Who Wrote The Gambler Novels & Stories

I lost it too long ago. “Please—” I pulled the trigger and watched the light leave his eyes. His body dropped to the ground like a sack of tomatoes. Blood splattered onto the creaking, rusty floor of his crappy as fuck house. I could practically smell the stench of his poverty. This was what gambling did to you. It eats you up from the inside-out and leaves you a shell, a hollow of yourself. Worst of all, you can't stop either. The devil would always be on your shoulders, whispering sweet promises of double abundance. Urging you to take that risk and when you do, he’d leave you alone, crackling in laughter as you fall deeper and deeper into the dark hole of despair.

All the gunner had to do was pull the trigger. "I'm just feeling a little stuffy…" Left without a choice, I bent down while panting slightly in order to hide my discomfort. "If you don't believe me, you can feel me up. There's a part of me that's already… mmm…" As soon as those lewd words left my mouth, I forced myself to put on an impatient expression. My finger began drawing circles on the man's chest. He inhaled sharply before grabbing my wrist. Then, he gulped uncontrollably.

The dealers would let them win on occasion to keep them interested, but not too much. They were in the business of making money, after all. Some gamblers didn’t even need the incentive of a win to stay in the game. Being the addicts they were, the mere hope of winning kept them glued to the game until one of the bouncers had to throw them out for their violent behavior. Gage probably should feel sorry for them, but he had to feel sorry for himself first and foremost. The Armageddon was one of a chain of highly successful casinos owned by none other than Romero Bartolone.

I repeated, the question echoing in the quiet night. He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Someone who fancies himself a knight in not-so-shining armor.” “A knight?” I scoffed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “More like a gambler with a lucky charm.” “Perhaps,” he conceded, a glint in his eyes that made my stomach do a nervous flip. “But a gambler who won you a fair shake, wouldn’t you say?”

He let go. I stepped into the chute. The locks hissed shut. As it descended into black, I whispered, just for me, just for the truth that couldn’t be spoken aloud. “Remember this, Damon Thorne: If I don’t make it, it’s not because I lost. It’s because I gambled everything on becoming free.” The floor trembled, and the estate began to burn. And I went to find the man who’d written my ruin, so I could erase his name from the story entirely.

Shay took the wine bottle from his hand, took a sip from the neck, gave it back, and continued: " My father has this problem with gambling, and I'm not a doctor, but I imagine it's because he's been feeling sad since the separation, you know," she said between sips from the bottle that Túlio passed to her. "My mother cheated on him with my stepfather, that jerk. I was very young, but I was the oldest of four siblings. I didn't really understand why they had separated. I was eight years old at the time and stayed with my mother until I was ten. I only came to live with my father because my stepfather visited my bed at night.

Pablo gave me nothing to travel with, and I had used all my saved-up money for the trip and other things. I was lucky enough to find a job right after; otherwise, I felt like I would have fainted. The kind lady who offered me the job sometimes fed me, making me indebted. But of course, things were slightly different now. I didn't start off starving, especially with the fact that I was winning bets now. Somehow, I had earned a reputation for myself in the arena. Julian called me "The Gambler" when I saw him the night before, which only confused me. He explained that it was my new name and my alias. Back in my seat, I cleared my mind of thoughts and tried to focus on the lecture.

she stuttered? “You're not getting a dime from me if you don't tell me what's going on” I growled as she stared at me for a while. “I'm a gambler, I gambled and lost and ran off, but now they're back, and they want their money, or I might risk losing everything and everyone I know” “You're a gambler”

"He showed up at my family's casino out of nowhere and beat me, I mean completely crushed me. His gambling skills? Insane. I had no choice but to bow down." Mark gasped. "You're saying that guy from Millers Casino previously, that remarkable young gambler, he's your friend?" He'd heard whispers of that gambler, especially the story of using cards like weapons. “Exactly!" Desmond said with a proud grin. "After he mopped the floor with me, we became friends. He knows Epic, and once I'm good enough, he's gonna introduce us." His face practically glowed with excitement. “I don't buy it, unless you call your friend and have him come over," Mark challenged, looking unconvinced.

I murmured. The truth was I had wasted my allowance on gambling in almost every casino and now, I was banned from most of them. “Just one more,” I whispered, rolling the dice again. The smell of kimchi and Korean spice filled my nose, the smoke as thick as a fig in the kitchen. I have won at least a thousand dollars now. Just three more, I thought to myself. Then I'll be done. “Man, fuck you,” the amateur growled furiously again. He was a sore loser, but I needed the money. A few of them had almost won. “You are actually good bro,” I lied. He was the shittiest person I had played against so far.