A psychopath if I’d ever seen one—an attractive one. Just my type. Too bad the situation insisted I leave or I’d ask this big, bad man for a ride on his pogo stick. I liked them rough, dangerous, and with the same emotional range as an inanimate object.

I flipped the bag up and around, threading my arms through the handles to wear it like a backpack. It probably weighed a good forty pounds. My mind raced to figure what forty pounds of hundred dollar bills would be. The numbers spun in my head like a roulette wheel and before slowly settling on 1.6 million. Not bad. Well, not bad assuming I lived through the next five minutes that is.

I shot a glance around the room. The rest of the men were glaring at me in hate. The bodyguards lining the walls narrowed their eyes at me.

The rain cloud was about to burst. Fair to say, I had worn out my welcome awhile back.

“Viktor’s right,” a man grumbled and my eyebrows rose. These men weren’t letting me take their money? It shocked me a little, even though I expected things might go this way. Usually, people didn’t fight. I’d clean the table in a blink of an eye, dancing my winnings back to the treasure room in my condo. They were left with their mouths hanging open and their minds slowly processing what just happened—mad, confused, but begrudgingly accepting that I’d taken their money.

These men tonight were not accepting shit. They weren’t used to being losers. Too bad for them it was practically my duty to teach people the bitter taste of being cheated.

I brushed off my leather jacket. They weren’t getting jack shit back from me. The money was mine now—another shovel onto the ever-growing hoard of treasure. Lacey Flanagan didn’t give out money, she collected it, and this fat bag weighing me down was mine the moment I decided to come to this poker game.

Greed was a powerful thing, especially when it was supernaturally embedded into your DNA. I’d rather get captured and fight to the death for what I saw as mine. My pretty shiny treasure.

I was capable of fear but it never quite hit the same when you could cheat death. Which explained all my vices—the gambling, the thievery, the hard men like Mr. Viktor over there.

I eyed each of the men at the table before looking at their bodyguards. Their eyes were sharp and unwavering. Energy was coursing wildly through my veins, demanding action. This was it, the precarious moment before all hell broke loose. We were teetering near the edge.

Viktor leaned forward, tugging his sunglasses down as his eyes ate me up. Shining golden eyes dragged over every inch of my body.

His eyes weren’t natural and they were gold of all things--a mesmerizing color to a leprechaun. I couldn’t look away for a moment, enthralled by the shiny color. Sadistic excitement flared brightly in his gaze. Shit.