Page 18 of Roulette: The Madam

“That might be true, but I’m grown and so is my pussy. I don’t have a curfew and my father is in the dirt. Egypt, keep him occupied and off Clarke’s soil. I will be back in a few days.”

“I will do what I can,” Egypt promised.

“Thank you. Later ladies.”

I ended the call as they all began their goodbyes. My phone vibrated against the vanity instantly. I dreaded the screen but peeped anyway. Rome’s name was bold in the message bar. I unlocked my phone to find her kindness seeping through the message she’d likely began as we were all on the line together.

It feelsgood knowing you’re home, even under the circumstances. I’m no stranger to your brilliance and am fully aware of your potential to utilize the frustration you must feel to elevate. All I ask is that you remain true to yourself and your character in the process. No one is worth your beauty. The inside kind. What makes you Roulette. What makes you my favorite person.

Stay safe, Rou.

I love you –in every lifetime.

Secondslater and I was standing in front of the mirror, dressed in an eggshell-colored dress. It was very similar to the one I’d torn from my body to give it to a man who no longer deserved me. However, it was richer in color with more dramatics.

The tropical weather and humidity of Colombia was perfect for the dress. I slid my hands down my subtle curves. My hips expanded further than the rest of my frame. My ass wasn’t too far behind it. Together, they were a perfect team, making the silk hug me in all the right places.

I tugged the oversized LV weekender, placing it on the vanity next to my phone. One by one, I tossed clothes that were appropriate for the Colombia climate inside. More silk, linen, new bikini sets for the beach, two pairs of panties, and an oversized hat. I didn’t bother bringing bras, because I wouldn’t be wearing any.

With my bag in tow, I headed downstairs. My bare feet landed on the crystal clear steps, sending chills up my spine. Small, fine bumps protruded, expanding my skin to the point of pain.

Seven hours.

Fifty minutes.

The flight to Colombia would be a breeze in comparison to the St. Catana adventure in the sky. I could feel the sun against my skin already and I hadn’t boarded the craft to the beautiful, cultural land.

Tibú was my final destination, but it wouldn’t be my only destination. A day on the mainland before heading to Colombia’s land of coca was the plan I’d set in motion. Royce was handling the logistics of it all.

Don’t worry your little head,Roulette. My father’s voice softened the fine bumps on my skin.

“No me preocupa, padre. Estará débil e irreconocible cuando termine con él.”

The potassiumand nitrogen of the volcanic soil tickled the hairs of my nose. My eyes darted from one end of the road to the other. One hand was deep inside my shoulder bag. The other clung to the overnight bag I’d traveled the distance with.

The black SUV Chemistry had assigned to me upon arrival was no surprise. Egypt’s apology text was evidence she’d said a little too much during pillow talk or Chemistry’s antennas were too high for her to summon.

It sat across the street, sticking out like a sore thumb in the colorful town. A roll of my eyes in the driver’s direction was followed by a roll of my neck. It wouldn’t be long before I evaded his protection, leaving him to deal with the man who’d hired him.

Sweat beads formed on my chest, trickling down my breasts once combining with neighboring pockets of moisture. I strutted toward the restaurant that I’d visited one time or another with a plus one. It was etched in my memory, so were the margaritas they specialized in.

Ceiling fan blades whipped around in a full circle at the highest speed, greeting me with warm air upon entry. Open windows let the sounds of the street inside. Heavy instrumentals played lowly in the distance. They were sure results of a Spanish band and a soundbooth.

I deepened my presence in the restaurant, moving toward the bar that wrapped around the back, leading to the patio area that was free of patrons this evening. My overnight bag landed on the bartop stool with a thud. The metal feet had made contactwith the wood of the chair. I pressed my ass against the one beside it.

My elbows rested on the counter. My palms met near my chin. With an exasperated sigh, I made eye contact with the bartender.

The dining table is no place for a woman’s elbows. My mother chastised in the back of my head. Slowly, I slid my elbows backward, straightened my spine, and pulled the corners of my lips upward.

“Evening Señora,” the bartender greeted me, “I’m Juan. Unfortunately, we’re closed for the even–”

Juan.

Juan.

Juan.

Juan.

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