Page 44 of Roulette Rodeo
I think about forest green eyes in a storage closet.
About cherry-bourbon scent and hands that held me like I was precious.
Leaving red lace panties as a calling card for an alpha who promised he'd find me.
"I existed," I finally say. "Apparently, that was enough."
Marnay's laugh is bitter.
"Existing. Right." He pulls out a tablet, fingers flying across the screen. "Well, your existence just made me the richest casino owner in Nevada. The funds are already transferring. Clean money, traced through seventeen different shell companies but clean nonetheless."
"So I'm theirs now?" The words stick in my throat.
"You've always been someone's, Red. At least these someones can afford to keep you in style." He stands, moving to his wall safe with practiced ease. "Your personal effects."
I blink.
"My what?"
"Did you think I didn't know about your little escape fund?" He spins the combination, and my heart stops. "The compact hidden in the bathroom vent. Very clever, by the way. Most girls try to hide things in their rooms."
My eight thousand dollars.
Three years of skimming, saving, hoping.
Gone…
But when he turns back, he's holding not just my battered compact but a small black bag.
The one holding all my savings…
"Your new owners insisted you receive everything that belongs to you." He sets both on the desk. "The compact, obviously. Plus what I believe you're owed."
I open the compact first—my money is still there, every crumpled bill I'd saved the night before. I check the black bag next, which has the eight thousand that I’d saved in the last three years. When he suddenly offers another bag, I’m left in confusion as I silently accept it. I take a deep breath, wondering what could be inside, finally peering inside which contains?—
"Holy shit,” I dare curse out of breathlessness.
Cash. Stacks of it. More money than I've ever seen outside of the casino floor.
"Your tips," Marnay says, voice carefully neutral. "Every dollar that went into the house pool instead of your pocket. Three years' worth, with interest. Approximately two hundred thousand dollars."
My legs go weak, and it takes everything to not collapse completely.
"Why?" I manage to ask.
"Because the Lucky Ace Pack requested a full accounting of your earnings. Every penny tracked, every tip documented." His smile is sharp. "They wanted to ensure you received what wasyours. Bad business to start a new arrangement with theft, they said."
Two hundred thousand dollars. Plus my eight thousand.
Enough to run, to hide, to start over anywhere…
If they let me.
"There's more," Marnay continues, pulling out papers. "Your contract transfer. Sign here, initial here, and you belong to them."
I take the pen with numb fingers, scanning the document.
It's different from my original contract—cleaner, simpler.
