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“Miss, you need to come with us.”
Fuck.
Chapter Three
DOMINIC
“It was nice to meet you too,” I say to the elderly man in the expensive suit. “Enjoy your stay at The Delgado, Mr. Reese.”
The man smiles and walks away with his much younger girlfriend on his arm. I’d bet there’s close to a fifty-year age gap between the two.
Maybe she really loves him.
I chuckle to myself at the thought. It’s obvious exactly why she’s with him. I have been around long enough to know that money talks and bullshit walks. And Mr. Reese has enough money to keep that girl happy for a very long time. Hell, his money is the reason I came down to introduce myself. Typically, I don’t interact much with the guests, but I make an exception for the super high rollers. When Mr. Reese comes to town, everyone knows that he picks a hotel to stay at for a week, rents out an entire floor, and spends a truck ton of money.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to look at the text.
John: We’ve got her, sir.
Taking long strides, I make my way across the casino floor. Dealing with Mr. Reese almost made me forget about my little card counter. I should just kick her out and be done with it. I don’t need any distractions, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, I could play with her for a little bit and get my dick wet in the process.
Win-win.
When I finally reach my security room, I take a seat in front of the monitor and look at Katrina. Now, she looks a little different. Instead of her sitting at the Blackjack tables, counting her winnings, she is now sitting in my make-shift interrogation room. Truthfully, it’s just an old supply closet that I cleaned out and stuck a table and two chairs in.
The room’s primary purpose is to scare people who try to take advantage of my casino or myself. Usually, a trip to the room makes most people stop their bullshit. But sometimes, they need a bit more of a physical message.
Most of the time, my security handles such issues, and I rarely have to get involved. Although I am kept apprised of everything going on within these walls, I hardly ever have to get my hands dirty. I pay good money for my staff to do that for me.
But I’ve told all of them to stay the fuck away from Katarina—all of them except John. I told him to go into the room and sit across the table from her without saying a word. I hope it will catch her off-guard and make her feel uneasy.
When I watch on the monitors, though, Katarina doesn’t look the least bit scared. In fact, she seems more annoyed than anything. She sits with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning back in her chair. She stares at John with a look of pure boredom while she chews on the inside of her cheek.
John stands up to adjust his pants, ensuring she gets a glimpse of the firearm he has strapped to his belt.
She doesn’t flinch. The metaphorical balls on this woman are massive, which tells me she’s seen more than her share of rough shit in her life.
Getting bored of their silent stalemate, I decide it’s time to interrupt John and Katarina.
I walk into the room with my hands in my pockets, and Katarina’s eyes flick over to me. I can’t seem to figure her out. Half of her looks entirely unimpressed, while the other half looks like a meek, scared little girl.
“Are you the big dog?” She asks with a heavy dose of sarcasm, although I can see the giant lump in her throat that she just swallowed.
I find it hard to hide my smile. “The biggest.”
When she doesn’t respond, I add, “Come on, Miss Simms. Let’s take a walk.”
Reluctantly, she stands up and walks out the door I’m now holding open. As she moves past me, I get a whiff of vanilla. It smells heavenly.
I lead her down a plain-looking hallway through a couple of long corridors until we emerge onto the casino floor. We walk over to one of the upscale restaurants lining the walls. The maître d wastes no time leading us to my usual table in the back, slightly secluded from everyone else.
We sit down, and I pick up the menu and look over it.
Katarina blurts, “Do you intend on killing me?”
Without looking away from the menu, I say, “No, I intend to feed you. Pick what you want to eat.”
“I don’t need you to feed me,” she spits. “I’m more than capable of paying for my own food, especially after my hot streak.”
