The dim basement reeked of old must and stale cigar smoke. The only sounds were the crisp shuffling of the cards and the gentle thwaps as they were dealt out on the table to the players. The air was thick with tension, and the game was only just beginning.
Brendon's heart never slowed its pace as he counted his chips and received his two cards. He'd hardly played poker in his life. He knew the general rules, but the chances of him winning were slim, and he knew it, too. He'd marched head first into a game of poker without even thinking about the consequences of his actions, but it was far too late to back out now. He sure as hell hoped Jon knew what he was doing.
The tense silence still permeating the air around them, Brendon lifted up his cards to take a peek at them. An eight of hearts and a five of clubs. It wasn't a terrible hand, but the deciding factor for that depended upon the flop cards in the middle of the table. Brendon hadn't remembered poker being so stressful before.
Why did the fate of The Spotted Cat rely on a simple game of cards?
Brendon decided not to question it. All he could do now was focus on the game and try his hardest to solidify their win. He couldn't let Jon down, and most importantly, he couldn't let Ryan and Spencer down.
He was going to win this game of poker for them if it was the last thing he did.
Pig man and Fat Fingers threw the first few chips into the middle of the table. Then Toothless tossed in three, and Brendon and Jon called and did the same. Now came the flop cards; Brendon could barely breathe with his scratchy throat. He was absolutely petrified, but he held the poker face. It was the name of the game, after all.
The first three flop cards to be dealt were a jack of spades, a ten of hearts, and an eight of spades. Brendon's mind was already racing trying to figure out what he could make of it. He could have two eights and make a pair, and depending on the next cards, maybe he would luck out and get three of a kind. The adrenaline that was pumping through his veins was almost too much for him to handle.
Pig man raised the bet to four chips, a nasty smirk adorning his greasy face. Toothless scoffed and tossed in his four. Fat Fingers sat silently for a long while, rubbing his unkempt beard, before finally caving in and throwing in four. Brendon didn't hesitate to do the same.
The next card was another jack, this time of clubs. Next to him, Brendon saw Jon itch his nose, his expression completely solid and stoic. Even though he kept his face perfectly blank, Brendon had a hunch that Jon had something up his sleeve. The buzz in the air was difficult to miss.
The betting round still consisted of four chips. The pile in the middle was growing larger and larger, and Brendon couldn't stop himself from eyeing it. If he or Jon could win that, then they'd have an advantage over the disgusting pig men. They'd have a chance at earning the debt money to pay for The Spotted Cat, and maybe, just maybe, everything could go back to the way it was a few weeks prior. It was wishful thinking, Brendon knew, but all he could do was hope.
The final river card was a two of hearts. Not very helpful to anyone, but as they threw in their last chips of the round and flipped up their own cards, Brendon's hopes skyrocketed.
Jon had a full house in his hands--three jacks and two tens-- and the cheeky smirk he had plastered to his face only fueled the irritation in the pig men across the table. He had won the round by a long shot.
"Ya got lucky, Walker," the pig man snarled as Jon happily collected his winning chips. His pile was ginormous now. "Next time ya won't be so lucky."
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Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️
Fanfiction"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing." * * * The Great Depression was, by far, one of the worst tragedies in the history of the world. People drowned in debt. Banks were ruined. The stock market was broken and unreliable. But one...
