Reece held the betting card in his hands, scrunching it into a paper ball and tossing it across the room, over the heads of the other twenty or so cheering gamblers in the room watching the show happening below. 

“Lose again?” a man beside him chortled, handing his sheet to an attendant who was walking by, as well as a hundred-dollar bill. “That’s for you, darlin’.” 

“No shit, Charles,” Reece grumbled, rolling his eyes as the attendant gave Charles a shy smile and a wave before leaving. “It’s been thirty minutes, and I’ve lost forty-three thousand dollars. That’s more than the last two days’ losses combined.” 

“You reckon she’s into me?” Charles asked, staring at the attendant’s backside the entire time she was in view. Reece gave him a look of resentment. 

“You’re not even fucking listening.” 

“No, no, I am. Forty-whatever dollars. Dunno why you’re crying, that’s pocket change.” 

Reece sighed, rolling his eyes and reaching down to get another betting sheet from the pile on the low table in front of them. “She’s not into you.” 

“How d’you know that, huh? You saw that smile she gave me.” Charles finally turned back to face him, the attendant having rounded a corner and disappeared behind it. 

“I think she was smiling because a chump gave her a hundred dollars to spend on drugs and booze later on when she’s trying to forget what his face looked like.” Charles punched him in the shoulder without warning, just hard enough to send him stumbling sideways a couple steps, catching himself on one of the velvety red seats. “The fuck, man?” 

He simply laughed, grabbing a betting sheet for himself while Reece righted himself, dusting off his suit. “Toughen up.” 

“Says the ass who got offended when I called him ugly. Don’t know how your wife lives with herself, honestly.” 

He shrugged. “She’ll tolerate anything as long as I bring home a ton of money every day.” 

The crowd around them cheered and hollered as the next contestant was brought into the arena, and both Charles and Reece edged forward, trying to get the best view of him as possible.  

“Why do you even bother betting?” Reece asked. 

They found a position in which they could both see the new contestant. He was a middle-aged man, both greying and balding at the same time. He was a tad pudgy, and he had unkempt stubble around his face, with sunken eyes and heavy bags underneath them. 

“Beats just sitting here and watching everyone else have all the fun.” 

“Owning the place isn’t ‘fun’ enough for you?” 

“Nah,” he scoffed, scribbling down his bets on the paper. “No thrill knowing that there’s a constant stream of cash coming in. Gotta have an edge to it, gotta know I’ve earned it, y’know?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“Oh, right,” he guffawed, slapping Reece on the back. “Look who I’m talking to. Lost more money in a week than most people’s yearly salaries!” 

“Don’t rub it in.” 

“Ah, it’s alright. Your luck’s changing with this one, I can feel it!” 

Reece looked down into the arena and watched the doors close, leaving the man in there by himself. He scribbled his bets in and watched intently as a different set of doors opened, and a much larger man wearing a full black suit and a face mask walked in, carrying a very large executioner’s axe. The contestant screamed, running directly into the back wall and pressing up against it, and the people inside the viewing box just laughed and jeered, pointing fingers at the helpless man as the executioner advanced upon him. 

“What’d you bet?” Charles asked. 

“Fifty thousand on him pissing himself, and another fifty on death within thirty seconds.” 

“Oh, that’s mighty bold of you.” 

Reece shrugged, watching on, a smile lighting up his face as a wet stain appeared on the man’s trousers. 

“Yet, it’s already paying off.”