High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (3 page)

“What is it?” I repeat to the security guy while Blake tilts his glass at a waitress, smiling when she hands him another Scotch straight off her tray. There’s four more lined up right behind that one. Booze doesn’t hit our kind like it does humans. Stronger blood. Still…Blake’s management. He should be setting an example.

“The college girl…I, uh…?” the security guy stammers.

“C’mon, man!” Blake shouts, scaring the dude half to hell.

“She’s…I think she’s…playing the Savannah.”

“We’re
in
Savannah’s, you idiot!” Blake says. “Are you high?”
 

“No. I mean…she just dropped a stack. Brown under two reds.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Did the croupier see? Did she call the high bet?”

Security guy shakes his head. I check his name-tag. Savannah’s employs over ten thousand people. I’m still working on remembering names. “Are you
sure
, Darren? The croupier did not see her place the high bet?”

I’m speaking real slow. Over enunciating.
 

“No, sir. The high bet wasn’t called.”

“Fucking bitch,” Blake scowls. “I knew it! I’m gunna cut her throat—”

The serving girl flinches. Just a little.

I shoot Blake a watch-your-mouth glare.
 

Me, Blake and Darren the security guy are huddled tight around the monitor now, our attention glued on the college girl. She’s tapping her palm with her index finger in an odd, nervous way. Could just be excitement. But it doesn’t feel that way. I’m no expert in gaming. But I can read people pretty well, especially humans.

This one is up to something.

Excitement races through my blood. I reach up and loosen my tie. I thought the casino would be mostly all show. No bite. But this? This could get interesting. If she’s caught she’ll be in my debt—

Then I scent something. Blake’s hunched over right beside me. Gripping the edge of the table. His claws slowly slipping into the wood as his animal emerges.
 

I give him a hard slap on the back.

“You all right?” I ask.

“Sure. Yeah. Just…pissed off is all.”

“Right. Remember who you are,” I say, lifting the security clearance badge that says his name and title. “Remember what you’re here for.”

Blake flicks his narrow tongue over his thin lips. “Sure,
little
brother. Anything you say. Now. You mind if I get back to work?”

This was a lousy idea.
 

The casino.
 

Partnering with Blake.

Moving Blue Line’s headquarters from Belgium to Las vegas.
 

It was all one colossal fuck-up of an idea.

Why, then? The question I’ve asked myself for months as we went through the long process of designing and building the world’s largest most expansive casino.
 

For family loyalty.

Because we look after our own. The pride comes first. Always.

Even if they’re a bunch of fuck-ups.
 

Or in Blake’s case…murderers.

At least that’s what I keep reminding myself.

But the hard truth is…I came to Vegas for me.

I cut the thought short and return my attention to the girl. She’s wearing a blouse that’s exactly the right kind of revealing. Her laugh comes easy, ostensibly loosened by the Long Islands she’s been sipping for nearly an hour. Suddenly I feel myself…intensely drawn to the screen.
 

To her image.
 

Like I could watch this girl all day and never get bored. There’s something in how she carries herself. Her shoulders held up, capable but not haughty or arrogant. Self-possessed, maybe. I can’t see her eyes very well, but I get the feeling they’re pretty. Fiery. Not bitchy or condescending. Simply…alive. Quick. Sharp. I get the sense this is a girl who’s been hit hard by life and keeps on fighting—

“Do we have a goddamned name yet?” Blake shouts in Darren the security guy’s ear.

“The woman is a grifter,” someone says from directly behind me. “And she’s violating federal parole.”

I drag my gaze away from the screen, surprised by my reluctance to stop staring at the girl. A weird voyeuristic sensation tingles through me. I think about watching her undress. See her stepping into the shower, hot steam billowing around her—

Shit.

This potential thief-girl is under my skin. What the hell?
 

That
never
happens.
 

Well, almost never.

