Blood Ties Read Online Free

guess you’re right,” he finally said. “A dead man’s hand beats a straight every time.” Jake let loose a long, drawn out sigh.
    Quinn smiled like a predator moving in for the kill. He reached out his hands and wrapped them around the money.
    Jake’s voice was as hard as steel when he locked eyes with Quinn. “But I don’t have a straight.” He squared his shoulders.
    Quinn froze, his smile fading back to cold stone.
    “What?” the venomous spectator shouted. “You sure as hell do! I’m looking at it!”
    Jake leaned in with a grin to beat all. He flipped over his last card—the eight of spades.
    “That there is a straight flush ,” Jake said. “And last time I checked, a straight flush beats a full house—even a dead man’s hand— every time.”
    A cheer rose from the women, and Jake heard a few of the sore losers shout, “Unbelievable!”
    Quinn’s fists clenched on the table, his knuckles white. His face remained frozen, but Jake saw fury in the dragon’s eyes.
    “You’re a hell of a good card player, Quinn,” Jake said in a friendly tone. “I guess lady luck just wasn’t with you tonight.” He reached out and pulled back what he figured was over fifteen-hundred dollars. It would keep his crew afloat for a while. “Now, if you boys will excuse me, I need to get on home.” Jake pulled a blue bag out of his burgundy vest, kept there for just such occasions, and scooped the money into it. He stood, fluffed the emerald cravat at his throat, and adjusted his gun belt, making certain Quinn saw both pistols holstered there. The bag went back into his vest, leaving a noticeable lump, and he took one last swig from his Cap’n Plat. Tipping his hat, he said, “Y’all have a good night.”
    He turned his back on the table and caught his riding partner’s attention. Cole, his mulatto skin deeply shadowed under a weathered, Buffalo Soldier’s hat, was waiting for the gentleman next to him to bet. Cole raised bright blue eyes and spotted Jake, who thumbed towards the door. Cole nodded, motioning that he’d finish the hand and follow.

Chapter Three – Sore Loser
    “Trouble finds Jake like flies find corpses. Hangs around the same way, too.”
    ~ Cole McJunkins
    Jake stepped out into a late summer night, the air scented by cut hay, boiling hops, and machine oil. He heard the faint gurgle of Cherry Creek only a block and a half away. As usual, the cobbled length of 12 th Avenue lay empty. Anyone up at that hour on a Thursday was either in the Brewery or one of the whorehouses along Larimer Street around the corner. Decent folk—a group Jake did not consider himself a part of—had already chewed their way through a fair bit of a good night’s sleep.
    The doors swung closed behind him, changing the buzz of bar patrons and automaton music to a muffled thrum. A row of horses stood hitched outside, their tails swishing quietly as horseflies tried to burrow deep and drink their fill. There were two steam-driven carriages parked nearby, brass fittings and copper pipes gleaming dully in the lamplight.
    Jake pulled out his father’s pocket watch and clicked it open. It showed just shy of 11:30, so he figured he and Cole would be home a little after midnight. Clicking the watch closed, he turned towards the stables off to the left. A soft pool of electric lamplight cast the doors in an orange glow. Several more steam carriages sat parked beyond, nearly lost in darkness. Jake headed towards the stables but paused, caught in the harsh landing lights of an incoming zeppelin. Its motors filled the empty street with the sharp drone of reversing propellers, and he looked up at a stocky cargo carrier. As the light moved past him, Jake flicked the stub of his cigar into the street.
    He had taken two steps past a gleaming steam carriage when a voice from behind hissed, “Raise your hands and go into the stables.” The point of a blade poked hard into his lower back. Jake hadn’t heard anyone come up behind