"Mark." My voice dropped to something cold and dead. "Do you have the guts to wager your hand and your other leg?"
The room exploded with excitement.
"Oh, this is good. They're betting their lives now!"
Mark didn't hesitate. "Betting your life? Perfect. I've been dying to break your legs myself."
"And," I continued, "all of May's assets. How about it?"
"Ha! You think I'm scared of a loser like you? Don't make me laugh—let's do this!"
Without another word, we signed the life-or-death wager and signaled the dealer to start.
My face-up card was the eight of spades. I didn't look at my hole card. Mark got the nine of diamonds. They sneered, not bothering to raise—convinced I had nothing worth chasing.
After all, this round was all or nothing.
The dealer continued. My second card: five of clubs. His: eight of hearts.
Third card dealt. Mine: four of clubs. Mark's: seven of hearts.
At this trajectory, we were both building toward a straight flush. It all came down to who completed it—and whose was higher.
When the final card dropped, every neck in the room craned toward our table. The crowd held its breath, eyes locked on us.
Mine: seven of clubs. Mark's: five of hearts.
"Damn, this is gonna be close."