Page 121 of Roulette: The Madam

“You’ve done enough work. I appreciate your commitment to do more of itfor me.”

“I’m doing this for the little lost girl in her room with tear-stained cheeks. I’m also doing it for the woman who likely crieseach time that needle pushes into her veins. This isn’t for you, Israel. This is for the girls.”

“Still, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, come get in bed before you rub your skin off your bones.”

“Only if we’re logging on to your banking app to wire some funds.”

“Yes, Princess. We can log into my app to wire some funds. If it’s anything over fifty, then we have to call the banker in the morning.”

“It’s always over fifty, Israel. Don’t insult me.”

“Come lay your ass down, Roulette. We can call him in the morning.”

“I’ll set my alarm.”

Chuckling, I pulled her down onto my chest where she belonged. She fit so perfectly.

“Thank you, Princess,” I whispered, kissing her forehead as she got comfortable.

Sleep found her within seconds. She was exhausted.

THIRTEEN

Israel’s absence was as therapeutic as it was overwhelming. Learning that he had a daughter just a week ago had my head and heart in two different places with two different points of views.

“She’s fifteen, Rou. Not five,” Rather pointed out.

“Right.”

“Or three. Any age under three and shit is fishy. I think almost every man can still play with their baby mother’s pussy if their child is under three,” Royce added.

“Especially if he’s a good father,” I agreed.

“Even if he’s not. Some women don’t have all of their marbles,” Rugger challenged.

“They have hope,” I contradicted.

“And that’s too much to have when it comes to men,” Royce grimaced.

“I agree, sister girl.” I chuckled with a nod.

The sprinter we’d reserved for the day made the morning with the girls much more pleasurable. No one was responsible for driving and we didn’t have to pile into several vehicles.

Breakfast at Rather’s was the pick-me-up I desperately needed. The two hours we’d spent at the spa this morning was icing on the cake. Mimosas were plentiful on the journey to our next destination. I tipped my cup upward and took a sip as my phone vibrated in my lap.

Without hesitation or paying attention to the screen, I answered. Matías’ voice eased the stress of my thoughts while killing my assumptions. It wasn’t Israel on the line, but I wasn’t opposed to sharing a few words with the caller.

Text messages did his vocals little justice. His voice was laced with sex. Desperation. Hunger. Thirst. Lust.

“Are you on your way to my town or should I be headed to yours?”

“Neither. Busy girl, Papi.”

“Ahhh– figures. As much as I love that about you, I hate it at the same time.”

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