Page 21 of Sinful Sacrifice

“Screw it,” I mutter, collecting my keys and driving to Lucky Kings.

Who knows if he’ll be there? But it’s my only way of getting in touch with him.

I need to make sure he’s okay.

Comfort the criminal’s heart.

That is, if he has one.

Patrons crowd the noisy casino. I walk across the patterned carpet, passing the roulette wheels and crap tables. The room smells like overpriced alcohol and desperation.

Before yesterday, I’d never stepped foot inside a casino.

As the daughter of a gambling addict, I’ve always hated them. There are too many memories of my father coming home drunk and broke after a casino night out. He and my mother would fight about him gambling away bills, rent, grocery money, everything. Not a dollar was safe from his greedy hands.

These places are the monsters that feed his selfishness.

Maneuvering around people, I beeline straight to the table my father directed me to yesterday. I’m so close to my destination when something stops me.

Or rather someone.

“Dad!” I charge over to the blackjack table. “What the hell?”

My father’s spine stiffens at the sound of my voice, and he swivels on his stool to face me. “Oh, hi, Pippa.”

All eyes swing to me. The dealer frowns at my interruption. My father’s face mirrors his, as if he wouldn’t stop the dealer from pushing me out the door so he can continue his game. He’s wearing the same shirt and khakis from yesterday—the shirt now blessed with a ketchup stain to match the blood ones. He did manage to replace his glasses.

Two men seated on each side of him glare at me.

“Hit me and ignore her,” one says, tapping the table. “I’m on a good roll here.”

I ignore them and focus on my father. “You told me no more.” Tears form in my eyes, and I blink them away.

“But didn’t you settle my debt?” he replies so casually. “You gave Damien the money.”

Whoa.

I flinch.

Did he get a concussion when Damien rammed his head into the steering wheel and forget he didn’t have all the money?

Unless he assumes Damien got it out of me in another way. Disgust rises up my throat as a hard knot forms in my belly.

“You’re unbelievable,” I snarl.

I tug at my shirt as if the room suddenly grew fifty degrees warmer and glance around, searching for the nearest exit.

This is the sign I needed to stay away from here.

From Damien.

From places like this.

They’re bad freaking omens.

I shake my head and turn to leave, but I don’t make it far before running into a hard body.

A tall man in a sharp black suit holds me steady as I catch my balance. I rub my forehead. Jesus, it’s like I ran into a brick wall.

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