Page 63 of Brutal

Drake takes a sip out of his then gestures to the far side of the room. “We can watch other people spend their money until you see something that looks interesting to try out,” he offers.

“You think I’ll take to poker?” I suggest, ribbing him gently with my elbow. “I bet I can see through everybody’s poker face.”

“Well, no one would be able to see through yours,” he says, the words surprisingly neutral as we stroll past several rows of slot machines. “So maybe instead of you sitting in my lap and being my good luck charm, I should be yours.” He smirks at me.

“I don’t know enough about the card probabilities though.” I pause by the big roulette wheel. “We could leave it up to pure chance. Or bet on both sides, so we’re guaranteed to win something.”

He laughs, sounding surprisingly sincere. “Yeah, it doesn’t work like that. One of us would still lose something,” he says. “But we can get some chips and play around for a little while. Be right back.”

To my surprise, he turns and heads toward one of the clerks with only a brief glance over his shoulder.

While I wait, I take a closer look at the people around us. A lot of them look like tourists—but I guess that’s expected. Many are indeed drinking, even at this early hour. Maybe I should be trying to figure out which game I want to play, but instead I focus on the individual people, trying to get a sense for them.

The red-faced man with the empty glass in front of him has probably been there a while. He’s saying something to the dealer at his table, and whatever it is has her smile getting more strained. She remains professional though, and her response seems to mollify the man.

At the roulette table, a woman and a man are squabbling. They’re both dressed up, but something about their clothes seems off on them. Maybe they splurged for this special occasion, and it isn’t panning out the way they expected.

There are people enjoying themselves, of course, the ones who are smiling or whooping because luck landed in their favor. I wonder if they’ve actually come out on top, or if winning alone is enough for that kind of cheer.

My eyes go back to the chip exchange counter. Drake is distracted, buying some probably exorbitant amount of chips.

I could leave.

I could run out the door and hide in the crowd.

I could disappear, and Drake would be utterly humiliated because for a few seconds he’d trusted somebody and they’d thrown that trust right back in his face.

There’s no reason for me to stay.

But I don’t move. I wait patiently for Drake to return. He wraps an arm around me when he does, holding me possessively to him, and nuzzles my neck.

He knows I could’ve left.

Maybe it was a test, or maybe it was a trap. I don’t know if I should feel like I passed or failed. I just know that he relaxes when he pulls me closer, and that the smile on his lips seems more genuine.

CHAPTER 16

Mimosa

We end up playing a bit of roulette and blackjack in between buying snacks for lunch. I don’t pay attention to how much money we gamble, but I think the amount of casino chips is smaller at the end. Drake clearly had fun, though, laughing when he won and making exaggerated moans when he lost.

I guess it doesn’t matter, with the amount of money that he has. He probably earned it all back in interest during the time we spent gambling.

“There’s a nice restaurant by the boardwalk,” Drake says as we head outside. “Bit early for dinner, though. We could rent a yacht and go out on the water.”

I glance up at him. “You know how to operate a boat?”

Drake gives me an amused look. “No. But I know how to hire somebody to operate it for us.”

That does make more sense. I nod. “Okay. We can…” I trail off.

Directly in front of us, a woman with rainbow hair walks out of a hair salon.

He follows my gaze, and to his credit, it only takes him a second to connect the dots. “Damn. That looks really good,” he comments. “Bet it would look good on you, too.” He flashes me a grin, grabbing my hand and tugging me in the direction of the salon’s door. “Wanna find out?”

I freeze, my mouth parting. “What? Why? You said you liked the orange.”

He shrugs, still pulling at my hand. “Something prettier would suit you better. We could get you a little trim and a scalp massage and see just what colors would look best on you.” He looks at me with a look that’s so exuberant that it’s hard to reconcile with what I know of Drake Brutal.