His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

by Kylie Kent

Blood, money, lust, love. It’s all right here. Las Vegas. The place where people come to try to win against the odds. The thing is… the house always wins. And me? I am the house. This city is my playground.

Sammie manages Wild Card, Louie runs the Royal Flush, and I’m here at Aces High.

“For the love of god, tell me you did not steal someone’s kid.” “He didn’t steal me. He’s my daddy.” Jazzy smiles, almost like she’s proud of that fact. If she actually knew me, she wouldn’t be.

“How about I tell you about the king who found his princess after missing her for years and years, and they lived happily ever after together… until she grew up into a beautiful, strong, independent woman?” “Okay.” Jazzy smiles and snuggles into the blankets.

her. To always keep her safe from the monsters. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will do anything—and I mean anything—to make sure nothing happens to her. And if it did, that’s when we’d see the devil flinch in fear because what Carlo will do to anyone that hurt her…

“Horses are the bestest pets,” Jazzy informs him. “Wouldn’t you rather have a puppy?” he asks her. “Don’t…” I warn him. They all know I can’t say no to my daughter. If she wants a fucking puppy, we’re getting one. And before I know it, we’ll be living on a damn farm.

“You know, you can change your degree now or not study at all. You can do whatever you want, Antonia. You don’t have to keep doing what your father told you to do.” “Because now I have to do what you tell me to do, right?” she fires back. “You have to do what you want to do,” I say. Unless what she wants to do is leave me, because that isn’t fucking happening. I don’t tell her that part. I’m not a complete idiot.

“I love you.” I don’t need her to say it back. I know she loves me. She always has. For good or bad, the kind of love we have doesn’t just go away. “I love you,” she replies. Her words are barely a whisper, but they’re there. Out in the open. And so are the tears that slide down her cheeks. “Please don’t break me again, Carlo.”

When I reach the back of her throat, she fucking swallows. Holy shit. That’s… not something she’s ever done before. Well, not something she’s done when we were together. And that has me thinking about where she learned to do it and who she practiced on. My vision goes red. Whoever the fuck it was, I’m going to find them, and then I’m going to kill them. I don’t want another living soul knowing what my wife’s mouth or pussy feels like.

“Hi, I’m Jacob. What’s your name?” A little boy approaches Jazzy with a shit-eating grin on his grubby little face. Fuck no. I’m about to step between them when my wife stops me, shaking her head. “This is good. She needs friends,” Antonia whispers into my ear. “She needs friends of the female variety, not boys,” I grunt. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s six.” Antonia rolls her eyes. “That’s when it starts,” I tell her. “My name’s Jasmine, but you can call me Jazzy.” My daughter smiles at the boy. Fucking smiles. I need to teach her to kick these little fuckers in the shins and then run in the opposite direction. “Cool, what grade are you in?” he says. “First,” Jazzy tells him. “Me too. Want me to show you to the classroom? We have a good teacher. She’s super nice.”

Can you run background checks on six-year-olds? No fucking idea. But I will be running checks on every parent of every kid in her class. I make a mental note to have my PI get right on that.

“I’m so glad. How about we go get ice cream?” I offer. “Okay—oh, wait!” She wiggles around in my arms until I set her down. I then watch in horror as my daughter runs up to the same little punk-ass kid from this morning and hugs him. “I forgot to say goodbye and thank you,” she tells him. “I’m going to end up killing that little fucker one day,” I grumble.