Page 55 of Dearly Betrayed

Jayson

Ican’t get any fucking work done because I’m too busy thinking about my pretty wife’s virginity.

Or her former virginity.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her beneath me, her face twisted in ecstasy and pain, moaning as I filled her over and over again. I hear her orgasm, her whispers, her moans as I called her a good girl. It was the peak of my sexual life to this point—a moment of pure, blissful erotic satisfaction unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

My head’s all fucked.

I’m not supposed to like my wife, let alone want to fuck her—let alone care how she feels about anything.

Instead, sitting here, all I can think about is what’s going on with her. If she’s physically uncomfortable, if she’s hurting, if she’s nervous about what happened between us.

It’s driving me crazy. I don’t want to like my wife, don’t want to give a fuck about her, but I can’t get her from my head. Her taste, her moans, her laughter. Being around her is surprising in so many ways, and it isn’t only the sex.

There’s the dinner we had together. She’s clever, outgoing, and hilarious when she wants to be. I like sparring with her, bantering back and forth. I enjoy being in her company, even if she’s giving me shit half the time.

I should focus on getting work done, but after maybe an hour of failing to focus, I end up hunting down the Sunrise’s head of security, a guy named Zach.

“What can I do for you, Jayson?” he asks when I poke my head into the command room.

There are a couple dozen computer monitors spread out all over the place like a NASA launch mission. Security personnel are busy speaking softly into microphones, communicating with the floor bosses and the dealers, as they scan the crowd using next-level facial recognition software. Not even the feds have this kind of computing firepower. It’s next-level shit.

“Need you to locate someone for me.”

“Easy.” Zach gestures at the equipment. “Hit me.”

“My wife.”

Zach nods, turns away, and taps at a computer. A second later, a security camera view appears in the corner. It shows a bar near the sportsbook, crowded with people despite the early hour. A small green square appears around one woman’s face. She’s sitting alone near the far end drinking a big, ice-filled glass of something bubbly.

“There you go.” Zach zooms in. The woman’s face resolves, and it’s definitely Fallon. “Got anything hard for me?”

“Sure. Find me a quarter on the ground.”

He laughs, but squints at the computer. “You know, if I feed the AI software the right data?—”

“I’m kidding. Thanks, Zach.”

I leave the security room before the guy can nerd out. He’s one of the most competent employees we have though, and I like him very much, but there’s only so much tech talk I can deal with.

The elevator takes me down to casino level. I head across the gaming floor, stopping a couple times when a boss comes over and talks to me about some problem or other. I’m not technically a part of the Sunrise, but I’m one of the Costa brothers, which means I’m as close to the top of the pyramid as it gets. But finally, I reach the bar, just in time to see Fallon turning around and staring at some big guy in a puffer jacket.

He’s standing right in front of her. He says something I can’t hear and she looks confused, her eyebrows knit. She doesn’t see me—she’s busy staring at the guy talking to her. I pick up my pace as a bad feeling rolls into my guts.

Fallon leans back as the guy reaches into his waistband.

I start running.

He draws a gun. Pistol, probably nothing more than a little compact .22, not fancy or powerful but enough to kill at close range.

My heart’s screaming into my throat as I barrel forward, slamming two tourists out of the way, knocking another on his ass when he fails to move fast enough.

The gun’s aimed at my wife’s face, and every inch of me is screaming as I flash back to the moment in the Italian restaurant when those three Grady killers came in, murdering my friends.

Jackson moved first then, he put himself in harm’s way to save my life, but I can’t let him do it again. I can’t let anyone else die because of me, because I’m not fast enough, not strong enough, not willing to take a bullet.

I growl, more of a scream, and throw myself at the man and his weapon, hitting him from the side.

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