Number 06 │ A Leverage Fanfiction

The Three-Card Monte Job | Part 2

[Poker Room]

The scent of cigar smoke and whiskey lingered in the air as Nate and Jimmy strolled into the dimly lit poker room.

"It sure is," Nate laughed, adjusting his jacket.

Across the room, Pieter's chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly. His glare was sharp. "You were supposed to call us before hitting the alarm man!"

Jimmy barely spared him a glance, reaching into his coat. "Ah, yeah, well... Nathan here took care of it with a little soft touch." He pulled out the stolen papers, flipping them toward Pieter.

Pieter snatched them midair, eyes scanning the contents. His frown deepened—but only slightly. "Hmph. It's good work."

Jimmy, unfazed, turned his attention to the bar cart, plucking two glasses from the shelf. "Yeah, yeah." He poured generously, the amber liquid catching the low light as he passed one to Nate.

Nate smirked, raising his glass. "Ah. Yes, please."

The two men tapped their drinks together and took a slow sip, savoring the moment .A cold metal gun tapped against Nate's back.

"You can go," Pieter muttered, pressing the barrel of his gun just enough for Nate to feel it.

Nate barely spared him a glance. "No, actually, I'm not going anywhere. He says I'm in, I'm in."

Pieter's grip on the gun tightened. "I am so sick of this idea about you—"

Nate spun and drove his fist into Pieter's face. The Russian's head snapped back, and his gun clattered onto the table as he stumbled into his men.

Nate rolled his shoulders. "Stop waving that gun in my face. You're so tough? Prove it."

Pieter's snarl twisted into something dangerous. He lunged, swinging hard. His fist connected with Nate's jaw, sending him reeling back into Jimmy's arms.

"Oh!" Nate grunted.

Jimmy caught him, steadying him with a firm hand. "Ah! All right, go on in there. I got your back."

Nate huffed, rubbing his jaw. "Thanks, Dad. Yeah, yeah."

Jimmy smirked. "There you go."

Nate raised a hand. "Come on. We don't have to do this. It's all right."

Then, just as Pieter moved, Nate grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed his forehead into the Russian's face.

The fight erupted from there. A flurry of fists and grunts filled the room as Jimmy leaned against the bar, watching with a grin.

<>

Nate winced as he pressed a bag of ice against his forehead. The dull ache was settling in, but it was better than a bullet in the back.

Jimmy slid a glass down the bar, the amber liquid inside catching the light. "Stop waving a gun in my face and prove it."

Nate let out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, I had to have it out with the guy. I'd rather he punch me in the face than shoot me in the back."

Jimmy chuckled, swirling his own drink. "No, no. You really went at it back there."

Nate shrugged. "What was it you used to always say to me? 'You're too much of a thinker, Nathan. You need to be more of a scrapper to survive.'"

Jimmy smirked. "Yeah, well, I'm never wrong."

Nate took a slow sip of his drink. "That, too, you used to always say."