Page 22 of The Devil's Dilemma

I could answer them, but why should I? I’d do a little more digging into them, try to track down who thought it was a fucking good idea to steal from me, and mete out a little justice of my own.

Some might argue that, as a casino owner, I have to expect to lose money. I’d agree with that sentiment. That was the thrill for many people.

Beat the banker. Win the money. Break the bank.

Except it didn’t work like that. You might think you were winning, but ultimately, it was the casino that won every time.

I won every time.

So Conrad and I sat in silence, now and then watching the trio squirming uncomfortably on the hard wooden chairs before us.

They’d look at each other, mouthing words I didn’t care about. They could plot and plan all they liked. No one was getting out of here without my say-so.

No, scratch that.

No one was getting out of here.

Chapter six

Austin

Ifucking knew it.I should have listened to my instincts and pulled out this stupid fucking job when Joel first mentioned it.

But misplaced loyalty and greed had kept me here.

If only I’d listened to my gut, but I’d rushed in headlong, my only thought of getting the fuck away from the life I lived.

And what was it with the casino chip? Fat lot of good that had done. I’d be having a word with The Magic Shop owner if I ever got out of here.

But the longer we sat here, the more I doubted that would happen.

Why were we here?

Dante had more than enough money to spare, and we’d managed a paltry half a million. Nowhere near what we’d expected, but then we’d only been here for a few hours. If we hadn’t got caught, we’d have had plenty of time to amass more.

The burning question washowwe’d been caught.

I’d tried not to attract too much attention. I’d shifted rooms, played on different tables, never staying at the same one for too long.

It had to be the blackjack table. I’d been so engrossed in the game I’d sat longer than I normally would, and the pile of chips growing in front of me had been begging for more.

What would happen to us? What was his plan for keeping us here?

Why did he care?

Joel and Freddie whispered and nodded to each other. Not sure what they were trying to accomplish.

We were well and truly stuck here, emphasised by the ropes around my wrists cutting deep.

No amount of wriggling my hands had helped to get them free. If anything, they’d tightened them.

“I need to piss,” Freddie said.

The big guy on the sofa didn’t move a muscle, and Dante still sat tapping away on his computer as if we weren’t even in the same room.

“Did you hear me? I need a fucking piss.” Freddie’s voice became louder, but no one moved or acknowledged him.

“Shut it, Freddie,” I said. We were in no position to demand anything, and honestly, I didn’t think these guys cared one way or the other and were content to let us sit for however long they wanted.

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