That was it. Kade’s internal debate ended. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. He grabbed his chips and walked with a quiet, deliberate pace toward the other table. He didn’t approach the drunk from the front. He camefrom behind, a silent shadow, and placed a hand, firm and heavy, on the man’s shoulder. Controlling his own anger, using the sharp, clean edge of command, he stared the man down. “Let the lady go.”
The man’s hand fell away from the dealer’s wrist as if he’d been burned. He spun around in his chair, his face a mask of belligerent rage, ready to fight. He found Kade standing perfectly still, his feet shoulder width apart, his hands clasped behind his back. Parade rest. It was an automatic, ingrained posture, a silent declaration of discipline and readiness that most civilians wouldn’t recognize, but every bully understood.
The drunk’s anger faltered. His gaze traveled from Kade’s military-short haircut down to his well-shined leather shoes. The aggression in his eyes flickered, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty. “Look, Mister…” he stammered.
Kade didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “That’s Sergeant First Class to you.”
The man swallowed hard. He looked Kade over one more time, then his gaze slid to the dealer. “Fine. Let the b**ch steal your money.” Scrambling to his feet, he gathered his chips and made a hasty, stumbling retreat into the casino crowd.
With the threat neutralized, Kade’s posture relaxed. He turned his attention to the now-empty chair at the table. For the first time, he let himself really look at the dealer. Her professional mask was still in place, but he could see the relief in her eyes. They were green—a startling, vivid green that seemed out of place in the artificial light of the casino. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of what had just happened.
He felt an unexpected pull, a desire to bridge the few feet of space between them. He walked to the empty chair and sat down, sliding his chips from the previous table onto the worngreen felt. He looked directly at her, the rest of the casino fading into a muted, unimportant buzz. “Deal me in.”
The felt under Cassidy’s fingertips was a familiar, grounding texture in a world that had just been knocked slightly off-kilter. Her heart, which had been hammering a frantic, angry rhythm against her ribs, was slowly returning to its normal, steady beat, but adrenaline still hummed beneath her skin like a live wire. The drunk’s grip on her wrist had been brief, but the memory of it lingered, making her hyperaware of every movement, every breath.
The drunk was gone. In his place sat a man who was the polar opposite: a quiet, solid presence whose stillness seemed to absorb the frantic energy of the casino. She dealt him his cards with practiced efficiency, but her attention kept snagging on details. The way he held his cards loosely, almost carelessly. The calm set of his shoulders. The fact that he wasn’t looking at his hand at all—he was looking at her.
They played through several hands in a silence that should have been awkward but somehow wasn’t. He hit on fourteen, busted, and didn’t curse or complain. Just slid more chips forward for the next hand. The contrast to her usual clientele was stark. Most players at her table were running calculations, chasing systems, radiating desperation or bravado. This man was just… present. Grounded.
Another honeymoon couple on her left were oblivious, lost in their own world. The salesman on her right was too focused on his dwindling pile of chips to notice anything. But the man in what had been the drunk’s chair—the Sergeant First Class—played with a calm, focused intensity. He wasn’t a tourist looking for a thrill or a professional trying to beat the house. He playedwith a kind of disciplined logic, he played like a man who understood risk, but wasn’t defined by it.
The minutes ticked by, each hand a small, contained world of its own. The charged silence between them was a strange kind of conversation. It felt safer, more real than any of the meaningless chatter she usually had to endure at her table.
The pit boss materialized at her elbow, tapping his watch. Shift change. Relief and disappointment hit simultaneously—relief at escaping the table, disappointment that she’d have to leave before she could properly thank the quiet stranger who’d stepped in when no one else had. She finished the hand, collected the cards, and began the familiar ritual of clearing her station. Taking a quick glance in his direction, she saw him cashing in his chips. Instead of disappearing into the casino crowd like every other player, he waited at the edge of the gaming area, his posture relaxed but attentive.
Cassidy’s pulse kicked up for an entirely different reason than the drunk’s harassment. She made her way toward the employee corridor, debating if she dared say something to the man. When he fell into step beside her, the decision was made. “I really appreciate the way you stepped in. He was definitely about to lose it.”
“I noticed.” A muscle along his jawline twitched with irritation before giving way to a soft smile. “Glad I was here to help.”
“Unfortunately, these types of things happen more often than any of us like. Liquor and a losing streak is never a good combination.”
“Agreed.” The muscle in his jaw began to twitch again. “But there’s something I don’t understand.”
Her steps slowed and she glanced up at him.
“Why didn’t security step in?” There was an edge there, controlled but present. He’d been angry on her behalf. When was the last time anyone had been angry on her behalf?
Bobbing her head, she continued toward the employee area, wishing it were a farther away so she could talk a little longer. “They would have eventually. Some nights, they’re spread a little thin. Tonight we had at least one or two call in sick.”
“I see.”
Only a few more feet of lobby and she’d be crossing into employee only territory. “Are you in town for long?”
He shook his head. “Just came in for a wedding last night to be best man for a buddy. Now I’m killing time until I go home on the redeye.”
Home. The word hung in the air between them, a concept as foreign to Cassidy as a quiet night’s sleep. He had a home to go to, a life that existed outside these walls. The thought sparked an impulse, a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to break her own routine. “Have you been to Vegas before?”
“No, ma’am.”
Now that was a first. Ma’am. The man oozed chivalry and respect. “In that case, please let me give you a proper thank you. Show you a bit of the real Las Vegas before your flight.”
At those words, his stomach rumbled loudly.
She couldn’t help but smile; the brave knight in shining armor was hungry. “I’ll feed you too.”
“No, thank you.” Again he shook his head. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Not till this very second did she realize just how much she wanted to. “Please.”
