Page 34 of Her Intense Protector

He took out all of the hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Jerry. “Spread them out for our Queen of Hearts to see.”

“You got it, boss.”

She heard murmuring behind her. All the cash was getting attention from the other people in the cozy little casino. She ran her hand over the spread-out bills, taking her time, trying to figure out just how much was forty-thousand dollars.

“It feels so good,” she cooed.

Since the bathroom, she’d left the zipper on her purse unzipped. It didn’t sag open, but it made it easy for her to grab her mace if she needed it. Now it would make it easy to grab some cash when she distracted everyone. She leaned forward even more so that her breasts were practically resting on the table, and nobody could see her hand in her purse, holding onto her mace.

Forty-thousand dollars and Phil. Forty-thousand dollars and Phil. Oh yeah, let’s not get shot.

“I really like touching money,” she purred.

One last time, her fingers rifled through the bills, then she scooped up at least eighty-thousand dollars and threw it up over her shoulder high in the air.

Men yelled and whooped. Some even squealed. She and Mr. Antsy both grabbed at the remaining cash, everybody else was caught flat-footed. She pulled out her can of mace and shot Antsy in the face with it. He let go of the cash and she shoved what she’d grabbed into her purse. More cash was on the table. She threw it at the boss and Carl as she sprayed mace in their direction, then she ducked down under the table.

Men and some women ran around the table scrabbling for the cash that was floating in the air. She looked for Phil. He was still standing around looking stupid. She duck-walked over to him and pulled him down below the table so he’d be out of the line of fire. “We’ve gotta go.”

He just looked at her like a deer in headlights.

The bearded poker player she was pretty sure was Greg grabbed her by her arm. “Who are you? What are you doing with Phil?”

“Are you Greg?” she asked.

“Yes. Who are you?” he yelled above all the noise.

“Both of you, follow me.”

She was almost slammed to the ground and literally elbowed in the face as she tried to get to the bathroom hallways. Why did she say she would lead?

As she looked up at the bathroom corridor, she saw Murray. He was holding a gun and standing in front of the lady’s hallway.

Okay, men’s bathroom it is.

“It’s the money lady,” somebody yelled.

Dagnabbit.

Murray turned his gun toward the man who was yelling. Samantha would have thrown money at Murray so that people would have mauled him, but he had a gun and people might get hurt.

“Gun!” somebody yelled. “He’s got a gun!”

More people took up the call. She was practically slammed to the floor again as people started running toward the front of the wig store. This was not good. Not good at all. She tried to look for Murray, or Carl, or the little old guy, but all she saw were backs and elbows.

“Phil!” she yelled. “Greg!”

“Gotcha.”

She looked up at Murray and the gun he was holding and tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp.

“Gun,” she yelled.

He had her right wrist. It hurt. He glared into her face, the gun pointing at her.

“Gun, she yelled again as she grabbed into her bag, digging under the money. Her sweaty hand found the canister and she brought it up and sprayed.

“Bitch!” He yanked harder on her wrist then let go to rub his eyes.