Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(42)

“Put that one in the middle and put them all back in the deck,” Ash says, and I do it, handing the deck back to him.

He does more flashy shuffling, the cards moving between his hands almost like they’re formless. Like water. Ash doesn’t drop a single one, and he does it without ever looking away from me, all muscle memory and reflex at this point, clearly.

When he’s finished, he lays five cards out again, end to end.

“Pick one,” he says, nodding at them.

I go for the last one on the left.

Queen of hearts again.

“Is that your card?” he asks, grinning brightly.

I purse my lips, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right. “Might be.”

“Nah, it’s not,” Ash says. He narrows his eyes at me and hovers his hand over the cards on the table like he’s thinking very hard. “This one’s more you, I bet.” With deft fingers, he flips over the last card on the right.

Ace of diamonds.

“Hmm, closer, but not quite.”

This time he reaches for me, and before I can jerk back, he’s pulling another card out of nowhere like it came from behind my ear.

The queen of spades.

Ash nods, like he’s satisfied. “See, we got there in the end.”

I can’t help but smile at the show. His natural flair for being dramatic and charming definitely helps the little act, and he’s actually damn good at it from what I can tell. I’m entertained by it, and actually a bit impressed, too.

I give him a little golf clap for his trouble.

“He’d fit right in at a circus,” Priest deadpans, shoving his plate away in a sharp gesture. “He’s already a clown.”

“Aww, come on, Priest, that’s mean,” Knox protests. “He’s not a clown. He’s the con man outside trying to scam you out of your money with weighted dice or offering to tell your future with his cards.”

“I don’t hear either of you talking shit when I’m using my skills for your benefit,” Ash shoots back. “Like picking pockets and appropriating things that don’t strictly belong to me.”

“You can’t do that with cards,” Gage says. “The cards are just for the trick of it. For the show. And you know it.”

“It’s not his fault he’s hungry for the attention, I guess,” Knox says.

“It’s absolutely his fault,” Priest returns.

While they give each other shit, I go get my toast and spread butter and jam on the slices, biting into one with a satisfied crunch. Clearly none of their shit talking is meant to hurt Ash’s feelings, and it’s all the good natured kind of hazing that comes from knowing each other really well, I guess.

Ash defends himself by saying he can take Priest’s wallet if he needs a demonstration of how useful his hands can be, and Gage cuts in to tell him to save his ‘useful hands’ for the women at the club. That sets Knox off laughing, and Ash just makes a lewd gesture and goes back to shuffling.

“It’s not all card tricks, you know,” he says.

“No, that’s true,” Gage allows. “You could also join the circus with your knife throwing act.”

That catches my attention as I lick butter and strawberry jam from my fingers. “You can throw knives?” I ask him.

Ash looks up and grins at me. “With the best of them.”

“This, I have to see to believe.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Sure. Because otherwise I don’t know if I believe it.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Okay. What’ll you give me if I manage to throw five knives and not nick you?”

“If you can do that, I’ll give you a kiss.”

His eyes immediately flare with heat, and warmth spreads through me as if there’s an open flame burning between us. Our eye contact holds for a long moment, and then Ash smiles slowly, making a show of licking his lips.

“Deal,” he says in a low, husky tone.

“Don’t use the fucking kitchen knives again,” Gage gripes.

“I know, I know.” Ash gets up and runs upstairs for a bit, coming back with a wooden box with knives laid out inside. They’re not special, and he lets me handle one to prove they aren’t trick knives or anything and that they are sharp.

Once I’m satisfied, I go and stand against the kitchen wall, ready to play my part.

Someone else might be scared of this. Even with his steady and tricky hands, throwing knives is a delicate art. One wrong move, and he could seriously hurt me.

But I’m not even worried. Maybe it’s just because I have a bit of a death wish, or maybe it’s because I’ve already seen how good Ash is with his hands. I stand perfectly still as I watch him pick up the first knife, the challenge reflected in my eyes.

Ash lets out a breath and adjusts his stance, the knife’s handle held loosely in his hand. He aims it with a glance and then throws.

It whizzes through the air and thuds into the plaster of the wall next to my left shoulder.

Before I even have time to fully process that, the next knife is in his hand and he aims that one too, letting it fly. Each knife comes easier than the next as he warms up, and soon there are four knives in the wall on either side of me, each one less than a half inch from my body.