And yeah, she’s all right looking. But she’s not what you’d call a stunner. What’s happening is I’m more stressed by the casino opening than I’d like to admit. That has to be it. Displacing that stress into desire—

“Excuse me?” I say, turning to meet the bright green eyes of a smoking hot blonde. She frowns, tenses as our eyes meet. All business. “And you are? Excuse me, of course. It’s day one. I’m still learning—”

“Colette Williams,” the woman says. “Nevada Gaming Commission liaison for Savannah’s Casino, Mr. Stone? We met—”

“Of course, Miss Williams. We met several times during security strategy meetings. My apologies. Now. Who is this woman in my casino?”

Her demeanor changes. Becomes…inviting. “Please, Mr. Stone. Call me Colette.”
 

She turns to study the screen. Blake stares at her ass.
 

Shit. Sometimes I can’t even stomach the guy—

“The gambler playing roulette is Summer Alexa Mason,” Colette says. “A convicted felon. Local girl. A known lifelong grifter. Ties to Il Potere.”

“Il Potere?” I ask.
 

“The Power,” Blake says, locking eyes with Colette.
 

Colette nods. “Don Luca Abatelli isn’t known for being a modest man. I heard your organization had a slight…disagreement with Abatelli over some property?”

“Whatever. The wop didn’t want us here,” Blake scowls. “Too bad. Money talks—”

“You think this is Abatelli’s doing?” I ask Colette.
 

I know about Il Potere and Abatelli’s mafia crime family, of course. You want to do business in this town you learn about them, sooner rather than later. But it’s good to keep people questioning what you know. If Colette thinks I’m a bigger fool than I am, fine. You don’t become president of a world renowned corporation by being scrupulously honest a hundred percent of the time.
 

Colette shrugs in a way that says: you’re in trouble, bud.
 

Good. She’s underestimating me.

“That Summer bitch is a fucking lifelong casino cheat,” Blake says, almost spitting at the screen. “I
knew
it.”

“You called it,” I admit, trying to give credit where it’s due.

Blake extends his hand to Colette.
 

She lets it hang between them until the moment grows awkward.
 

But Blake doesn’t give a shit. He
thrives
on awkward. After a few moments Colette gives in and takes my brother’s hand. He gives her a squeeze hard enough to make her eyes flutter.
 

“We’ve also met,” Colette says, trying to pull her hand away.

“I know,” Blake says, giving her a slimy smile. “I remember that sweet rack.”

Blake has this thing he does with women. A way he looks at them. Like he’s hate-fucking them. I’ve told him to cut it out. He swears he doesn’t know what I mean.

I step between the two, forcing my brother to release Colette’s hand.

The Gaming Liaison visibly relaxes.

We’re in Wing Three of Savannah’s security complex, built directly under the casino floor. The staff have taken to calling the security area the dungeon, although from the amount of high-tech equipment in here it looks more like a passenger jet cockpit.
 

There are eleven security wings in total, each focused on a different area of the casino and linked by corridors so long we’ve installed moving walkways for the staff. There’s a wing for the nearly six thousand slot machines. Another for the two hundred-forty nine poker tables, both high and low roller. A wing for the three hundred and twenty-one roulette tables. A wing for each of the three hotels and nine thousand rooms and twenty-eight restaurants. Even one for the indoor jungle safari, complete with zip lines. Imported exotic animals are valuable.
 

Every square inch of space in Savannah’s is under twenty-four hour surveillance. And that’s saying something in a building designed to be not only the world’s biggest casino, but
twice
as big as the next largest. The Venetian Macao in China is five hundred fifty thousand square feet.

Savannah’s comes in at over a million.

My head hurts just thinking about it.

Not to mention how much I indebted my award-winning company, Blue Line, to finance this place—
 

“We should go up and snatch her,” Blake says, excitement quickening his voice. “Drag her into the box. The bitch is already violating parole—”

“Not yet,” I say, struggling to stay calm. For some reason the thought of my brother touching Summer…makes my throat tighten and my animal begin to pace and scratch. “Not unless she pockets that stack if the roulette spin doesn’t land.”

