Page 21 of Keller

The pattern of movement changes first, and the awareness that ripples through the room when someone enters who doesn't belong to the game. West catches my eye from across the floor and tilts his head toward the entrance.

I turn my head to see Rhodes. He's the youngest of the six brothers, and he has a hardness about him that he's had since he was a kid. He was four when our mother died, so I'm guessing whatever softness she gave the rest of us never had time to settle into him.

He moves through the space without noise, but the players sense him anyway. Shoulders tighten, and conversation drops. He waits near the bar until the current hand finishes at the table closest to the bar. Chips stack and the dealer collects the cards.

I step away from table two and cross to him. He's wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket, his hands loose at his sides and jaw set. His eyes don't scan the room the way mine do. They lock on me and stay there.

“Ridge wants you to review the new security rotation.”

I keep my voice low so it doesn’t carry past the nearest table. “It’s been five months, Rhodes. When is Ridge going to stop obsessing over the security? I think things have settled back into something resembling normal.”

Normal is relative. Five months ago, our father was murdered because he refused to open his ports to a competitor who wanted to move fentanyl through them. When my father said no, he signed his own death warrant.

Ridge stepped in as CEO of Stone Intermodal before the ground had even stopped shifting beneath us. The business stabilized faster than most people expected, but that did not mean the threat evaporated.

“Five months doesn’t mean they’re done,” Rhodes says evenly.

There was the incident at the tables before the dirt settled on our father's grave. Laurent Boudreaux’s men walked in during a live game and fired shots into the ceiling. No one was hurt. It was meant to remind us that the port wars were not theoretical.

Ridge de-escalated a full-on war, but he still upgraded the surveillance and rewrote the entry protocols. He also increased the armed security posted at every event, even though it was supposed to be temporary.

West drifts a step closer, reading the shift in energy. I give him a small nod to let him know we're good.

Rhodes holds out a folder. I take it and skim the contents while the dealer at table three begins the next hand. The assignments are detailed, and entry points have been redistributed to keep everyone fresh.

Two additional rotations have been added for overnight coverage. Overkill.

Ridge’s handwriting runs along the margins, explaining the rationale behind each adjustment. It is thorough, strategic, and predictable.

I close the folder and hand it back to him. “Tell Ridge it’s fine.”

Rhodes doesn’t move right away. His shoulders remain tight, fingers pressing into the cardboard edge of the file. I know he wants to stay here and hang out, but he doesn’t need to be here when I know he has schoolwork to do.

I lower my voice further. “And go to class. You have one year left. Finish it.”

His eyes flash. “I’m not a kid. And I don’t need a degree to work for our own company.”

“You know what Ridge said,” I reply calmly. “You’ll have a job once you graduate, not before.”

He hates that answer, but he also knows it will not change. It’s the same hard line our father carried. We all had to go to college, or he wouldn’t have a job waiting for us at Stone Intermodal.

For a second, I see the hardness in him that almost seems to haunt him.

He gives one short nod and turns toward the door. It closes behind him without sound.

West exhales quietly at my side. “He’s wound tight.”

“He always is.”

I return to the floor, adjusting my glasses as I step past table one. The rhythm settles again.

West catches my eye from across the room and grins. He mouths two words to me. "Green dress."

I don’t break stride and mouth back one. "Fucker."

SIX

Keller