𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 || j. daniel atlas

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

At the gentle suggestion of Walter, Alena sat in on the Horsemen's planned session. There were a couple of security guards stationed beside the penthouse lift, and Alena slouched in the pit where the Horsemen were working.

She kept her distance, a plate of fondant fancies and Turkish Delight balanced on her knees, which she offered to anyone who came close to her. The men ignored her, and she found herself oddly glad of it. Alena liked to think that she could take the dirty looks and snide comments that she knew they were capable of throwing – and even wanted to throw – her way. But with the end of her scheme drawing near, she didn't quite trust herself not to crack, despite the promise she had made to the woman at Iong's.

To Alena's surprise, however, Lula May would pause by the offered tray. She'd glance over the shoulder, make sure the others weren't looking, and steal a couple of treats. Alena smiled as Lula shoved one in each cheek and continued practising her cardistry, without meeting her eye. She hoped that, when all of this was over, she and Lula might be friends.

Alena pressed her lips against the dusty surface of a Turkish Delight cube; she couldn't risk anyone, including the CCTV cameras, seeing how fondly she smiled upon her friends. Merritt had never been any good at flicking cards and watching Jack try to teach him made her heart ache to be close to them again, to huddle in the kitchen of their tiny apartment, showing them how to cook a stir fry for the hundredth time. Daniel had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves; she wondered if he had done it to spite her, knowing how much she loved the pulse of the veins in his forearms.

After that, she didn't let herself look at him too closely. Having felt his touch the night before, taken in his scent, when she'd been deprived of it for so long, Alena had to shovel three cubes of the sticky sweet into her mouth at once and remind herself that it was her own fault.

♤ ♡ ♧ ♢

"Take these."

Alena took the small velvet bag from Walter, playfully narrowing her eyes. She opened the drawstring and took out a gold poker chip. "What's this?"

"It's a poker chip."

"I know what it is," Alena giggled, though she was beginning to feel quite sick. "But why are you giving them to me?"

Walter shrugged. "I need you to sit down in the casino so that the Horsemen can check in with you before leaving. After that, you can just have fun. One of those is worth about $100,000."

Alena's mouth went dry. "But there's, like, ten of them in here." She was holding more money now than she had owned in her entire life, and Walter was just giving it to her, to gamble away, like it meant nothing to him. It probably didn't even make a dent in his bank account. Alena's insides began to tremble as she thought of those nights she spent on the streets, the years in an apartment with only a mattress and a blanket. She was going to triple this money and then crush Walter under a new pair of hideous, painfully uncomfortable, diamond-encrusted heels.

She smiled sweetly, caressed his cheek. "You're too kind to me," she said. "I don't deserve all of this. You've already done so much for me."

Walter leant his head up to kiss her cheek. "You deserve all of it and more. Besides, there's plenty more where that came from."

Just as she thought.

She would quadruple the money. And those heels would have red soles.

"But don't stay too late," he called after her when she reached the lift doors. "I have a surprise for you this evening."

Alena hid the gut punch of anxiety with another giggle of excitement. "Consider my breath baited."

Walter grinned, gave her a little wave as the lift doors closed between them.

♤ ♡ ♧ ♢

Alena sat at a Blackjack table an hour later, keeping count and sipping a French 75.

Despite the noise, the cheering from the roulette tables, the clatter of the slot machines, the taste of that cocktail took her right back to New Orleans. A year into her employment with Merritt, he and Alena had had their first real success; a pompous businessman on a work night out had tried his luck with Merritt, thought himself too clever from the mentalist to swindle, and had ended up parting with almost $1,000. Alena had bought both herself and Merritt French 75s, with proper champagne, and they'd munched on the lemon skin spiral, wearing shit-eating grins.

Poking the corner of her mouth with the lemon, Alena drummed her nails on top of her cards. Then, a purposeful movement passed into her vision. Amongst the stumbling gamblers, a small group of well-dressed men and one woman striding through the mass, which parted like the Red Sea, was difficult to miss. Alena tried to keep her attention on the table, not let the other players see her distraction.

She peered at her cards, slid a chip worth around $1,000 forwards into the pile, just as Jack passed behind her, followed by the South African gangster's four companions. The round was over; each player's cards were revealed, and Alena collected her winnings with a jovial smile. As the dealer gathered up the deck to reshuffle, Alena felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"It's done. We're good to go."

Alena leant back slightly into Daniel's scent. Of course, he didn't have his usual cologne, but the smell of his skin still lingered beneath his crisp new suit. "Okay," she nodded.

"That's a pretty big stack of chips you got there."

"You have your card tricks, and I have mine."

"Counting cards is not a trick," Daniel said, his voice low, snaking its way into her ear. "It's illegal."

"Actually, it's not," Alena replied, matching his tone, turning her head so that her lips brushed against his jawline. "It's only frowned upon. But, d'you know what is illegal? Robbing a bank. So pot-kettle-black, Atlas. Pot-kettle-black."

"Come on, we're checked in. We need to get going," Lula said, her jaw clenched.

"You do," Alena said.

Three of the Horsemen departed, but Merritt stayed behind a moment, his hand coming to rest in the middle of Alena's back. She had turned her attention back to the table, and her new hand of cards. She lifted her glass to her lips, noticing Merritt's eyes following it as she took a sip.

"Something amiss?" she asked.

"I know something going on," Merritt whispered. "When we get back, you're gonna tell me all about this little game of yours."

Alena looked up, hoping her smirk would confirm his suspicions. She shrugged. "It's Blackjack," she said.

He moved his hand to her shoulder, gave it a little squeeze. "Counting cards, are we?"

"Mm-hm," Alena hummed, almost inaudibly.

"That's my girl."

"Good luck," she whispered, as Merritt slipped away to join the others.

Alena took another long sip of the cocktail; the only game she could really play at now was waiting.