Mike's Bet, Sarah's Win

an who worked his hands raw, sat at our kitchen table, his head in his hands. Eighty thousand dollars. Vanished.

buddy, Jake Riley. Mike was broken, promising double shifts,

wasn't just bad luck; it was a setup. They thought they'd taken my

st invisible scar on my left wrist, a ghost from a past

ard. 'We're going to pay Jake a visit.' He was terrified. I just smiled, a bitter, dangerous