He hadn‟t been planning on doing anything rash with his hand, apathy having swirled too far down his throat, though the destructive element within whispered to keep asking for cards until he reached the limit. A hot breath of emotion swept up his spine at Everly touching Roseford, at any of them trying to take something else from him. Sebastien shoved his remaining money forward. "Five hundred pounds."
The crease between Everly‟s brows deepened, then smoothed. "Gaming suicide, Deville? Didn‟t think you‟d kick it in so early. So melancholy and defeated." His hand hovered over his pot for a moment, but he was looking at a king and a high card hidden underneath—his face said as much. He pushed the matched bet in. "But I‟ll happily finish you off."
Parley looked as if he was about to fold his cards, but a sharp glance from Everly had him reluctantly pushing in five hundred as well.
Benedict threw his cards in. "I‟m out."
