The cards slid across the felt toward me.
The dealer's hands were steady. He didn't even look at me.
"Place your bets," he said.
I stared at the stack of chips in front of me. I didn't remember putting them there.
"They're yours," the woman in the black dress said. Her voice was smooth, almost warm — but it made the hairs on my neck rise. "A gift. Let's make this interesting."
My hands felt sweaty as I picked up the two cards. Seven of clubs. Nine of hearts. Sixteen.
I'd played Blackjack before. Not much, but enough to know sixteen was bad. You usually hit. That's what I remembered, anyway.
"Hit," I said, trying to sound steady.
The dealer placed a new card on the table. A ten.
Twenty-six. Bust.
"You lose," he said.
I waited for him to take the chips. That was how it worked, right? You lose your bet, you lose your chips.
But instead, the woman's voice cut through the noise around us.
"Hold him."
The two men in black suits moved in from behind. One locked his hands on my shoulders, pressing me down into the chair. The other grabbed my right wrist and pinned it flat to the table.
My breath hitched. "Wait—wait, what are you doing—"
The man holding my wrist bent my index finger back... slowly.
CRACK.
I heard the sound before I even felt it... a wet, snapping crack.
Then the pain hit.
It wasn't just pain. It was heat and white light exploding up my arm. My stomach clenched so hard I thought I might throw up. My teeth bit down on my tongue, trying to hold in a sound I couldn't control.
I screamed anyway.
The sound tore out of me, high and raw. Heads turned from other tables. Some people watched, some smirked. No one helped.
"Stop! Please—what the hell is this?! You can't—" I gasped, clutching my hand, but the man behind me shoved me upright.
The woman leaned down, her lips almost brushing my ear.
"One finger per loss, Mr. Monrel. Don't lose again."
I sat there shaking, clutching my hand against my chest. My breaths came in short, shallow gasps as tears stung my eyes.
---
The dealer didn't wait. Two new cards slid across the table.
My hand shook as I picked them up. Nine of spades. Six of hearts. Fifteen.
I couldn't think. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears. My broken finger throbbed with each pulse. I wanted to drop the cards and run, but the men behind me were too close.
"Hit," I whispered.
The card hit the felt. Eight.
Twenty-three. Bust.
The man on my right grabbed my middle finger.
"Please—wait—"
SNAP.
This one was worse. The pain ripped through me and I curled forward, almost sliding out of the chair. My forehead hit the edge of the table and I heard a muffled laugh from somewhere behind me. My vision blurred for a second as I made a choking sound.
I didn't care who was watching anymore. I couldn't stop shaking. My left hand clutched my right like I could hold the pieces together.
The woman tilted her head, watching me. "Already falling apart, Mr. Monrel?"
"I'm not— I'm not him—" My words dissolved into a sob. "I don't know who that is, I'm telling you the truth, please, I can't—"
"Keep playing," she said.
---
The third loss came quicker than I could think.
By now, my eyes were wet. I wasn't even trying to hide it.
They took my ring finger next.
The crack made bile rise in my throat. I doubled forward, my forehead almost hitting the table again.
By now the tears were flowing freely. My nose was running. I didn't care.
"I'll do anything—please, I'm sorry, I'll—just tell me what you want, please—" My voice was hoarse, breaking on every word.
The man holding me didn't even blink. "Play."
---
By the fifth loss, I was gone.
The pain had burned through me and left something worse — this shaking, desperate emptiness. My voice wasn't steady anymore. It came out in broken pieces, each word cut up by sobs.
"Stop, please— I'll do anything, I'll— just stop, please—"
The woman's smile didn't change. She nodded once. The man grabbed my thumb.
It broke with a noise that didn't sound human.
The scream that left me didn't sound human either.
I slid halfway out of my chair, cradling my destroyed hand. My knees hit the floor.
"Up," the man behind me said, shoving me back into place like a doll.
Then they started on my left hand.
I didn't even try to play anymore. I just begged. They broke the first finger anyway and I cried until my face was hot.
Second.
Third.
Fourth.
The cracks echoed in my skull. I screamed until my voice broke. I tried to curl in on myself, but they held me straight. My body felt cold, my head light.
I couldn't stop shaking. My teeth chattered.
---
The woman glanced at the man behind me. "He's not going to last long."
"Doesn't need to," the man said.
I looked up at her through blurred eyes. My lips trembled, my chest rising and falling in sharp jerks.
That's when I saw the gun in her hand.
My breath caught. "Please—don't—" My voice cracked into a sob.
"Pathetic," she said softly.
The muzzle pressed cold against my forehead and the last thing I felt was the burn of the shot.
---
I gasped.
My eyes flew open. I was back at the table. Whole, ten perfect fingers, the same green felt, the same dealer and the same woman smiling at me.
"Shall we begin, Mr. Monrel?"
---
To be continued...