Chapter 226
Raven
The Surgeon's eyes gleamed with something that made my skin crawl—not fear, but recognition of a kindred hunger. "Explain."
I let out the most dramatic sigh I could muster, the kind of exasperated exhale that screamed nouveau riche fool with more money than sense. My fingers drummed against Nash's arm as I leaned back, channeling every vapid socialite I'd ever encountered.
"Fine. But we're starting from the beginning, because this is one hell of a story."
Around the table, everyone shifted forward. Even Maria Santos, still trembling from her near-execution, looked up with desperate curiosity. Good. An audience made lies more believable—people wanted to be entertained.
"Two months ago. Las Vegas. The Crimson Lotus—you know it?"
The Surgeon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He knew it. Underground gambling den, three levels below Caesars Palace, where the house minimum was a hundred grand and they didn't ask questions about where your money came from.
"We were at the VIP tables—the real VIP section, not that tourist trap they show the Instagram influencers." I waved my hand dismissively. "Anthony was up about eight million on baccarat when I noticed her."
I paused, letting the tension build. Nash's fingers tightened on my waist—a warning or encouragement, I couldn't tell.
"Seventeen, maybe eighteen years old. Ratty Stanford hoodie, ripped jeans, beat-up Converse. Completely out of place among the Hermès and Rolex crowd. But her eyes..." I shook my head, allowing a flicker of genuine memory to surface. "Old eyes. The kind that have seen too much."
"She was hemorrhaging money at the poker table. Five hundred thousand gone in twenty minutes. Another two million in the next hour. The pit boss was getting nervous—you could see him calculating whether she was good for it."
Chen Wei leaned forward. "And you just... watched?"
"Oh, honey, I was fascinated." I injected just the right amount of cruel delight into my voice. "It's not every day you see a teenager trying to play with the big boys and losing her shirt. Literally, as it turned out."
The Surgeon's expression hadn't changed, but his pupils had dilated. Hunting focus.
"By hour three, she was down five million dollars. The house called in their collectors—you know the type. Ex-military, dead eyes, the works. They grabbed her right there at the table. Very undignified. Very public."
I could feel Nash's heartbeat against my back, steady as a metronome. The man was unshakeable.
"That's when she started crying. Not real tears—I can always tell the difference—but decent enough to convince the gorillas. She begged them to let her pay. Said she had something valuable, something historically significant."
"The necklace." The Surgeon's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Oh, it gets better." I straightened, warming to my fabrication. "She reached into her hoodie—security nearly shot her right there—and pulled out this." I gestured to where Nash had placed Satan's Heart on the table. "She grabbed the pit boss by the collar and swore on her dead mother's grave that this was excavated from the Romanov burial site. Last treasure of the Tsars. Worth at least fifty million on the black market."
Chen Wei snorted. "And you believed her?"
"Of course not." I shot him a withering look. "I'm not an idiot. But the pit boss was spooked—kept saying something about how his Geiger counter was going crazy, how she had to get that thing out of his casino before the gaming commission showed up."
That got their attention. Radiation meant government scrutiny. Government scrutiny meant questions nobody in that room wanted to answer.
"So I made him an offer." I smiled at the memory I was inventing. "Five million, cash, to clear her debt and take the necklace off their hands. The girl nearly kissed my shoes. Babbled something about how I'd saved her life, how she owed me everything."
The Surgeon's hands were pressed flat against the table. "Where. Is. She."
But Nash chose that moment to interject, smacking his palm against his forehead with theatrical force.
"That's what was bothering me!" He turned to face The Surgeon, eyes wide with the false eureka of a man connecting dots. "When that little con artist handed over the necklace, I was watching her. Professional instinct—you don't make billions without learning to read people."
He had everyone's attention now. Even Chandler had stopped fidgeting with his radiation detector watch.
"Her left hand gave Marianne the necklace. But her right hand?" Nash's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Never left her hoodie pocket. She kept it pressed against her side like she was protecting something. I thought maybe she had a weapon, or drugs—these kids today, you never know."
He leaned forward, and I had to admire his commitment to the performance.
"But now it makes sense. The shape in her pocket was too regular, too distinct. She had two necklaces. Gave us the radioactive fake to clear her gambling debt, kept the real one hidden."
The room erupted.
"You let a teenage hustler play you for five million dollars?" Maria Santos's voice was shrill with disbelief and barely concealed schadenfreude.
Chen Wei actually laughed. "The great Anthony Goodman, outsmarted by a high schooler."
Even Chandler looked amused, though he was trying to hide it behind his tablet.
Nash's face flushed red—whether genuine embarrassment or brilliant acting, I couldn't tell. "I was trying to get laid!" he snapped. "Happy wife, happy life! How was I supposed to know she'd pull a bait-and-switch?"
God, he's good at this.
"ENOUGH!"
The Surgeon's voice cracked like a whip. The room fell silent instantly. When he rose from his seat, even the enhanced guards straightened to attention.