Page 8 of V Card

“Good evening, Mr. Bettencourt, how may we assist you?” an older man hummed down the line, sounding a little too chipper at this time of night—my eyes flicked to the gold watch I hadn’t bothered to remove—or should I say morning? It was already half-past three.

“I have a guest who needs help finding the front door,” I grunted into the receiver. I didn’t have to say more. The staff knew what was expected of them and security had certain measures in place if things got a little… hairy. It was amazing what a few extra hundred-dollar bills shoved into someone’s palm could do for you. How quickly a stiff set of morals could be pushed aside and forgotten about.

I listened to the sound of tapping on a keyboard in the background before the concierge’s voice whispered down the line again, “The woman in the green dress?” He’d been pulling up the security footage, preparing to delete it—as was protocol—until something must have stopped him.

“Yes. Why? Is there a problem?” It wasn’t really a question. It was a latent threat. I didn’t care if this girl was this fucker’s granddaughter. I paid him to turn a blind eye, and that’s exactly what he was gonna do. Or he would be heading out the door right along with her.

There was a long pause, my irritation growing in tandem with the rapid clicking sounds and the quick shuffling of steps. And then I heard the pounding of boots. Security, I could only assume.

“I said is there a fucking problem?” I barked between clenched teeth.

“Is she there with you now, sir?” he asked, his voice a little shakier than it was a moment ago.

“Who? The girl?” I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over a shoulder again, even though there was still a door between us. “She’s in the other room. Why? What the fuck is going on?” By the time I swung it back open, stretching the phone cord as I stepped out of the en suite and into the main living space, security was forcing their way inside.

“You may want to check for your wallet, sir.” The breeze from the now-open window left my towel fluttering, chilling my balls while the concierge’s words sent a similar chill down my spine. “According to the pit manager, it’s the fifth time that girl’slost her virginitythis week.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Iglanced out the window as the streets continued to blur by, the light rain clinging to the glass and giving the outside world a distorted appearance. So that everything looked like blobs of different colors and shapes. It was somehow both pretty and grotesque at the same time. Kind of like the man who was smart enough to clean house at the table every night, but too dumb to keep an eye on his winnings when there was a stranger in his bed.

The rumors were true. I’d give him that, though. That tongue of his knew how to work wonders. It was just a shame it was still attached to the rest of him.

I let out a loud sigh before righting myself in my seat as I drew the ace of diamonds from the hidden pocket in my sleeve. The same card that could have earned me my winnings at the table, instead of at the expense of my opponent’s pride. But the satisfied throb between my legs told me that once again, I’d made the right choice by staying in the game until I was able to take the entire pot.

“Where to, Miss?” The older gentleman tapped on the steering wheel while staring at me through the rear-view mirror.He had kind eyes, the sort that were circled by littlecrow’s feet that deepened with his laugh lines when he smiled at me. That smile would earn the man a hefty tip this morning.

I guess you could say I was a little like Robin Hood when it came to how I treated people—rob from the rich and give to the poor and all that.

“The Venetian, please,” I replied, using my most polite tone—just like my mama taught me—as my eyes dropped to the compact in my hand. I quickly reapplied my favorite shade of lipstick before flitting my gaze back up to the cab driver.

“Spending the night?” he mused.

My lips, now several hues darker, curled while my perfectly manicured eyebrow arched with the challenge. “No, but I hear they have a killer card table?”

EPILOGUE

Sometime later. How long?

Long enough for our girl to get bored

all over again.

Itapped the back of my nail against the table—it was a sign of annoyance. And not a tell. I didn’t have any tells. What I did have was another winning hand.

I didn’t have to see the other side of their cards to know tonight’s crowd was choking on more than the tobacco that darkened their lungs. I loved poker, but I hated the stench of cigar smoke that came with it. Almost like these assholes didn’t know how to play the game without a cancer stick shoved between their lips. Or maybe it had more to do with an oral fixation.

In that case, I’d give them something to suck on.

I flicked my eyes up at the man sitting across from me, over the yellowing of his teeth and the crumbs that had made a nest in his beard.

Or maybe not.

The image of letting that mouth anywhere near my lady parts had my pussy clamping shut and closing up shop. Not that she had any customers currently trying to knock the door down.

I slammed my strawberry daiquiri onto the table at the thought. And immediately regretted it. It wasn’t the bartender’s fault I was wound so tight. It was mine. Sorta.

I guess you could say I was having a bit of a dry spell, and it had nothing to do with how much cash I was raking in every night and everything to do with the fact I hadn’t been properly fucked since the last time I wore this green dress. I didn’t wear the same thing twice, and not because I was wasteful. It was just smarter to change things up. Eye color, hair color, sometimes height—finally found a good use for those god-awful six-inch heels, even if I risked an ankle with each step I took in them.

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