Buckshot Roulette -

He picked up the shotgun. He didn’t put it to his head. He stood up, took two steps around the table, and pressed the barrel against the Dealer’s forehead.

“Third time’s the charm,” he whispered.

The Dealer picked up the shotgun. Reloaded. Three hot shells. He racked the slide and placed it in the center.

A dry, hollow snap. His eyes flew open. He was still there. Still breathing. The sweat on his face felt like tears. He passed the shotgun to Marta, hands shaking so hard the gun rattled.

Leo looked at the gun. Then at the Dealer. He understood, finally. There was no winning. There was only how long you took to lose.

Leo, the youngest, had sweat blooming through his denim jacket. He owed thirty grand to the wrong people. The Dealer was those people’s collector. Win, and the debt was void. Lose, and the debt was paid by his beneficiary—his little sister’s tuition fund. He’d signed the waiver.

The Dealer’s eyes went flat. “You signed. You pull the trigger or my associate pays your sister a visit. With a hammer.”