Mercy (Somerset University #3) - Ruby Vincent Page 0,27

a scotch first. It’s over there.”

A glance to the side confirmed a bar top loaded down with a dozen bottles.

“I’m driving,” I said simply, taking the seat.

Sawyer pointed out the guy next to me. “Rick, this is Winston Abernathy III.” Winston inclined his head at me.

Choosing a name for an infant is a shot in the dark. Gracing the kid with a name that means warrior won’t stop them from becoming a shaky-kneed coward who flinches when someone jumps. In Winston’s case, I’m certain his parents saw into his future.

The man sitting next to me sat straight-backed, sipping three fingers of scotch. A gray dove-tail coat screamed money as loud as it did the eclectic taste born from wealth. At his throat was a purple cravat—yes, a cravat. And blue, disinterested eyes scanned me up and down. Everything the name Winston Abernathy the Third evoked was sitting next to me.

“Rick.” A thick British accent poured out of his mouth. “What’s your last name?”

“Beaumont.”

The disinterest flickered. “As in Marcus Beaumont?”

“As in Maverick Beaumont,” I corrected. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Winston nodded almost imperceptibly to Sawyer. I had no clue why. “My family’s done some business with yours. My father swears by your company.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Sawyer gestured to the next guy. “Meet Rowen Burke. Junior. Sam. And—”

“—the guy who’ll be cleaning up tonight.” He shook hands with me. “I hear you’re some kind of genius, so this’ll be doubly embarrassing for you.”

I laughed. “Most rumors are greatly exaggerated. I bet your poker skills are one of them.”

“I like this guy.”

Rowen had the easy air that went along with his tone. A loose cotton shirt in contrast to Winston’s suit. Sandy hair falling every which way. Puka shell bracelets adorning both wrists.

“My man, Hayes Benson,” Sawyer continued.

The name and the scar splitting his left eyebrow triggered my memory. “Hayes Benson,” I repeated. “From junior prep school?”

“That’s right. Been a long time, Rick. Good to see you.”

The time had been good to Hayes. I remembered a scrawny kid who hung out with only one friend and ate sushi every day for lunch. He now rivaled me in height and size. Seems his mom was on to something with the sushi. She ran a health food conglomerate and I knew for certain it was one of my father’s clients.

“Good to see you too,” I said, and meant it. “Wild that we’ve been going to the same college for two years and didn’t know it.”

“Let’s catch up after this.”

“For sure.”

Sawyer gripped my shoulder, directing me to the final two guys. “Aiden you know, and this is Nasir Harb.”

Nasir surveyed me with eyes eerily like Ezra’s. If Winston was buttoned-up and Rowen was laid-back, he fell in the middle with the shirt, blazer, and jeans. He cut his hair close to the scalp and pierced three holes in his left ear for diamond studs and left the right untouched.

Aiden said they were all Sams. If the frat brothers fell into a “type,” I couldn’t see it.

“You any good?” he asked as we shook.

I lifted my shoulders. “Played with my dad growing up. Cleaned him out of Oreos.”

Nasir smirked. “We play for more than cookies down here.”

The way he said that scrunched my brow. “I thought this was low stakes.”

“It is,” said Hayes. “Ten thousand dollar buy-in. Pocket change.”

“For some.” I cut a look at Aiden and Sawyer. Hayes took his fish dumps in gold-plated toilets. Winston’s father couldn’t do business with mine unless he had a few million to throw around, and I couldn’t speak to Nasir’s or Rowen’s wealth. One thing I did know for sure was Sawyer and Aiden did not have that kind of pocket change.

I looked into these guys and their finances more than once. Where did they get ten thousand to throw on this table?

Aiden held my look with his patented smirking glint. “In or out, Beaumont.”

“I’m in.”

Just like that, the game was on.

I may have undersold my experience with poker. I did play for cookies with my dad. Then we played for chores. In high school Evergreen we played for where we’d go on summer vacation, and after graduation, my boys and I played for cars, money, and who’d claim Val for their bed in the following weeks. (She didn’t know about that last one.)

Poker was first and foremost a game played in the mind. The gift of reading people was one I perfected long ago while I spent my time listening, observing, waiting for people to show me who