“I—I just wanna have fun!” she wailed, then paused and peered up at me to see if I believed the hysterics.
I didn’t.
Heads began to turn.
“It’s m-my bachelorette and it’s ruined because my best f-friend slept with m-my f-fiancé!”
“There are other establishments that’ll show you a good time,” I said quickly and stoically as I tried to usher her back out the door. I had a hunch of what she was trying to do here, and I was not about to let her do it. “I’ll call you a cab. You smell like the bottom of a liquor bottle.”
“Please just let me?—”
A throat cleared before I could get her outside. I shut my eyes and let a colorful string of curses fly through my mind.
I turned to face John Valentine, who’d just set his sights on the last woman who should have stepped inside this shithole. “Sir?”
“Jude, let the lady have some fun,” he said, reclining at the blackjack table he played at night in and night out. “Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“She was just leaving.”
He chuckled. “Nonsense.” He set his cards face down and punctuated the order with a flick of his hand. “One round won’t hurt.”
“Really?” Amelia squealed as she peered around my arm and batted her lashes at him.
Valentine smiled. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll even give you a little something to play with.”
With a tilt of his head, another order was given. One of the dealers produced chips for her to bet with.
His snow-white hair and weathered skin made him look like a friendly grandfather who always had hard candy on hand for his grandkids, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.
John Valentine was one of the most ruthless men to rule the Valentine family in a century. Orders were given immediatelyand emotionlessly. His calm and quiet demeanor hid the blood dripping from his hands. He ordered hits the way middle management signed off on expense reports. It was all just . . . blasé to him.
But once in a while, he’d latch onto something that amused him. A plaything. And right now, he seemed to have found a soft spot for the last person I wanted to see here today.
Amelia clapped her hands over her mouth and looked at the devil like he was her savior. “Thank you!”
There was no sense in dragging her out the door. Not since Valentine had made it clear she was playing tonight.
I tightened my grip on her arm and lowered my voice to a subtle murmur. “What’s your name?”
Deep blue eyes that were far too trusting met mine. “Amelia,” she said, quiet as a church mouse.
“Not here, it’s not.”
I didn’t release her arm until she nodded. I watched as she stumbled toward the blackjack table, pretending to be a drunken partygoer, and sat down, handing her soul straight to the devil himself. And she did it with a fucking smile.
Just great.
I slid through the casino floor unnoticed. Unless Valentine had something for me to do, I was invisible.
I knew exactly what would happen tonight.
Valentine would make sure she had a good time, make her feel welcome like an insincere preacher smiling as he shook hands at the door on Sunday morning. He’d even play the part of a gentleman, making sure she wasn’t leered at by the rest of the dirtbags who frequented the joint. She’d enjoy a free drink or two and leave at the end of the night with a little cash in her pocket.
But the house would win tomorrow.
And the night after that.
And the night after that.
