Grace
I exit the elevator with Randy and follow him past the big tiger, which eyes me with distrust. I think about how hard it must be to always be on display like that with no privacy, then realize I’m not much different when it comes to Lucifer. But those thoughts are pushed from my mind when I round the corner and walk through the glass doors.
The casino is unlike any place I’ve ever experienced. I mean, sure, I’ve seen casinos on TV, but the reality is so much more dizzying. The chaos envelops me the moment the doors whoosh open. A cloud of smoke. Colors, designs, and lights. The movement of hundreds of people, like a swarm of ants. The array of sounds—from music and chatter to dings and bells—are all just a bit too loud. The entirety takes my breath away, and I pause until Randy offers his arm and escorts me through the horde like a bodyguard until we reach a stairway roped off by red velvet and flanked by bouncers in tailored blue suits and sunglasses.
Randy nudges me. “Show ‘em your money, baby.” I open my small beaded purse and flash a stack of hundred-dollar bills at them. One nods almost imperceptibly, and the other unhooks the rope to let us through.
“High rollers’ club,” Randy whispers, hauling me up the steps and away from the hubbub below into a whole new kind of insanity. Here, the music is jazz and the crowd is sparser, but there are still far more people than I expected on a Wednesday night. We’re all in black tie, including the dealers. Their only difference in attire is the red garters around their left arms that indicate their positions. Those and the white earbuds they wear, which remind me we’re being monitored.
I push away the worry that we might be caught. I can talk anyone out of filing charges if it comes down to it. Clutching Randy’s arm, I let him steer us toward the big black-and-red wheel in the center of the room. There’s a tiny card on the table that reads $100 MINIMUM. So I take out the stack of bills and tuck it all in Randy’s pocket with a wink. I need to keep him happy so he’ll do what Lucifer wants. The quicker he steals from the casino, the sooner I get to see Noah.
He pulls me in and leans down over me, enveloping me in the familiar scent that reminds me of Josh. There’s a pang in my chest as he says, “A kiss for good luck,” and before I can form a coherent thought, his lips are on mine.
It’s a soft and slow kiss, the kind that means he’s taking his time to make sure I’m okay with it. His sincerity makes me feel awful. I only want Josh’s mouth on mine, and I fight not to pull away, knowing Lucifer expects me to play this role in order to earn time with my brother. I console myself with the idea that we’re in public, so this can only go so far. I just hope Josh isn’t watching from up in Heaven.
I kiss him back, then pull away. “Show me what you’ve got, big guy.”
But the last seat at the table was taken while we kissed, so now we have to wait until someone gets up. Randy’s already explained that if I want him to do his misdirection thing, we have to stick to roulette, so it’s not like I can suggest blackjack instead.
I scan the table as Randy lays a hand against the small of my back, his long fingers reaching beyond my comfort zone. I have to play it cool. If I pull away, he’ll be suspicious immediately. So instead I settle back into his hand, hating myself.
That’s when I spot him in the corner of the table. The man I stopped from breaking up the wedding.
He’s just as handsome as Randy in his tux, though a very different type of handsome. His blue eyes remind me of Josh—there I go thinking of him again.
When he sees me staring, he smiles. “Well, hello, Miss Scarlet,” he calls across the table, earning annoyed looks from the other players at the table. Shoot! Why’d I give him a fake name?
“I think I can score a seat. Be right back,” I whisper to Randy and hurry around to the man’s spot. He’s got several towers of red-and-black chips in front of him along with a drink that looks and smells a lot like Lucifer’s favorite whiskey. When he speaks, I can tell he’s already had a few, not just from the smell but also from the slight cotton-mouthed slur.
“Hey, if it isn’t the helpless girl in the middle of the road. I guess you made it to Vegas safely.” He smiles, and it’s one of those practiced, white-toothed grins that must’ve scored him a lot of dates in high school.
“Guess so,” I say, smiling back. I sneak a glance at Randy, who’s studying the wheel and other players. I relax a little and tuck a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. “You were in a hurry when we met before. Did you make your appointment?”
Something fogs behind his eyes, but his expression stays plastered on his face. “Nah. But sometimes things aren’t meant to be, you know? Or maybe some things are.” He motions for a waitress, who seems to appear out of thin air in a tiny maid’s outfit, body parts falling out left and right. “A Bloody Mary for my friend Scarlet.” He tucks a ten-dollar bill onto her tray, and she whisks away into the fray.
“Oh, I can’t! I’m sorry, I have a—” But what do I say? A date? Why is it so difficult to admit that to this stranger? I do want to get away. I feel horrible that I ruined his life, but another part of me is curious as to the real story. Curious about why Lucifer would bother…
“No harm, no foul,” he says, standing with a wobble way too close to me, but there’s no room to move out of the way because of the crowd around the table.
