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“The Queen of Hearts is detrimental. You could have all the success in the world, but she’ll bring you to your knees.”
“I’m not interested.” I blink. “I’m sorry?” “Apology accepted.”
There are only two things I know to be fact. The first is that Raphael owns the majority of the big-name casinos in Vegas. The second is that I’d be stupid to swindle a man who owns the majority of the big-name casinos in Vegas.
“You sure are persistent for a man that isn’t interested.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Oh, I’m interested.”
“I’m down, as long as you don’t call me your date.” “No, you’re not my date, you’re my wing-woman. This girl I like is going.” “So, what? You want me to sing your praises to her in the bathroom?” “No; I want you to look at me like you’re in love with me and pretend to laugh at my jokes. Then, when she realizes how hot I look in a tux, I need you to make yourself scarce.” I stare at him in disbelief. “Has that ever worked for you before?” He flashes me a wink. “Dunno, never tried it. I’ll pick you up at two pm.”
“Nice dress. Did you steal this one too?” I blink. Then, coming back to my senses, I rip my coat from his hand and take a step back. “Yes,” I snap. I mean, probably.
“I’d rather shut my dick in a car door than do this again some time, Penelope.”
“The offer of socks still stands,” Matt whispers in my ear. “I bet you have the smelliest feet on the planet,” I mutter back.
“It feels like your heart is walking outside of your body.” Her gaze finds Angelo’s again, and I watch in fascination as a pink flush creeps from underneath her necklace. “My heart now wears Armani and has a Glock for every day of the week.”
“Make it two hundred.” “Aw, come on. I’m a teacher.” “Boo-hoo,” I snap back. “You teach in a school with a forty-grand a year attendance fee. You’re not exactly scraping pennies together to buy your own Crayolas, are you?” Matt pauses. “Fine. One-seven-five.” “One-seven-five and you get rid of your welcome mat.” “Dammit. Two hundred and I keep it.” “Deal.”
“Odd. Everyone seems to think you’re quite the gentleman, but talking about your dick so much isn’t exactly a gentlemanly habit.” The only thing that moves is the muscle flexing against his jaw. And then with the same reluctance one has when getting out of bed in the morning he drags his gaze to mine. “And you? What do you think?” “I think I’m not so easily fooled.”
“And you, Penelope? Are you a lady?” I don’t like the mocking edge to his tone. The silk marred with sarcasm gets my back up. I tilt my chin and harden my stare. “Yes.” He runs a hand across his face, wiping off a hint of amusement. “Ah.” “Ah what?” “I’m not so easily fooled, either.”
Your sins will catch up with you eventually, Little P. They always do.
With trembling hands, I tug the playing card from my mouth and stare at it. A few seconds pass before I allow myself a small, shaky laugh. Triumph. It hums in my blood, swirling with a cocktail of adrenaline and relief. The Ace of Spades. The luckiest damn card in the deck. I’m back, baby.
I hate being reliant on a man.
I’ve always enjoyed the process of dressing up. I suppose it’s because it was always a big part of my nightly ritual. I’d take the rollers out of my hair, step out of my robe, and slip on my newest stolen dress. Then I’d slick on some lipstick and spritz some perfume before leaving my shitty apartment and heading to a glossy casino with the intention of hitting men in their pockets. Le sigh. Those were the days.
“If you’re to work for me, then our relationship needs to be more…” He bites on his bottom lip and sweeps an eye over my thighs again. “Professional.” I feel myself blushing at the way he wraps those plump lips around the word professional. It drips with insinuation, like we’ve been secretly fucking for three months. Which of course, would never happen in a million years. Partly because I’d rather stick a knitting needle in my eye, and partly because I’m sure Raphael would happily source the sharpest one possible for me.
“You carry a gun!” He runs two fingers over his bottom lip, trying, and failing, to hide a smirk. “The gun is fake, Penelope.” “My ass.” “What about it?”
“Better pay me more, then.” Welp—vow broken. At least I bit my tongue for longer than usual, I suppose. My insolence reminds me that I don’t even know what the salary is: I could be getting paid in Reese's Pieces and way-to-go!’s for all I know.
“Bet you twenty bucks I do.” “Bet you fifty.” I run my tongue over my teeth, hot, bitter annoyance swelling inside of me. “Yes, sir.” The lure of freedom and an orange glow wash over me as I open the door to the bridge. “Penelope.” My lids flutter shut. So close. “It’s yes, boss.
“Hey.” Her elbow slams my locker shut. “Don’t give me that shit. What’s wrong?” Oh, I don’t know, Laurie. Maybe it’s because the ghost of our boss’s hands squeezing my tits feels like a third-degree burn?
“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, Penelope.” “You’re not a gentleman,” I whisper back.
“Nice dick by the way.” I blink, snapping myself out of the lust-induced trance. “What?” “On my mirror,” he says with a dry, sardonic smile. “It was true to size.” My throat clots. “Was it?” Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. My gaze drops to his slacks. Fuck’s sake.
“If you truly don’t believe in luck, good, bad, or otherwise,” she mocks, in a gruff voice I assume is meant to mimic my own, “then open the umbrella.” I run my tongue over my teeth. Glance up at the rain hammering on the roof. Fuck, she’s got me there. I’d rather play Russian roulette against my own temple than open an umbrella inside. I’m not even sure if a phone booth counts as inside, but I’m not going to find out.
