The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2)(4)

Oh, here we go…

Remy glances at me with a goofy grin, and I nod with a sigh, scooping Jude off his chair as I move from mine and follow Chipper Chuck toward a wild head of curls.

God help me because I can only imagine how this is going to go.




Daisy

I think I’m in love with Vegas.

Sure, I’ve only just arrived in Sin City, haven’t even checked in to my room, but Lady Luck is smiling down on me. Flashing her pearly whites and shaking her tits and telling me I’m the best little slot girl in the whole wide world.

“Buffalo! Bonus round!” my slot machine chants, and I watch the screen flash with excitement as the big wheel spins around and more money is added to my bankroll.

Technically, I’m here for work not pleasure, but holy shit, this is fantastic!

I don’t even like gambling, and I sure as shit don’t know what made me stop at this slot machine before heading up to my room, but damn, I’m glad I did.

The sounds of a running stampede fill my ears when I manage some kind of triple bonus with a screen full of buffalo. Truthfully, I don’t have a clue about this game. I don’t know what any of it means or why I’m winning, but when I look down at my bankroll, I see the numbers keep going up, up, up.

“Woo-hoo!” I cheer and do a little two-step dance beside my chair. When I glance over my shoulder, I force one of the casino staff who’s emptying out the trash cans to give me a high five.

Considering I’m the crazy woman jumping around like a banshee, he mostly looks confused, but eventually, a little grin spreads across his lips.

“Good luck, ma’am,” he says and moves across the casino floor, in the opposite direction from me and my lucky slot machine.

“Holy hell, I can’t believe this,” I whisper to myself and force my ass back into my chair as my bonus spins finish up and my winnings are calculated.

$135.13 Fantastic Win! sits front and center on the screen.

Somehow, after only putting a twenty-dollar bill into this machine, I’m up over a hundred bucks.

Viva Las Vegas, baby!

The rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins makes me understand why people love Vegas so much. I mean, I’ve just barely gotten off my plane from LAX, and I’m an official winner.

But now, the big question remains. Do I stay or do I go?

Do I keep playing? Or do I cash out my winnings and head up to my room to take a shower and a nap before I have to get ready for my work party?

I mean, you did just get off an early morning flight from LAX and probably smell like sweat and stale pretzels…

“Don’t get too cocky,” a man says from over my shoulder, making me whip my head around. He’s cute in a seriously obvious way with his playful light brown-blond hair and big smile, but the glaze in his eyes makes it equally apparent how drunk he is. “Trusts me, Lady Luck loves to hit cocky shits in the balls. I know because I’m one of ’em.”

Raucous laughter follows him in the form of two more almost heinously attractive men, one of whom is curiously holding a hand over his eyes.

“Ty,” the dark-haired one says, “stop bothering people.”

“Who’s he bothering?” the one covering his eyes asks, earning a smack to the back of the head from his dark-haired counterpart.

“Just uncover your eyes, Jude. I’m pretty sure Sophie knew you were going to have vision when you came here. You’re not cheating, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sophie is a goddess,” the man recites then, making me smile big for the first time during this interaction. They’re all drunk, which can be intimidating for a woman on her own, but they’re funny too, and I take that as a good sign.

Maybe my relaxed state is why I’m so caught off guard when a fourth man approaches, but perhaps it’s because he immediately strikes me as different.

Given his strong jaw, swirling ocean-blue eyes, perfectly messy dark hair, and a body that looks fit and trim beneath his jeans and white shirt, there isn’t a single cell inside me that’s upset by his presence.

I quirk an amused eyebrow in his direction as I address the first man, the playful one I now know is named Ty. “So…you’re saying I should cash out before this slot machine can eat up all my winnings?”

Mr. Reserved doesn’t say anything, but I swear his mouth almost hitches up at the corners.

“Yep,” Ty answers, a little too loudly for our close proximity. “But no matter what you decide,” he continues and places one single black casino chip in my hand. “It’s my patriotic duty to make you leave here a winner.”

“Patriotic duty?” I question, and he just winks. The other two drunk companions burst into laughter, but my eyes, they jump to the fourth man—the one who’s yet to say anything.

I glance down at the chip in my palm. Holy shit. Five hundred dollars? It sure seems like Lady Luck likes my balls just as they are.

“Wow. Thank you. This is beyond generous, and I’m not sure I can acc—”

“Yeah, you can,” the man interrupts me with a sway and a smile. “I’m not paying you for sex or nothin’. Just doin’ my patriotic duty.” He punctuates that statement by saluting me as if I’m a soldier in uniform, and it spurs a giggle to jump from my lips.

“Jesus,” the dark-haired one chastises, grabbing Ty by the shoulder and pulling him farther away from me. An apologetic smile crests his lips when he meets my eyes. “I wish I could say he’s never like this, but I’d be lying.”