Page 14 of Vicious Vows

“Vic, meet me on the floor with Mark, please.” I turn to Christopher and add, “I’ll be back.”

He nods at me as I move swiftly to the door and then down the hallway to the elevator. By the time I’m entering the gambling floor, Mark and Vic are at my sides, flanking me. The sounds of muffled conversations and clinking glasses fills the air around us. We move with calculated steps toward table seven, our unsuspecting guests completely unaware of our approach.

Mark taps one on the shoulder knowingly when I stand behind one of our cheaters, and the man turns. His forehead is creased with deep lines, eyes set into his skull like a caveman. His full beard is dusted with crumbs and droplets of moisture from his drink. He reeks of booze and tobacco smoke, and I have to resist my urge to punch him in the throat instantly.

I’ve seen those thick, bushy brown eyebrows, and the second he says, “What?” I know he’s Russian. Probably Bratva. Now what the hell are they doing in my casino trying to cheat and get away with it?

“Hello, my name is Mr. Santoro. I run this establishment.” I offer a smile but no handshake. These lowlifes aren’t deserving of that hospitable gesture. They deserve a jail cell, or better yet, a padded coffin to spend the rest of their eternity, out of sight and out of mind.

“Yeah, nice place,” he says, turning back to the table where he taps the green felt surface to call. The smugness oozes off him. He’s confident I won’t pull my weapon on him right here, andmost days, he’d be wrong. Today, I have a different plan brewing in my head.

“I noticed you seem to be doing a very good job this evening. Winning a lot of money.” I clasp my hands in front of my waist and try to breathe calmly.

“Yeah, we’re lucky. What can we say?” the other man chimes in, not even looking at me over his shoulder. I’d like to smack the snark right out of him, but that would be assault. I have to have a good reason to throw these idiots out, and since I can’t prove anything, all I can do is give them a stern warning.

“You know it’s illegal to count cards and I can have you thrown out? I just wanted to remind you fellas so you don’t have any trouble when you go to cash out.”

Vic snorts and looks away. He’d like to knock some sense into them too. I can tell by his attitude. But my men know better than to act without my permission. They stand beside me, squirming and ready to pounce but patiently waiting for my word.

“Yeah, well we ain’t countin’ cards. So let us play our game, will ya?” The first man turns back around and calls one final time, and it’s a winning hand again. There is no doubt in my mind that they’re counting cards. It’s the only way for them to be doing so well at this table time and time again.

I won’t stand for cheaters, but since I can’t prove a thing, I’ll have to do the next best thing. With my new idea in mind, I nod at my guards who turn with me and head back toward the elevators. When we get there, I tell them, “Go watch those two idiots. Find out the account number they cash out to, and send it to me immediately.”

Vic and Mark disappear as the elevator doors open, and I step in and ride it all the way to the top. When I’m back in the security office, I stand in front of the monitors watching the men cheat their way to more big winnings and pull my phone from my pocket. Two can play at this game.

My phone rings through to Micah’s, and when she answers, I say, “Be ready for a new account number. I want you to access the account, and when a large deposit comes in from the casino, I want those funds shuffled right back into my holdings—my account in the Caymans. Got it?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says begrudgingly, and I smile as I end the call and stare at the screen.

I am finding marvelous ways to use Micah’s talent.

11

MICAH

The tiny deposits I’ve made into my father’s account over the past few weeks of working for Luke have gone completely unnoticed. Dale hasn’t even bothered to check up on me, though he sits a few chairs down from me at all times. He’s more interested in playing Tetris than doing his job, and I’ve done the bulk of the work for both of us. Some computer tech he is. He’s a year older than me and probably learned to code in his basement.

I sit back, allowing the algorithm to run itself for a while. There’s more than just moving money to be concerned with. I have to test new lines of code and find vulnerabilities in my targets’ security protocols. I spend a few hours a day doing this, but I could spend all day, every day doing it. I could end world hunger if I knew how.

But it gets boring. My real job of backend development was supposed to carry me through to a career in coding. I guess this could be considered a career, though if Santoro ever goes down, I’m going down with him. I don’t like the sound of that, but I don’t get a choice.

“I’m stepping out,” I tell Dale, whose eyes are locked on his colorful screen. He grunts acknowledgement, and I stand and push my rolling computer chair back. The wheels crunch over some pretzel crumbs from Dale’s lunch—what a slob—and I stand and walk out.

I’ve tested the cuff Luke put on my ankle a little. I can go anywhere in the house without it going off, but when I step onto the front porch, it beeps at me. It’s probably a warning that if I go farther, the alarm will sound. I haven’t tested that part, but mostly because I have nowhere to go, anyway. I could just cut the damn thing off and vanish, but unless I can get my dad and Nathan away safely, I won’t dare.

Today, however, I step into the kitchen and plop down on one of the stainless-steel barstools. The cook left a plate of cookies out, probably because I have a sweet tooth and basically the only thing I’ve eaten since being brought here has been dessert or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I don’t have much of an appetite, really, but the sugar helps me fight off the negative emotions. Horrible habit, I know, but what’s a girl to do?

While I munch on the confection, I pull my phone out and dial my father’s number. He doesn’t have a cell phone, too old-fashioned to invest in something like that. Though the phone company forced him to switch to a VOIP phone, which I had to set up for him since he didn’t even have internet. Can you believe he still ran an analogue cash register until a few months ago?

“Baby, oh, gosh. Are you okay? How are you doing? I miss you so much. Do you think that horrible man will let you come visit us soon?” Dad sounds worried, as usual. I’ve called him once a day since Luke turned off the signal blocker, and it’s always the same. He wants me away from the Santoro family, but there just isn’t an out until Dad can come with me. We have the funds now,just not the means. There’s no way to get away from Luke and his men.

“I’m okay, Dad. Just bored out of my mind right now.” I take another bite of the cookie and chew quietly as he continues to bombard me with questions. It’s the perfect blend of chewy and chocolaty. It’s like the person who cooked these knows exactly what I need right at this moment.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he? Tell me you’re not being harmed.”

I think of Luke and my time with him, the nights in his bed. No, I wouldn’t call that harm at all. Though it’s obvious he’s trying really hard to produce an heir. That or he’s just sex starved and unleashing it all on me. I haven’t minded the attention. At least the sex is good, and he makes sure to please me.

“No, Dad. He’s not hurting me. How’s Nathan? Have you heard from Will? He isn’t responding to my texts.” I’ve tried a few times to talk to my best friend, but after that day I got snatched, he's been a ghost in the wind. It hurts my feelings, but he has morals. I know he hated it when we hacked Luke, though if we’d have donated the money to a children’s hospital or something, he probably wouldn't have cared.

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