Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“The doctor said you should stay in bed.” He breaks the silence. I take a step back.
“Where am I?”
“My house. Please, lie back down before you hurt yourself.”
“You drugged me. You stuck a needle in my arm.”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s crazy. This is crazy. I can’t—” I stagger forward and try to get past him, but he grabs me, lifts me off my feet, and carries me to the bed. I try to struggle, but I have no strength as he drops me back on the mattress. I stare at him, my breath hitching in my throat, aware that he can do whatever he wants with me and curious about how it might feel for this brute, this massive monstrosity to peel my clothes off and brush his rough lips along the soft skin of my inner thigh.
Which is an objectively insane thing to think under the circumstances.
“If you leave my house, you will die.” He stares down at me and I squirm under his attention.
“You mean, you’ll kill me?”
“No. You will either die in the attempt, or you will be killed back in town. Either way, you’re stuck here for now.”
I want to ask him what he means by that, but I shut my mouth. I’m trembling with fear. I’m at his mercy, completely vulnerable and intensely aware of it. He remains standing at the foot of the bed, his enormous shoulders and sculpted chest flexing with some inner emotion. Frustration? Desire? Rage? I can’t tell—his face is a mask.
“What do you want from me?”
He nods once. “That’s a better question.”
“Are you going to answer it?”
“In time.” He paces away, hands behind his back. “Your father stole a lot of money from me, but he also stole from two other men. Clifton Frost and Alberto Gallo.” He glances over. “Do you know who they are?”
“Vaguely,” I admit. “Frost is a big-time investor. Gallo owns the Lucky Seven.”
“That’s correct. Frost currently controls three resort hotels in the area, most notably the Villa Fortuna. Your father owes all three of us a lot of money.”
“I told you. I don’t know where he is.” My heart’s beginning to race. My head’s clearing as adrenaline begins to burn away the lingering drugs. “Who was that before? What did you give me?”
“The doctor was making sure you weren’t experiencing any side effects. You were given a common drug called propofol.” Erick tilts his head, considering. “I’m here to offer you a job.”
A laugh rips from my throat. A job? This man can’t be serious. How in the hell could I ever work for someone like him? Except I suspect this job isn’t really an offer, but more of a prison sentence.
I want to scream. I’m not a part of my dad’s scheme. If he stole money from these big-time casino owners, that’s on him, but I’m totally innocent.
I’ve kept my head down. I did okay in high school, got a scholarship to an arts college out in California, I earned my degree and moved back to Vegas. I’ve been painting ever since, trying to sell stuff on Etsy and Instagram, while earning enough to survive by picking up hours at Picasso’s Drinking Problem. I’ve done my best to stay away from my father’s long, storied criminal career.
Now it’s returned to eat at me. Threatening to tear me to pieces.
“I don’t want to work for you,” I tell him, raising my chin and trying to find some little piece of defiance left.
Mostly all I fear is terror.
“That’s not a smart answer. Let me try again. I’m here to offer you a job in exchange for not killing you.”
I shuffle back as I suck in a few quick breaths. “You wouldn’t. You can’t just murder me.”
But of course he can. This is Erick Costa, casino magnate, mafia lord. Everyone knows what he is and what he does, and nobody can touch him, not even the Vegas police. Especially not them. How else can they afford their pensions, if not from Costa bribe money?
“I don’t want to,” Erick says. “That’s why I’m offering you a job instead. However, my compatriots Gallo and Frost see value in sending a message to any other would-be thieves roaming around town.”
“What’s the message?”
“Fuck with us and we will murder your family.” He delivers that line without a hint of emotion.
“Oh.” I’m on the verge of panic. “Right. Okay.”
“You’re here because I think you can be valuable in other ways.” He walks over and sits on the edge of the bed.
I shiver and close my eyes. Disgust floods my mouth. I want to spit, scream, throw up. He wants to use me, make me work for my father’s debt. I’m being trafficked, turned into a whore, used for my flesh and skin.
It’s horrible. It’s worse than death, and if I weren’t such a coward, I’d beg him to end me instead.