The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(13)

What the hell is he doing in there?

I shuffle a little closer, holding my breath as if that will make me quieter, craning my neck to angle my ear toward the door.

“…need you so much. It’s always been you, you know that.”

He’s speaking low, and his voice is thick. A softer, quieter voice answers, but I can’t tell who it belongs to or what it’s saying.

Holy shit. Does Mr. Black have a woman in there? And is that woman Audrey?

When he speaks again, it’s too quiet for me to make out his words, and then more soft noises filter into my ears, and I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp.

Oh my God, that’s fucking. The two people in that room are definitely having sex.

I’m burning with questions, not to mention embarrassment, but I back away as quickly and silently as I can. There are few things I want less in the world than to be busted listening in on my older boss having sex with… who?

Retracing my steps, I head for the service entrance instead. I’d been planning to avoid this route, since the door to the stairs is right next to Mom’s apartment, but I’d rather risk getting caught by her than anyone else.

The door opens without a sound, and I take the narrow steps slowly at first and then faster as I get farther away from the second level. Mom’s car is parked in a second garage to the west of the house, and I drive slowly, leaving the lights off until I punch in the gate code and drive through.

The address Max gave me is a thirty minute drive away, but it turns into forty with the ATM stop I make. A prickle of nerves skates up the back of my neck as I roll slowly down the winding street in a warehouse district, trying to read the numbers on the sides of the buildings. Lincoln and his friends have made damn sure everyone at school feels just fine bullying me, and rumors I’m a hooker have been flying fast and loose. What if Max lied about the location—or about there being a poker game at all?

When I reach the exact address he gave me, I sit in the car with the engine running for a minute.

Fuck. I shouldn’t be here.

But I don’t want to go.

I haven’t played in a long-ass time, and I feel antsy and jittery. Ever since I learned how to play, this has been the one thing that made me feel in control, even when everything in my life seemed to be spiraling into chaos. When I was going through chemo and radiation, the only thing I looked forward to were my lessons from Gus and Marsden, the two old men who were going through treatments at the same time I was and took pity on a scared ten-year-old girl.

This week has been shit. I haven’t felt in control of much at all since I got to Connecticut.

And I need this.

Decision made, I turn the key sharply and pull it from the ignition. The area is dimly lit, but I make my way to the door of the warehouse just fine. When I tug it open, a relieved breath falls from my lips.

Thank fuck.

It’s just like Max described. A section of the large space has been set up with a few tables, and people are gathered around them, talking in low voices.

A guy looks up as I enter. “Hey, you can’t—”

“Max told me about the game,” I interrupt, cutting him off before he can preemptively boot me. “I want to play. I have money.”

With that, I tug the thousand dollars I withdrew from the ATM using Mom’s card out of my back pocket, slapping the folded up bills lightly against my palm.

His eyes narrow. To this kid, a grand is probably chump change, but he obviously didn’t expect me to have it. Ordinarily, I might not, but Mr. Black paid us a stipend for moving expenses, and Mom and I did it on the cheap so we have some leftover.

He flicks his gaze back up to me, then finally shrugs. “Yeah, all right. If you can ante up, you can play. Let me get you chips.”

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. That was fucking easy. It’ll be harder if I want to come back again, or even if I try to find another game. After tonight, I have a feeling word will spread.

Once I get my chips from the guy, who mumbles something about his name being Carson, I sit down at one of the tables, smiling broadly at the others gathered around. It’s almost all guys, although there’s one girl with auburn hair and a sharp gaze. She’s the one I’ll have to watch out for, I decide immediately. All the rest of these dudes? Easy money.

The thing about learning poker from two heavily tattooed old men in the chemo center of Bayard Medical is that I didn’t just learn how to play the game. I learned how to win. Over the hours and hours we spent playing, I learned how to use every tool at my disposal to turn the odds in my favor.

The two old chips I got from them when they finished their treatments sit in my pocket now, and the one from Hunter is in my other pocket.

We start to play, and I throw the first few hands, making myself look new and inexperienced—just like I’m sure these guys expect the new girl from Arizona to be. By the next hand, I’m ready.

I’ve gotten decent at counting cards, so that helps. Plus, I’ve learned the tells of almost everyone around the table, which lets me know how to play against them.

When I rake in my first pile of chips, the auburn-haired girl narrows her eyes at me. But it takes two more hands for all the guys to catch on to what’s happening. Fortunately, by that point, I’m almost done.

I win the last game too, and the boy to my left tosses his hand down in irritation. “Who let the fucking ringer in here?”