Page 2 of The Bratva's Hostage Bride

I look at myself in the mirror. “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go gamble.”

We hurry out of Meryl’s house and into the limousine, which is waiting for us outside. I slide into the back and sit next to Devon opposite Meryl. Devon quickly opens the complimentary champagne, and we take turns drinking it from the bottle.

“We are savages,” I say, pulling my face at the sharp taste.

The limousine slows down, and we open the sunroof. Devon stands up and sticks her head out, calling down to us, “Some black cars are blocking the way. It looks like they’re busy moving them.”

“They better hurry up,” she says as she sits down again. “We have a party to get to.”

Meryl smiles at me, and I look out the window as we pass the black cars. They’re all turning around to face the direction we’re going. They must have needed to make a U-turn or something. The limousine pulls up to the casino, and we all get out. We go inside after flashing our I.D., and the first thing Devon does is lead us to the bar, where we can order some drinks.

I swear my cousin is an alcoholic.

We order our drinks, and then Devon declares it’s time to do shots. Everyone cheers in excitement, and Devon orders two rounds of tequila.

I stand awkwardly outside the gaggle of women and look around. The casino looks gorgeous and luxurious, and I’m excited to play some slots. I haven’t visited a casino since moving here, so I’m really looking forward to seeing what they’re like.

New experiences and all that.

Devon hands me a shot and then holds hers up. “To Meryl, our last bride-to-be.”

That stings. I know Devon did that on purpose because no one believes I’m going to find someone to marry. After all, I’m so introverted. She has a bitchy side to her and always has since my gram-gram always favored me over my other cousins, including her.

I drink the shot, and then Devon hands out another. “And to the lucky Groom to be Donnie, long may he pleasure you in bed.”

Meryl and I both blush, but we cheers and drink our shooter.

I sip on my strawberry cocktail, which is a little on the sweet side. Once we’re all settled with our drinks, we drift towards the register, where we load our money onto cards so we can play. It used to be played with money, but technology has long since advanced, and now everything is done via a debit-like card.

I reach the front and hand over ten dollars. The woman gives me a strange look and then slides the card over to me. I take it and stand to the side.

I see my cousins handing over as much as two hundred dollars.

Devon plucks my card from my hands. “Don’t be silly, Hannah. You’re going to go nowhere with ten dollars.” She slides the card back with a hundred-dollar bill.

“Thanks, Devon,” I say quietly.

She hands my card back to me and raises her drink. “To the slot machines,” she declares.

We move as a gaggle, keeping together as we reach the cheaper slots and surround Devon. She shows us the best way to play to maximize our money and make it last longer.

“The cheaper machines are easier to play, but don’t get too excited and bet all your money away quickly,” she says. “If you want to play tables, which we can do, we just need to go get chips.”

“I’m surprised they don’t have a card reader at the tables,” I comment quietly.

Everyone looks at me as though I’ve just stepped in something stinky, and I retreated slightly. We move to our own machines, and Meryl and I get one together.

I insert my card into the slot, and my balance comes up—a hundred and ten dollars. I select my bet, and an array of pictures display on the screen, telling the slot machine’s little story. I resist the urge to squeal in excitement. Being the youngest, that’s probably what my cousins expect me to do.

I play my first bet and don’t lose anything, which is awesome. I roll the slots again. My cousins are calling to each other from their various machines, which, mixed with the ting-ting-bling of the slot machines, just makes everything feel extremely noisy.

“Hey there,” a guy calls over to me as he sits on my other side. “Haven’t seen you here before?”

He looks way older than me, maybe in his forties or fifties, and is balding—not in a handsome way.

“I… I’m here for a party,” I say awkwardly before turning back to my slot machine.

“You know, I’m really lucky as a person,” he grins. “People even rub my head for good luck before they win thousands of dollars for themselves. You want a rub?”

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