Page 17 (1/2)
Prologue
Hunter
Septeas
IT’S EARLY SUNDAY MORNING, and I’ing down a DeVille bottled water as I steer h the clot of traffic on The Strip, crawling toward the private airport behind the golf club
I won again, with a full house over queens in the last hand, but it was closer than it should have been I collected ht, and rapped the show at 1:30 There was a rooio The last two times I stayed, I found company in my suite I didn’t ask for any company
I’ bed, absolute quiet I won’t get to sleep for another couple hours—I can’t sleep on the Gulfstreaas
I’m still dressed in my poker black, and the jeans and button-up feel like sandpaper onlike I just snorted a gram, but I didn’t Four months sober Four ot bored
I’ in my stomach that co up ate South Maryland Parkway Twice, three ti more pissed than I mean too “What do you want?”
“I’ve got a favor, man”
I groan, because I can hear in his voice that Marchant is hyped the hell up “You got a favor you want to do for me?” I drawl “Cause I could use a favor”
“Nah, man” He hesitates, the way he always does before he drops a bo on I need you to run backup”
Run backup? I’ to be a pain in my ass “You must be out your mind It’s two forty-three” I ?”
“What? No Look, just—hold on just a second” I hear shuffling, followed by Marchant’s hiss as I roll into the parking lot of the tiny private airport where I keep my plane
“Dude,” he says, after a ot Priscilla Heat out here”
He pauses, I guess expecting me to be impressed When I’irls for one of her videos”
I shaketo the vineyard for a little R&R”
“You’re a bourbon heir, Hunter You shouldn’t even have a fucking vineyard”