“Of course it’s not gunna land. And of course she’s gunna pocket the stack,” Blake says, looking at Colette to back him up. The Gaming Liaison Officer crosses her arms and ignores him. Blake shrugs. “That grifter look like she has five grand to lose?”

“Let it play out,” I say. “It’s opening night. There are a lot of high rollers out there. Media. Industry insiders. I won’t swamp the floor with security until—”
 

“She fucking robs you blind?” Blake sneers. “She’s a
grifter
. Cheating’s what she does. You should leave this shit to me, little bro. You don’t have the stomach for it. I’ve lived in this town most of my life. Seen its fucking underbelly. It ain’t pretty. You were off making batteries—”

“Electric fuel cells. Clean energy.”

“
Batteries
. Whatever. I get this town.” Blake’s voice drops. “You made me Chief of Security, Landon. You gotta
trust
me—”

Trust.

The word settles into an icy pit in my gut. In my experience, the more a person asks for trust, the less they deserve it. Blake deserves it less than anyone in my life. And he’s been asking for it over and over these last few months—

“Who’s that frat-boy fucker?” Blake snaps at Colette as a stocky, mid-twenties man settles at the roulette table beside Summer. “Her accomplice?”

Colette leans close to the screen. She does have a great rack. I move a little closer. Lean into her. Let my hip press against hers. She stiffens slightly, but doesn’t flinch away. I’m standing beside and slightly behind her. She’s wearing black slacks and a grey jacket. She’s trying real hard to give the appearance of being professional.
 

But I know if I had her alone for half a minute she’d be on her knees.

That might be arrogant. But it’s the truth.
 

I study the creamy skin on Colette’s nape. Her hair’s pulled back in a bun, tiny blonde hairs curling up beneath. She reaches back, as if she can feel my gaze on her flesh. Brushes her fingernails across her skin—

Colette turns and catches me staring at her.
 

Triumph flashes across her face and suddenly she looks…not ugly. But
common
. Even though I’ve only spent a few minutes with her in meetings over the past few months, I know who this woman is. What makes her tick. It’s no wonder I forgot ever having met her. I’ve been with countless women just like Colette Williams. They’re a dime a dozen.
 

She wants to fuck one of the richest men in America.
 

Fine. Doesn’t bother me.
 

We all have needs.
 

What bothers me is the lying. Because Colette
will
lie about her intentions. They all do. No one will just say it. Straight up.
 

I want to fuck you because you’re rich and famous.

I dig my fingernails into the metal edge of the desk beneath the long row of elevated security cameras, turn my shoulder toward Colette and look at the girl at the roulette table.
 

Summer Mason? Shit.
 

I almost hope she isn’t doing what everyone says she is.
 

This suspicion. This inability to trust anyone.
 

It’s the price of success. Of hard work and focus.
 

But it seems the more I have the less I trust.
 

Honesty, not cash, has become the most valuable commodity in my world. Knowing who to trust.
 

It can make the difference between life and death—

Colette presses her hip to mine, slips forward just enough so the outside edge of her ass presses against my inner groin. Fuck sakes. She’s not gunna give up her fish that easy—

I step away, nearly nauseated by the woman. She doesn’t deserve that reaction. But it’s tied up with a whole lot of other emotional junk. Like the fact I’ve never been with a woman who didn’t want to use me for my money.

Never.

Know how that feels? Like I need a shower.
 

I’ve devoted my entire adult life to my company. Put every scrap of energy I have into making Blue Line succeed. And not just for the money or power. Because I believe in what we’re doing. Renewable, sustainable energy. It might not be as sexy as a casino. But it means something.
 

Colette looses a frustrated burst, then flashes me a fiery glare.

Shit. Now she thinks I’m playing hard to get.
 

Truth is I’m not interested. Not in the slightest.
 

But if I tell her that outright
I’m
the one being the jerk.
 

“Do you know the man at the roulette table, Miss Williams?” My voice is distant and cool and totally professional as I echo my brother’s question.

Blake catches my tone, flicks a glance at Colette. Licks his lips.