impersonal smile a cruel mockery as the dealer cut the cards. The room held its breath.

In my confusion, I failed to stand with a pair of nines against the dealer's up-card of seven. Jake split a pair of eights and aces. He used Ace cards and Joker cards, bending the game to his will. Jake won. Three to two. Fair and square.

Nausea washed over me, and I gripped the edges of the table with force. The least I could do was handle the situation with dignity. A Markov never bowed down. I lost.

I had never closed in front of anyone or any mafia men before, but tonight was different. My vulnerability was laid bare for all to see, and Jake reveled in it. His dark aura enveloped me, a suffocating mix of power and dominance. The memories of our time together resurfaced his touch a haunting reminder of the control he held.

I straightened my spine, forcing myself to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, knowing he had won not just the game, but the deeper, darker battle between us. A Markov never bowed down, but tonight, in this twisted game of fate, I had no choice but to acknowledge the victor.

Jake stopped a foot away from me.

"Well done. I knew you were strategic, but I never realized you were a blackjack player," I said, offering him my hand again, my voice quiet and resolute. "I underestimated you. Choose your wish, Prince Jake." I took a swig of whiskey—or was it vodka? I couldn't tell anymore. I just knew I had lost the game.