The ropes fall away and my wrists sting. I stand slow, steadying myself. The room tilts for a second from the hit to my head, but I keep my face blank.
Donald watches me. The drunk haze in his eyes is thinning. His jaw is tight now. His grip on the gun is steadier. He's sobering up and that's worse than when he stumbled in.
The goons stay close. Guns ready. Waiting.
I keep my hands where they can see them. My pulse is loud in my ears. My head is doing that old gambler shuffle, reading the table, watching for tells, looking for the weak seam in the moment.
Donald wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "You better have something real to say."
I shrug. "You want answers. I get it."
His eyes flicker. He doesn't want to show interest, but it's there. Same look I used to give the guy who cleaned me out. That tiny lean forward. That twitch in the jaw. That itch to know what I missed.
I remember that feeling. The heat in my chest. The way the room felt smaller. The way the other guy suddenly felt bigger.
Donald's wearing that feeling now.
"You think I cheated," I say. "Fine. But if I did, that means I know something you don't."
His nostrils flare. He hates that. Hates the idea of someone having an edge on him.
I keep my tone flat. "And you want to know what it is."
He doesn't answer, but his shoulders shift. A small tilt toward me. Hook set.
"You want the truth," I say. "Beat me again."
He scoffs. "You think you can take me twice?"
I meet his eyes. "I think you need to find out."
The room goes still. The goons glance at him. He doesn't look away from me. His breathing slows. His eyes sharpen. The last of the alcohol burns off in real time.
He steps in close and presses the barrel of the gun to my chest. His voice drops. "You got guts."
I don't move. "You got questions."
A long beat. His jaw works. His eyes narrow.
Then he lowers the gun.
"Bring a table," he says.
The goons move immediately, dragging a folding table into the center of the room. Cards hit the surface. Chairs scrape. Donald sits, posture straightening, ego settling into place like a man taking his rightful seat at a throne.
I sit across from him.
The air shifts. The room feels smaller. Quieter. Like the world shrank down to just the two of us and the space between our hands.
Donald cracks his knuckles. "Let's see what you really are."
I don't answer.
I just watch him.
Waiting for the first card.