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Someone comes in the room, and I furrow my brow, watching him walk over to the bar. He’s older, handsome, and there’s something oddly familiar about him. He talks with the bartender and sips his drink, eyeing the game with interest.
His gaze slides over me. It only pauses momentarily, but I can’t shake the feeling that this man recognizes me. Maybe he’s come to the Wellness Gardens before?
My phone isn’t with me so I can’t even text with Lacey. What the hell would I say to her, anyway? That I’m being bartered for sex games by my fake fiancé?
I put my hands to my face, cheeks flushed with heat, head spinning. Had he even given the ring to me then? So much has happened so quickly that my brain is short-circuiting.
My gaze shifts around the room again and my shoulders heave with a sigh. Maybe I should just get drunk if he’s going to essentially sell me off.
“Rum, please. Line up some shots,” I say when the bartender comes over for my order.
She gives me a look that one might call pity. She’s just as gorgeous as the other women, but I don’t think she’s one of them. I think she’s just someone who works here. She does what I ask, and I begin working my way through them when she puts down a glass of rum next to them.
“From the gentleman at the end.”
Startled, I turn, and it’s from the latecomer. I’m drinking rum shots, so I figured the bartender just gave me a larger one. I guess that’s one perk with these underground rich men paradises—you don’t pay for the drinks.
I nod and shoot him a tight smile, but he turns back to the game.
Malone smokes a cigarette, leaning back lazily in his chair like he doesn’t care about the outcome.
He probably doesn’t, the bastard. But I do.
I’m smart, but I can’t think of a way out of this. Probably because there isn’t one.
Picking up the drink, I slide off the barstool and my legs wobble. Jeez, I’m such a lightweight. The room sways a bit. And then someone—I don’t know who—says, “Whores and gentlemen, we have a winner.”
Oh. My. God.
TWENTY-THREE
malone
“C’mon, James,” Mariachi says in low voice dripping with lewd intent. “Give her to us. You know you want to.”
This is why it’s so fucking easy to infiltrate certain groups. They reflect their desires on you like you’re a goddamn mirror.
He wants to fuck and hurt Scarlett, and so he assumes I actually want to hand her over to let it happen.
But I won. I’m exceptionally good at reading others, and this lot of fuckheads has so many tells it’s easy. Bring a prize like Scarlett, and they’re fucking distracted to the point they can’t hide their thoughts. Shit gets written all over their faces, and I took full advantage.
Personally, I prefer blackjack if I’m going to stack things in my favor. Counting cards is easy.
This has risks, which I do like.
Sometimes.
Except, of course, when I use the prettiest girl in the room as my real bet.
If I’d have lost…
They still wouldn’t lay a hand on her. Not even a finger. I’d never allow it. I’d fucking torch them all before I let them take her.
“Scarlett, you ready?”
I’m a fucking bastard, I know. But it’s worth the expression of fear on her face, all one second of it before it melts into utter fury, because fuck me, she’d be good at poker. She just read my expression.
And I wasn’t even trying to give it away.
