Betrayed by My Wife，I Turned Her Death Bet Into Her Ruin

The crowd erupted in cheers. If I won, they'd get the money—and the chance to violate my mother.

"Ha! Told you Kerry would lose. A worthless piece of trash like him against the God of Gamblers? Please."

"Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

Mark blew cigarette smoke directly into my face, his arrogance suffocating.

"Kerry, how could you lose? Your mother's still in that cage, waiting for you to save her!"

I lifted my head, eyes bloodshot, glaring at them. The dealer's final card had been rigged—I'd seen the God of Gamblers make his move, but what could I do about it? No one here would believe me. They were all praying for my complete destruction.

Before I could think further, a sharp ripping sound cut through the air.

My heart seized as I whipped around. Someone had torn a piece of clothing from my mother's body.

"No! Get away from me! Get away!"

She thrashed and fought with everything she had, but she was no match for them.

The men in the room went wild.

"Would you look at that! Told you this woman had a nice body!"

"She doesn't look forty at all! Haha! "

The more she screamed, the more excited they became.

I fixed my bloodshot glare on May. She just shrugged, utterly indifferent.

"Why are you looking at me like that? This is your fault."

"If you weren't such a useless waste, she wouldn't be getting manhandled right now."

"Oh, but just so you know—" She smiled. "One more piece, and we'll see her underwear."

"Hahaha!"

She sauntered over and draped herself around Mark's waist. "Feeling better now, sweetie?"

"Not yet." His eyes glinted. "She hasn't been stripped naked and thrown into the pile of men. And Kerry hasn't lost everything yet."

May reached up and playfully pinched his nose. "You're so naughty."

"Then let's finish this. I want to watch you enjoy every second."

Meanwhile, agony clawed through my skull.

They were right to mock me. Pitting someone who knew nothing about gambling against a man who never lost?

It was like throwing an egg at a boulder.

In the next round, Mark bet on my mother's skirt. I was forced to wager everything I had left.

When the cards were revealed, I lost again.

My soul left my body. I slumped back in the chair, drowning in despair.

They ripped off her skirt. They laughed and flipped me off.

"Kerry, you're more pathetic than a dog."

"You've got nothing left to bet with, and your mother's down to her last piece of clothing. What are you going to do now?"

Mark stood up, grinning, and broke into some ridiculous victory dance of his own invention.

The other men reached into the cage, their hands roaming over my mother's skin.

"Stop it! Stop it now!"

"Aaah! Get away! Son, save me!"

"Please... please..."

Her desperate pleas. My roaring fury. None of it moved May an inch.

"The final round is about to begin!"

"Kerry, if you don't have anything left to bet—then we'll just declare your mother officially—"

"Who says I don't."

The words tore from my throat.

"I'll bet my life against yours."

"Mark." My voice dropped to something cold and dead. "Do you have the guts to wager your hand and your other leg?"

The room exploded with excitement.

"Oh, this is good. They're betting their lives now!"

Mark didn't hesitate. "Betting your life? Perfect. I've been dying to break your legs myself."

"And," I continued, "all of May's assets. How about it?"

"Ha! You think I'm scared of a loser like you? Don't make me laugh—let's do this!"

Without another word, we signed the life-or-death wager and signaled the dealer to start.

My face-up card was the eight of spades. I didn't look at my hole card. Mark got the nine of diamonds. They sneered, not bothering to raise—convinced I had nothing worth chasing.

After all, this round was all or nothing.

The dealer continued. My second card: five of clubs. His: eight of hearts.

Third card dealt. Mine: four of clubs. Mark's: seven of hearts.

At this trajectory, we were both building toward a straight flush. It all came down to who completed it—and whose was higher.

When the final card dropped, every neck in the room craned toward our table. The crowd held its breath, eyes locked on us.

Mine: seven of clubs. Mark's: five of hearts.

"Damn, this is gonna be close."

"Close? Please. Kerry's already lost."

Mark drummed his fingers on the table, radiating smug confidence.

"Kerry." His voice dripped with triumph. "This hand decides everything."

"But don't worry—I won't let you die quickly. I'm going to make you watch while men take turns with your mother. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Flip the cards!"

"Mine's the six of hearts. Beats yours. Kerry, you're finished."

The moment Mark flipped his hole card, screams erupted across the room.

"What the—that's not the six of hearts—!"