Dangerous Dream: A Beautiful Creatures Story(11)

Rid stretched her arms over her head, as if she’d just woken up from a long nap. Then she gave Floyd a big smile. “Liar.”

Floyd seemed dazed, and she blinked a few times before responding. “Damn. Guess I won’t be turning myself into Roger Waters again anytime soon.”

Floyd was obviously an Illusionist, like Ridley’s idiot brother, Larkin. Her brother used his powers for ridiculous things like picking up girls. The fact that Floyd used hers to fool people into thinking she was the lead singer of Pink Floyd was even more pathetic. Ridley had never met an Illusionist who actually created illusions worth seeing—unless Lena’s mother, Sarafine, was breathing down their neck.

After another round, Ridley didn’t have a single card left in her hand. Ridley kept tabs on how games were progressing around the room. Grown men were reduced to sobbing babies in her presence as they lost everything from the temporary use of their powers to the permanent loss of talents. She kept a mental record of every loss: a Necromancer who’d be spending a lot more time with the living; a Shifter who wouldn’t be able to change water into ice for at least six months; a Caster poet who was going to need help finding a rhyme in a Dr. Seuss book; and a handful of entirely forgettable losers.

Three players were left: Ridley, Sampson, and the band’s crappy drummer. She hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.

As Ridley approached the table designated for the final games, Sampson pulled out Ridley’s chair. He was playing the winner of the game between Ridley and the drummer, which meant he’d be losing to her next.

Up close, Sampson was even taller than she’d thought, close to seven feet, if Rid had to guess. He had the physically menacing posture of an Incubus without the reflective black eyes, a feature that all Incubuses shared. His eyes weren’t Caster green or gold, either. They were steel gray, ringed in smudged black liner that made him look even more dangerous, as if he hadn’t slept in days and didn’t care. He was obviously wearing colored contacts, which was too hipster for Ridley’s taste.

Link would’ve made fun of this guy.

He held out a tattooed hand. “Sampson.”

This guy looked more like Goliath.

“Ridley.”

He smiled. “I heard.”

“Tonight or previously?” Rid asked, only half-joking.

“I’m Ace.” The drummer, and her opponent, stared at her from across the table like a lion eyeing raw meat. She was going to enjoy kicking his ass.

“Of course you are.” Ridley rolled her eyes.

“Now, if everyone has decided who they’re taking home tonight, we’ve got a game to play,” the dealer said, cutting the cards.

Rid watched him shuffle, the king of blood and the ace of fire flipping through his fingers. Floyd and the pretty-boy punk with the blue faux-hawk stood behind Ace.

For the first few rounds, no one spoke as the two players sized each other up. Ridley was biding her time, waiting for just the right moment to make her move. She was also testing the waters, determining exactly how hard she needed to push Ace. When he hesitated too long after dropping two cards into the pile, Ridley gave him a little nudge. You can get away with one more. Go ahead and throw it. He tossed the card within seconds.

It was on his next turn that he made a fatal mistake and blew her a kiss.

“Seven. Eight,” Ridley said, dropping her last two cards facedown on the discard pile.

Ace gave her one of his perverted smiles. “You wouldn’t be lying now, would you, Baby?”

Ridley’s eyes narrowed. She tolerated it when Link called her Babe, because he was Link and things were… complicated between them. But there was no way this scumbag was going to get away with calling her Baby. “Are you calling me a liar, or just asking? I mean, either you have the balls or you don’t.”

The dealer stifled a laugh.

“Someone should teach you how to act like a lady,” Ace snapped.

Ridley leaned over, the edge of a red bra peeking out of her top, and looked the second-rate drummer right in the eye. “I’ll get right on that. As soon as someone teaches you how to act like a man.”

Ace stared at her like he wanted to set her on fire.

Ridley gazed into his gold eyes. You know I’m lying. Go ahead. Call me a liar.

It only took a second for him to react. “Liar.”

She leaned back in her chair, savoring the moment. “You must’ve bet something major to make it all the way to the big girl table. What are you going to lose if I flip those cards and I’ve got a seven and an eight?”

Floyd was standing behind Ace’s chair. “Shit.”

Sampson glanced up at his bandmate. “What did he bet?”

The color drained from Ace’s face, as if he had just figured out what Floyd seemed to sense. Ridley wasn’t lying.

Floyd shook her head. “His sticks.”

Ridley immediately understood. The crappy drummer had bet his talent—at least, what little he had. If he lost, he wouldn’t be able to play anymore. Which wouldn’t be a huge loss, from Ridley’s point of view.

She flipped the cards over one at a time.

Seven of stars and eight of blades.

Ace sprang out of his chair, and Sampson yanked her from hers before the drummer overturned the table. “You bitch!”

The dealer signaled one of the bouncers lurking along the edges of the room. “Get him outta here.”