Chapter 2

"Sean! Table three needs another round!"

"Sean! Whiskey on the rocks!"

"SEAN！"

I weave through Sam's bar, a tray loaded with glasses that don't wobble an inch.

I flick my wrist. Several menus fly out like they've been enchanted, arcing through the air before landing perfectly on tables across the room.

I spin back. Ice cubes scatter from my shaker, clinking as they drop into a line of glasses behind the bar, casting rainbow halos.

"Sean, you're the man!"

"Wooo, bro, do it again!"

"Sean, King of the Vegas Bar! Sean, OUR KING!"

The crowd roars. The atmosphere burns.

Behind the bar, Sam and Leah watch from a distance, smiles pulling at their mouths.

"Look at those moves," Sam murmurs. "If I hadn't seen it myself, who'd believe this was the beggar from that alley?"

Leah's eyes follow me. "He wanted to save enough to pay us back for the medical bills."

"Medical bills?" Sam laughs. "With what he's done to our revenue, I should be paying HIM a bonus."

I carry drinks to a table of women in the corner. My fingers twist, and a rose appears from behind a bottle.

"Your drink, miss."

Their laughter never stops. They don't just order more！they stuff tips into my apron.

Leah walks over, hands me a water bottle. "Dad couldn't stop talking about how capable you are."

I reach for it. Our fingertips brush.

We both freeze.

She jerks her hand back, ears burning red. "This isn't just 'helping out.' This bar was dying before you came！"

The bar door EXPLODES open.

A sloppy young man with a cigarette dangling from his lips storms in. His eyes are poisoned knives, stabbing straight at me.

"Who the hell said you could touch MY bar stuff? Get the hell away!"

He grabs my collar. Alcohol and casino-cigar stench blast my face.

"You've got it wrong, sir. I'm the server here, and we're actually closing the bar！"

"Wrong my ass!" He slams me against the wall. "I'm Sam Peterson's son! You think some damn dishwasher can tell ME what to do?!"

Mike Peterson. Leah's brother. The "good-for-nothing bastard son" Sam never talked about without sighing.

He spots the cash in my apron pocket. Greed flashes. He snatches it.

"That's for the medical bills to pay back!"

"Medical bills my ass!" He shoves me. "Pay your future boss first!"

He shoves hard. I stagger back, my lower back crashing into the bar.

And when my elbow knocks over a stack of dice, the dice scatter across the counter. In that instant, images flash！

Crystal chandeliers. Green felt. My fingers closing around the dice cup. Three dice inside. A flick of the wrist. The dice spinning against the cup walls, striking, falling.

The reveal. Triple sixes. A tsunami of chips crashing toward me. The man across the table, face ashen, then eyes blood-red as he lunges！

Those red eyes in the images overlap with Mike's furious ones in the reality.

I grab a whiskey glass on instinct, scooping the scattered dice inside, wrist rotating. Then flick！

"AGH！!"

Mike stumbles back, clutching his eye. The money scatters across the floor.

I look down at the bar. The remaining dice sit in a perfect straight line, ordered by size.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

A straight.

Mike stares in shock. "You！you did that on PURPOSE!"

"No, I didn't！"

"Shut up! You're DEAD tonight!"

He swings again. The fist nears my face. I dodge on instinct, with the glass rim catching his temple. He jerks away and I flick the last die from the glass bottom into the air！

It spins. Falls. Lands in his gaping mouth.

"GUH！!"

He chokes, doubling over, coughing wildly. Money flies everywhere.

I look at the counter. The remaining five dice have somehow flipped themselves over in the vibration.

Six. Six. Six. Six. Six.

A leopard. All sixes.

"SEAN!" Leah rushes over, putting herself between us. "Mike! What the hell is wrong with you?!"