Chapter 1
Rowan
I flicked through the security feed and noted several high rollers in tonight. The cameras were strategically placed—enough to deter staff theft and keep a constant eye on the counters and the high-value players. Unfortunately, in the UK, card counting wasn’t illegal. Nick still liked to deal with them in his own way before we banned them.
I paused on Sophie. She wore a strapless dark purple dress that highlighted her large breasts. She hosted some of the high rollers and probably did business on the side with them as well. We’d all had a try at the goods, and she had stamina. Unfortunately, Nick couldn’t tolerate the sounds she made. Part of me didn’t blame him—looks aside, she had a nasal voice.
Liam Cahalan had taken a shine to her. The popular British actor brought good revenue, and if treated well, top-tier recommendations. She hooked her arm through his and guided him toward the baccarat table.
“How’s it looking tonight?” Alec asked.
“Better than last night,” I grunted.“When’s Nick due in?”
“He’s sorting out the issue at Monarchs,” he said, pouring himself a drink.
I nodded.
Thieves didn’t get a second chance in our line of business. Depending on the value stolen, it was damage or death.
“I think Sophie will be busy tonight.”
“Pity. I think we all needed to let some steam off.”
He wasn’t wrong. Without his creative accounting, we’d be up shit creek with the UK Gambling Commission. Those fuckers were difficult to bribe. The lower-level staff were easier to manage.
“How long until we get the snitch’s name?”
He took a sip of whisky before answering.
“It might take a few weeks. We’re making tentative enquiries until we find the right person with access inside the Commission.”
I stood and poured myself a drink.
“What a fucking shit show,” I muttered.
My father built this casino from nothing, but before handing me the reins, he made me work my way up—from the floor to the top. Alec handled the accounts and paperwork. Nick dealt with the seedy side of the enterprise. He handed out pain and handled our personal security.
It was a cutthroat business model. We moved so much cash, gold, and other assets that threats and theft were constant.
The only loyalty I trusted was Alec’s and Nick’s. Inside or outside the business, no one compared. I didn’t even trust my whore of a mother. I never understood why my father stayed married to her. Once I was old enough to question it, I took a DNA test to confirm he was actually my father.
I sipped my whisky, enjoying the burn, then returned to my desk.
“Sheesh. Who died?” Nick said, sauntering into the office.
“Close the door behind you, dickhead,” Alec said, lifting his glass toward it.
“Why leave it open?” Nick muttered, but he turned and closed it anyway.
“We were waiting for you,” I said, eyeing his bloody knuckles.
No wonder he was always getting his tattoos touched up. He loved to use his fists. He never wore a suit—only leather and jeans. The way he carried himself, the dead look in his eyes, never changed over the years. We wore the suits of respectability, but underneath, we were all the same.
Nick helped himself to a drink while I gathered the papers—past-due credit notes for the high rollers at Dominion and the reports from Hustle. One was an elite-class casino, the other a low-end gambling den. Between them sat the businesses we used to move the cash through.
“How many guys are you taking for collections next week?” I asked Nick.
“Three.”
