They were right to mock me. Pitting someone who knew nothing about gambling against a man who never lost?
It was like throwing an egg at a boulder.
In the next round, Mark bet on my mother's skirt. I was forced to wager everything I had left.
When the cards were revealed, I lost again.
My soul left my body. I slumped back in the chair, drowning in despair.
They ripped off her skirt. They laughed and flipped me off.
"Kerry, you're more pathetic than a dog."
"You've got nothing left to bet with, and your mother's down to her last piece of clothing. What are you going to do now?"
Mark stood up, grinning, and broke into some ridiculous victory dance of his own invention.
The other men reached into the cage, their hands roaming over my mother's skin.
"Stop it! Stop it now!"
"Aaah! Get away! Son, save me!"
"Please... please..."
Her desperate pleas. My roaring fury. None of it moved May an inch.
"The final round is about to begin!"
"Kerry, if you don't have anything left to bet—then we'll just declare your mother officially—"
"Who says I don't."
The words tore from my throat.
"I'll bet my life against yours."