Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
I nod furiously.
“He is. He’s a stern man who believes that God’s way is the only way and that furthermore, he’s the only one who can interpret God’s intent too. It was overbearing before, and it’s only gotten worse in the last couple years. But like I mentioned, he’s still my father, and I love him. I just need to figure out who that girl was. I mean, why was she dressed like that? A lot of ladies are wearing nap dresses these days, but her outfit went way beyond that.”
Brent nods while still staring at the road.
“I have no idea, but is your father fostering teens, maybe? I know a lot of church members take in people in need, especially with the recent crises in Ukraine, Yemen, and Syria. Maybe she was an escapee from a FLDS sect.”
I shake my head.
“I doubt it, because the date kind of looked romantic, don’t you think? He was holding her hand and she was clinging to him like they belong together. Ugh gross.” Hunter and Brent go silent as nausea rises in my chest. “Oh shit. This is bad news, isn’t it?” I ask in a low voice as the truck comes to a halt in front of my apartment building. “My dad’s up to no good. I can feel it.”
Hunter turns to me.
“You would know best,” the handsome man says in a slow tone. “After all, Kaci, you said that he’s been off the reservation for a while now, and it seems like there’s nothing reining him in if he’s been spinning out for years. Is it possible that this time, your dad’s doing something malicious?”
I don’t answer even as a stab of pain makes me gasp because in my heart of hearts, I have a feeling that Hunter’s right. My father is up to no good, and I only hope that I’m not the one who ends up paying the price.
8
Hunter
The casino is bustling as I stand at a table, dapper in my waistcoat and starched white shirt. Four new players make their way to my table, and I can already tell how it’s going to go. The customers look like drunken frat boys with too much gel in their hair, acne on their chins, and flashy, over-priced watches. Whatever. The hotel will take their money so fast they’ll be skulking away soon enough.
Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, the frat boys have met their match. It wasn’t strategic playing on my part. Instead, the Corinthian has strict rules on when the house plays or folds. Still, the odds are stacked in our favor, and the boys slink away, defeated and humbled while muttering under their breaths. Meanwhile, my shift is over, and my replacement comes up next to me.
“How’s it hanging?” Greg asks in a mild tone. He’s a middle-aged guy with graying hair and jowls. But don’t be fooled because the man’s been with the Corinthian for more than a decade now, and is a valued employee. I shrug.
“Steady. Nothing to report. Just the reg.”
He nods, surveying the scene.
“Good. We like it regular around here.”
It’s true too because believe it or not, there are still crews that like to work “hot tables.” It’s something that started two decades ago when MIT grads tried to card count, and it’s illegal, but it still happens. Fortunately, we’re dealing blackjack and not poker, so it’s not a huge problem in our part of the world.
With one last shrug, I leave the floor and head to the break room, where Brent’s on his phone. He too is dressed in the casino’s uniform, which looks good on him actually. My man and I are both tall and athletic, so any kind of formalwear enhances the lean, long length of our frames.
Brent looks up as I approach.
“Sean wants us to grab a drink with him. You up for it?” he asks.
I pause.
“Sean, as in Kaci’s ex?”
Brent grunts.
“The one and only. We’ll meet him at Jimmy’s.”
“Sounds good,” I nod. Then, we change into casual clothes and head over to a bar that’s off the Strip. Everyone thinks Vegas is all about the main drag, but actually there are a lot of great places just a few blocks away. Jimmy’s is one of those joints with a relaxed vibe, country music, and ice-cold beers.
Sean is waiting for us at the bar and lifts a hand in greeting. He’s a handsome motherfucker with chestnut hair and an athletic build, even if his belt buckle is so shiny that it’s refracting light throughout the room.
“Hey, my man,” I growl, squinting as a shaft of light hits me straight in the eye. “What’s up with the bling?”
Sean laughs while clapping me on the shoulder.
“What, you don’t like it? Brother, you have no taste because this here wolf-head belt buckle cost me a pretty penny.”