Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
As I face the window wall once more, I toy with my necklace, looking out into our pride and joy.
The Game Room is locked and hidden when The Enterprise is open to all, like on music or mela nights. This is what brings the big, bad boys to our doorstep.
Everyone thought we were crazy when we proposed the idea, but at the end of the day, I knew the opportunity for control would burn bright in my power-hungry father’s eyes, and if Rayo was in, Delta’s grandfather and Bronx’s father were sure to follow.
In ancient times, the king would gather in the hall and feast with his people, sharing the fruits of their labor, if only to a minimal extent.
Now, the people feed the king.
Or, well, queens.
It was our little way of keeping a semblance of control, making sure we, as individuals, were cut into the profit.
“Look at Lena.” Damiano joins me in front of the glass, his hands in his pockets as he stares at one of our advanced girls. “She’s killing it tonight.”
I hum my approval, watching the redhead closely as she deals a fresh hand, her table full of suited men. She’s wearing an all-white piece tonight, the cut modest over her chest and not so much as a slit in the side, the lacy hem stopping midthigh. The card tables are custom and glass for a reason, allowing us to see every inch of the people behind them at all times.
Lena’s hair is braided in two pigtails, pink ribbons tied at the end, the same color as the fuzzy bracelets around her wrists.
“She went all out virgin-ness tonight, didn’t she?”
Dom nods. “And look at her numbers.”
Our eyes lift to the screen on the far wall to see tonight’s standings.
Lena is leading all twelve girls on the floor in tips by a whopping two hundred K, and she still has twenty minutes left.
“Someone is getting a nice little bump in their account tonight.”
“The way these girls like to shop, it’s probably already as good as gone.”
Damiano laughs, sliding in behind me.
My muscles stiffen as his arms settle around me and he catches it, his doing the same.
“Something wrong?” he asks, a hint of suspicion in his tone.
I sigh, watching as a man pushes a half million in chips to the center of the craps table. “What do you know?”
Slowly, his grip shifts, and he spins me to face him, his eyes locking with mine. “I know someone ran your plate a few weeks back and we couldn’t figure out where it came from. I know you know who it was because you didn’t so much as bat a lash when, normally, you’d be suiting up for war or sending me out to handle the problem before it became one. I know you went off Greyson grounds without protection the other day.”
“I had protection.”
“Not the kind of protection your car has inside it and not the kind that comes from letting us watch out for you.” He frowns. “I know your sister showing up is a big problem for your family, and we will help any way we are able, but I don’t have to tell you this. You already know that.”
“Get to the but, Dom.”
He licks his lips, glancing around us to make sure no one is tuning in. “I don’t want you making a mistake you can’t take back and since whatever it is you’re doing, or whoever it is you’re doing, requires you to be outside of our walls, I can’t help but think you know it’s wrong.”
“Wrong is subjective.”
“Wrong is putting yourself at risk for someone who couldn’t even pretend to protect you.”
“You know nothing about him,” I snap before I can stop myself, the need to defend Bastian catching me off guard, but Dom doesn’t fret.
“I know I’ll be here when he’s gone.”
The thought tugs at something behind my ribs, and I have to work to hold back the frown threatening to settle along my brows. Damiano’s words, spoken strong and undeniably … true. The time will come when Bastian must go. It’s inevitable.
“Yes.” My voice sounds scratchy, even to me. “You will be.”
The golden boy before me settles, his hand coming up to cup my cheek as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just be careful, gorgeous, and remember, I’m here. Always.” His lips press gently to my jaw, and he releases me without another word, joining his friends at the bar.
The soft-blue lights around the tally board in The Game Room blink white, indicating the round is up and it’s time to switch dealers. Around the room, the girls who have yet to have a drink—only the sober allowed on game nights—hustle their way through the side door, eager to claim their table of choice.
The betting is halted for two minutes during the shift when the men at the tables order new drinks or spark fresh cigars, some even standing to stretch their legs.