Page 19 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

I drop my eyes back to my feet as I hear his footsteps echo in the tiny box of a room as he retreats.

After a few minutes of silence, I’m convinced that he really did leave me down here by myself, and I must be free to go. The hallway is just as empty as it was before, and I can’t help but wonder what’s on the other side of the doors lining the walls. Is Kingston in there? Is he watching me? The thought brings a shot of anticipation with it, though I refuse to address why.

Exiting the elevator onto the casino floor, I feel like I’m in a daze. My ears are buzzing, my vision is foggy, and my breathing feels out of sync.

What the hell just happened?

I came in here to play a few hands of blackjack and walk away with a few more dollars than I came with, but instead, I’m leaving with my world turned upside down.

Mechanically, I turn toward the blackjack tables. I need to grab my things and cash out my chips. When I see the gorilla of a pit boss hovering in the vicinity, I resist the urge to run in the other direction. Instead, I force one foot in front of the other until I see him holding my stuff.

“Miss. I believe these belong to you.”

Looking contrite, the pit boss gives me my worn backpack along with a fat stack of chips. His hands are jittery as he pulls away before taking a large step backward, giving me a wide berth.

With furrowed brows, I add up the total of my chips. My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when I find the total. There’s got to be almost ten thousand dollars worth of chips right here.

Is this a trick?

“Umm…I think—”

“Miss,” he interrupts with a quick look to the camera hidden on the ceiling then rocks back and forth on his feet like a recently disciplined toddler. “I’d like to apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused. I-if you need anything, p-please let me know.”

What the hell?

I glance over my shoulder and look up at the ceiling camera the pit boss had been fascinated with from only a moment ago before shaking off the feeling of being watched.

Turning back to the asshole who hit me earlier, I notice he’s acting like a skittish little squirrel instead of the brooding giant gorilla from an hour ago. Hell, I’m pretty sure if I took a step toward him, he’d flinch.

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t have time for this. I need to get out of here. Giving him my back, I rush toward the information desk and cash out my chips. Once I’m handed the money, I tuck the bills into my backpack then race to the door like a bat out of hell. I’ve almost escaped the smoky haze, and I’m seconds from breathing fresh air when a hand comes out of nowhere and grabs my forearm. The foreign touch scares the shit out of me, making me simultaneously jump and squeal at once.

Rule #2: Always be aware of your surroundings.

Dammit, I’m screwing up left and right tonight.

Instead of paying attention, I was in la-la land analyzing the last hour of my life, how the hell I just got handed almost ten thousand dollars, and if it’s a test of some sort that I’m miserably failing.

My heart is pounding frantically as my fingers dig into the straps of my backpack, hanging on for dear life as my head snaps in the direction of the culprit.

“What the fu—” I take a step back in shock. “Jack?”

“Yeah, are you okay? What the hell happened to your face?” He lifts his other hand that isn’t touching my forearm and brushes his long fingers against my swollen cheek.

Though it’s futile, I untuck my hair behind my ear in an attempt to hide the damage. “It’s nothing. What are you doing here?”

With his gaze glued to my partially hidden wound, a frustrated Jack clenches his jaw before gritting out, “I think we both know that you and I have a common fascination with numbers and like to visit casinos to cash in on it. Now, what the hell happened to your face? Who touched you?”

“No one touched me,” I lie.

He scoffs. “Sure, they didn’t. Did you run into a door?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he looks closer and adds, “And was the door wearing a ring?”

My lips form a narrow line, but I don’t bother arguing.

With a sigh, he slumps forward and looks me straight in the eye. “Listen, despite what you think, I feel a sense of camaraderie with you, and I just want to know if you’re okay. Can I help with anything? How’d you get caught?” As he peppers me with questions, I make a point to enforce Rule #1, glancing over my shoulder for any mysterious spectators witnessing this conversation.

You don’t talk about counting. Especially not in the middle of a damn casino. Rule #8, remember? Don’t discuss private shit in public. It’s bound to screw you over.

When I see Kingston watching me from the shadows, my breath hitches. He looks pissed. Looking down, I notice Jack is still touching me, and I slowly twist out of his grasp. I can’t explain my actions, but I know it’s the right decision regardless.

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