I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but one thing was clear: Joel was dead to me.
Okay, not really.
I loved him. He wasn’t just my brother. He was my twin. My other half. We had been inseparable since birth. But right now,he wasreallypissing me off. I didn’t want to play blackjack, but I needed space.
I stormed down the sidewalk. Surely there was a casino desperate enough to let me in. The bachelorettes were crowded in front of the entrance to a rooftop bar as they tried to convince a bouncer to let them in, even though the bride was swaying more than a Newton’s cradle. The “Bride-to-Be” sash fell off her shoulder as her plastic tiara slid from her head and rolled off the curb.
I froze and watched for a moment as the bouncer sighed and let them in. Shrieks and peals of excitement filled the night air.
Bachelorettes can get in anywhere . . .
As soon as the amoeba of bleach-blonde party girls squeezed through the door, I grabbed the fallen bride sash and tiara, then dipped into a shadow to don my disguise.
A darkened shop window was my mirror as I mussed my hair and made sure the tiara was crooked. I donned the bride sash. Someone must have spilled a cocktail on it because it made me smell like I was well over the legal limit. I rubbed my eyes to smear my mascara, then took in the woman in the window that stared back at me.
She looked like a jilted bride, all alone on her bachelorette.
I’m alone. I have to be sad about something . . .
Best friend slept with the groom. Best friend was the maid of honor. That would explain the lack of a girl squad.
I left the chaos of the block behind and rounded a corner.
A glowing red sign caught my attention.
No bouncer at the door. No line. This was my mark.
I made my way across the street to the Four Horsemen and slipped inside.
There were no giggling bachelorettes. No rowdy crowds excited over winning chump change.
Smoke lingered in the air like whispers of days past. It was like stepping back in time.
The tables were lively, but there were plenty of open seats. I eyed the blackjack dealer, but before I could take a step, a strong hand wrapped around my arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
4
JUDAH
Saturday, May 17 | 8:05 p.m.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Wide eyes, the color of pale blue neon, met mine. “I—I just wanted to play.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing. Thankfully, my beard hid most of it.
Amelia Hawthorne was a shit actress.
I’d clocked her the second she crossed the street and came into view of the casino’s security cameras.
“Go somewhere else,” I quietly bellowed. It wasn’t a growl, per se. I just wanted to scare her a little. Fear was a good thing.
That’s when the waterworks started.
Amelia immediately burst into tears, collapsing into me and sobbing into my chest. I was a big guy, but she caught me off guard, and I stumbled back. My hands landed on her waist to keep her upright as I found my footing again.
