Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“You know it.” I nodded at Britni and met the eye of a man on table four, watching as he tapped his fingers on the top of his beer. I moved behind the bar and grabbed a fresh one for him, along with a few waters, and stepped back on the floor.
A groan went up at the top table, and I glanced over, watching as Bumblebee stretched his hands forward, gathering more chips. I grinned.
* * *
Three hours later, I leaned against the building and checked my phone. According to the app, my ride was nine minutes away, which is what it had said for the last six minutes. I sighed.
The back door opened, and Lance stepped out, his head down, attention on his cell. He glanced to the side, saw me, and paused. “What are you still doing here?”
I pocketed my phone. “My car’s in the shop. I’m waiting on a ride.”
“And you’re out here alone? You trying to get snatched?”
I smiled. “I’m fine.”
“Fuck that. We pay security for a reason, B.” Lance pressed a button on his keys, and his Viper flashed in the dark. “Cancel the car. You can sit on Rick’s lap.”
“The driver’s only a few minutes away.”
I watched him turn as the door opened and Rick stepped out. I listened to Lance update him on my car, and I rolled my eyes, refreshing my screen, the vehicle’s dot moving closer.
“Lloyd’s gonna wait with you,” Rick decided. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Will that make you guys happy?”
“I’m happy.” Rick glanced at Lance, who spun the key ring on his finger and strolled toward the car. “You happy?”
Lance sighed. “Ecstatic. One less dead employee.” He leaned back, stretching.
I moved aside to make room for Lloyd, who lumbered outside with the athletic prowess of a garbage truck. “Sorry, Lloyd. The boys are paranoid.”
“You kidding?” He settled against the brick and rummaged in his pocket for his cigarettes. “Best looking part of my night.”
I smiled and watched the pair climb into the Viper, the engine revving, the top lowering, baseball caps pulled on. They were closer than brothers and felt like family to me. I’d been a waitress at a truck-stop diner when the pair of them had wandered in, two years ago. They’d been drunk and almost got killed by two bikers on the wrong end of a meth high. I’d stepped into the argument and gotten fired for it, but my intervention had kept their pretty faces intact and won their eternal loyalty in the process. The next night, they’d offered me a job, one that paid enough to get me out of my trailer and into the city limits, with enough left over to allow me to think about college.
Speaking of which... I smiled at the thought of tomorrow’s statistics class and its delicious professor. If I got in bed by five-thirty, I could get in five hours of sleep and still have time to hit his office before my afternoon class.
Headlights swept over the lot, and I straightened when I saw the vehicle turn in.
Lloyd followed my gaze. “That yours?”
“Yep.” I reached out my fist and bumped it against his. “Thanks.”
“Stay safe, B.”
“Always.” I opened the door and tossed my purse inside, ducking in and confirming my address with the driver. Closing the door, I settled into the seat and fought a yawn. The car pulled forward and the neon signs of The Strip came into view.
Vegas is shaped like a caterpillar, the Strip its body, the casinos its legs. Lance and Rick’s place was on the ass end, far enough off the strip to avoid tourists, but close enough to allow the big boys to swing by without being too far from home.
In a city filled with tables, we fit the unique need of the elite—a place for the gods to play. Steve Wynn couldn’t play at his own house, and couldn’t be seen at a competitor’s table, so he came here. All of them did. It was a place where they could discreetly talk shop, play big, and loosen their ties.
Granted, not all of the clients were casino heads. Celebrities came to lay low and Vegas’s hoteliers, restaurant owners, and politicians—anyone who didn’t want to show favor with any particular casino, or who wanted their gambling habits kept quiet—also came to us.
“Which house is yours?” The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.
I sat forward, my hand gripping the headrest before me and trying to see the dark street. “It’s the second one. Right there.”
He stopped in front of the driveway and I grabbed my purse, sweeping a hand over the seat to make sure I had everything. I thanked the driver and stepped out, turning to the dark, ranch-style home.
I frowned, a prickle of unease tiptoeing up my back. I almost reached back to catch the driver’s attention and ask him to wait. But he pulled forward, his tail lights glowing as he took a right at the stop sign and was gone.