It’s barely a whisper, but it’s loaded with an insolence I want to rip from her vocal cords. What that tone does to my dick should be illegal.
“Ah, you can do better than Anna,” I say breezily. “A guy like you could get Beyonce, if he wanted.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll cross my fingers she swipes right on me on Tinder.”
He winks, she blushes, and I wonder if drowning really is as bad as everyone makes out.
“As much as it pains me to admit it, you’re rather hot when you’re gagged.” Sweet, holy hell.
“You’re a dog, Penelope,” he says breezily over his shoulder. “I should look into putting you down.” “They already tried.” His footsteps slow to a stop and he glances back at me. “And?” “I bit the vet.”
“If Blake’s an easy target, what does that make you?” She pulls a wallet out from under her dress. Son of a bitch. She holds it up like a trophy, and the initials RV glint in gold under the spotlights. My own name, taunting me with how fucking complacent I’ve become. With a lazy smirk, she flips open my wallet and peers inside. She tugs out a hundred-dollar bill and slides it into her bra. “That’s for winning the bet.” She pulls out another hundred. “Plus VAT.” She cocks her head in thought, then pulls out another. “Plus tip.” I watch in dark amusement as she tosses my wallet onto the bench
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This girl isn’t the Queen of Hearts, but the Devil in disguise. Unfortunately, I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t follow her into hell.
“You’re running from something.” I knew it was coming. Could taste its thickness in the air before it floated out of Tayce’s mouth. But the premonition doesn’t stop my heart from skipping like a rock over a lake. I take a cold swig of beer. Set it down. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clink. I look down to see the neck of her beer bottle connect with mine. “Cheers to that.”
“What do you eat then? The blood of forty virgins for breakfast or something?” He grins. “Or something.”
He scowls. Unwraps the burger with the tips of his fingers. But then the jokes on me, because when he fists the burger with both hands and stares into my fucking soul as he takes a ridiculously big bite, hot, needling lust sinks to the pit of my stomach and sizzles against my clit. Christ. It’s just a burger.
“You’re eating.” He inches down the window and frisbees the burger into the night.
“I knew your panties would be ridiculous,” he grunts. Gasping, I tilt my head to the roof and let my lids flutter shut. “I thought you’d had lap dances before? You should know you get fined for touching.” A cool breeze whistles past my ear, and when I snap my eyes open, I see another brick of bills bounce off the windshield and skid across the dashboard.
My sass morphs into a gasp as Raphael’s thick fingers find purchase in the base of my hair and yank my head back. I open my mouth to protest, then something cold and smooth slides into it. At first, I think it’s another playing card, but when I pull it out, I realize it’s a Black Amex. My eyes clash with Raphael’s. “Pin is four, eight, four, two,” he says quietly. He locks his fingers behind his head and leans back against the headrest. His gaze flashes like a warning sign. “Now, take it off.
But then a firm, hot hand slides under the blazer and rests on my thigh. I glance up at Raphael, but he’s focusing on the gap between the whooshing wipers, steering the car with the palm of his other hand. “Strip for another man again, and he’ll die crossing the road.”
But then, whether she knew it or not, Penelope would win again, and, despite my odd obsession with her, I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty penknife than let her win.
If I’m sinking to the bottom, at least her voice will keep me company on the way down.
Raking a cautious eye over Raphael, Angelo plucks the last card from the shoe and flicks it on the table. Ace of spades. It’s so quiet I can hear the tick of Raphael’s Breitling on my wrist. The whir of the blender going on the other side of the door. How can Dan make passion fruit martinis at a time like this?
After a breathless second, I do as I'm told. My gait is clumsy as I make my way to the glass and press a sweaty hand against its cold surface. I swallow. “Well, uh. It’s cloudy, but I don’t think it’ll r—” My forecast is sliced in half by a sound I’d know anywhere. It's a sound I’ve heard before, twice, as it took the lives of both my dead-beat parents. Bang. The gunshot reverberates off the walls and rings in my ears. Everything stops—my words, the time, my pulse. “Penelope?” I latch on to the tranquility in Raphael’s voice like a life-line. “Don’t turn around. Just open the door and take a
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“Why do you care if I cry?” He tracks his thumb as it trails further down, across my bottom lip and along my chin. He grips me there for a moment, regret coating his features. “Because last night, I saw you laugh.”
“Where are we—” “Get in before I change my mind about killing you, Penelope.” I don’t have to be asked twice.
“Go to sleep.” “But—” “But nothing, Penelope. Forget about Martin O’Hare; he’s my problem now.”
I want to know why she can sleep in my car, but not in her bed. Why she’s still wearing my watch, instead of selling it. What she puts in my whiskey to make me want to protect her, when I should be putting a bullet in her head.
Then again, she’s never actually called the hotline to moan about anything of importance, anyway. Only trivial things, like her running out of conditioner or how her neighbor farted in her living room but it’s too cold to open the windows.
“Rafe gave you this job as a favor to me, and after last night’s stunt, you’re lucky to still be employed today. I know all you girls think Rafe is this…” He strums his inked fingers on the bar, summoning the word. If he says gentleman, I swear I’ll— “Gentleman.” Sigh.
We strung him up from an old oak tree in Hollow, but only after Angelo had snapped his neck. He’d wanted to know what it felt like.
“If it’s any consolation, you don’t look like you’ve just cracked open a man’s brain with a hammer claw and then donkey-kicked him into a fire.” I bite back a smirk. “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, brother. Maybe we’re bonding.”
