The air inside The Golden Lotus was thick enough to chew. It smelled of unfiltered tobacco, expensive cologne, and the metallic tang of adrenaline.
Damien sat at the Pai Gow table, his jacket discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the lean muscle of his forearms. He looked relaxed, almost bored, as he stacked his chips. But Aria, standing behind his chair with her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
His eyes were scanning the room, tracking the exits, the guards, and the man in the black suit who was still watching them from the bar.
"Place your bets," the dealer intoned, his voice raspy.
Damien pushed a stack of bills into the center. "All in."
The table went silent. The other players—a mix of nervous businessmen and hardened criminals—stared at the mountain of cash.