I throw out my hands automatically to steady him and find him pressed against me. I swallow. His gaze is very…intense. “What’s your name?” I whisper, and we’re so close together, I know he hears me even over the buzz around us.
“Rhett. Here, sit.” I can’t break away from his stare, and I realize he’s guided me into his seat at the table and is now kneeling beside me. I barely noticed it arrive, but a deep red drink sits on the table before me with a celery stalk and a tiny gold napkin.
“Oh. I don’t play,” I say. I need this seat for Randy. It’s why I came over here.
“Beginner’s luck. Perfect. Go ahead. Think of the chips as fun money. It’s nothing to me. Just put a handful on your favorite number.” He guides my hand over to one of his towers, and I take a stack of about seven chips, which I place on number sixteen. My age when I died.
Rhett throws a few more chips down in various corners and squares.
“Rhett’s not your real name,” I say when I can’t take him staring at me any longer. It feels like he’s tearing me apart piece by piece in his head, like a jigsaw puzzle.
“Scarlet isn’t yours. I guess we all come to Vegas to lose ourselves. Or maybe find our real selves,” he leans in and whispers, his breath tickling my ear and making me shiver.
“I better let you get back to your boyfriend, or he’s going to get jealous.”
Randy. I almost forgot all about him. I glance around, not seeing him for a moment, and panic sets in. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a backward glance tells me it’s him. I turn back toward Rhett, determined to introduce him, but he’s gone. Vanished, just like the waitress.
I shake my head, trying to clear it as the dealer calls, “Number sixteen. The lady wins!” The next thing I know there’s a new stack of “fun money” shoved in front of me. I stand and motion for Randy to take my place. He closes the space between us and pulls me into his body again. “You sure? You’re doing pretty well yourself, baby.”
“I want to see you work your magic,” I say, recalling Lucifer’s command, the pain, and the desire to talk to and save my brother. I practically shove him into the seat and take a quick gulp of the drink Rhett ordered for me. I’ve never loved tomato juice, but I’m not in it for the taste. I need to calm my nerves.
Randy takes advantage of my distraction and pulls me onto his lap, large hand wrapped around my waist. “You’re my good luck charm, baby.” I force a giggle as he tosses a stack of chips onto number thirty-two and take another swig.
I wonder what Randy saw between Rhett and me, and then I wonder why it matters at all. I suck on the bottom of the celery stalk and close my eyes. The atmosphere and the drink are dousing everything in a layer of fuzz like a cozy blanket. Randy’s body is warm behind me. He feels like an anchor stopping me from floating away.
“You okay, babe?” Randy’s voice brings me out of it, and I turn, cuddling against him. He feels good and safe.
“Yeah. How are we doing?” I ask.
“Patience. We got this. And when we’ve made our money, I’m gonna give you a gift.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I ask. I can’t help but smile. Randy’s not a bad guy. He really is trying to impress me.
“It’s waiting upstairs.” He gives me a quick peck and puts some chips on twenty-three.
“When did you have time to do that?” I ask, seriously perplexed.
“I have people.”
“People, huh?” This time when I giggle, it’s for real.
“Winner number twenty-three!” More chips are shoved in front of us. I notice Randy’s hand below the table, adjusting something. His chocolate eyes meet mine.
“This is seriously comfortable, babe. But you should probably do your distraction thing.”
I nod and stand, his hand continuing to steady me. Then I slip behind him and around the table toward the dealer, whose shrewd expression makes me think he may already be suspicious. I glance at a middle-aged man sitting halfway around the table with a grim expression and a comb-over. His tux is worn, like it’s seen better days, and his chips are almost gone. I feel guilty instantly, but I try to think like Keira for a moment. I can almost hear her tell me what an asshole he is. How he bankrupted his wife and kids, and then left because of his gambling problem. How he probably steals to pay for each fix.
It’s harder to catch his eye than I anticipate. He’s so intent on the tiny silver ball skipping from number to number. But I slide my hands down over his shoulders onto his chest. He jerks slightly and looks shocked when he sees me.
I smile. Bat my eyes.
“May I help you?” he asks.
I turn on the glamour. “Yes. First, answer this question truthfully: are you a good person?” I have to know.
“No.”
“Would you honestly describe yourself as an asshole?”
“Yes.”
I feel a bit better now about what I’m going to do. “Soon the dealer’s going to realize the ball is magnetic. When that happens, you’re going to stand up quickly and accidentally drop this magnet. You won’t remember how you got it, or whether you did it.” I drop the magnet into his inside jacket pocket and move on. Randy’s the one who replaced the real ball with a magnet. He’s the one manipulating the wheel. But if the dealer finds out it’s him, I won’t get to see Noah.
So I choose this guy instead.
How to corrupt and ruin a life 101. I get an A.