Six(62)

He stopped searching in his bag and looked up to me. He reached up, running his fingers across his lips as his gaze drifted down and back up.

“Just…get dressed,” he said, turning back to his search.

I had to admit, making a strong, ruthless killer into a man ruled by his dick was quite empowering, especially in my situation.

It took about an hour to get to the level of dolled up my outfit called for, but the groan of approval that left Six made it worth it.

The drive to our destination was longer than I expected, and suddenly brighter as we neared the strip. The sun had set, yet it was as bright as day on the streets. People flooded the sidewalks, drinks in hand. The flashing of slot machines was visible through open doors, calling people in with their pretty-pretty lights and air conditioning.

Not that the air conditioning was needed right then, but in a few short months it would be a strong pull from the desert heat.

We ended at the far end near the airport, at Mandalay Bay, leaving the car with the valet and entering the gigantic establishment.

“Shit, this place is huge,” I said in awe.

While the gaming floor was comparable to the Venetian’s, the high ceilings and dark décor area was packed with people.

“Stay close,” Six said as he slipped his hand in mine.

I stared down at our hands that were joined like any other couple. It wasn’t like we hadn’t held hands in public before, it was the way he did it was such ease. The way my chest warmed and my heart raced.

That feeling scared me more than he did.

We weren’t really married. He wasn’t my husband, but in some ways, he was.

The more people we waded through, the more he squeezed my hand. Cut off, people stopping in front of us to stare—I began to wonder how close he was to pulling out his gun.

It wouldn’t happen, but they were testing his patience.

We made it to the blackjack tables and took two of the open seats. There were seven spots in all, and only two remaining open. There was another couple, probably in their forties, and an older gentleman in a suit with a glass of what I guessed to be whiskey.

The dealer was a short statured Asian man who was probably in his thirties.

Was he really our next contact?

Six pulled out four one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the dealer. He stared at them for a brief second, glanced at Six, then made the change call. He slid over a large pile of chips, and Six gave me half.

We played for a while. I lost about a hundred dollars, while Six was up about five hundred. The couple left, and we sat there with the older man. I didn’t know how much longer we were going to be, but my stack was dwindling.

Counting cards was not my strong suit.

“Hot night tonight,” the gentleman said, tipping his glass to us.

I stared down at the cards in front of me—a king and five—trying to decide to hit or not. Tapping the table, I cringed as the dealer turned over the next card, blowing out a sigh when a four appeared.

“It is,” Six said.

I glanced over at him, surprised he responded. When I looked back down at my cards I hissed a “yes!” when the dealer busted at twenty-four and I finally won a hand.

“You’ve got an awful pretty kitty with you tonight,” the man said.

That stopped me, and I understood. “Oh, come on!” I cried out, pissed that, once again, I was being referred to as an animal. Luckily my outburst happened when I hit and bust, making perfect sense.

“Cards aren’t being too kind to you tonight, are they, kitty?”

I turned my head and glared at him.

“You’ve got a feisty one,” he said with a smirk.

“You have no idea,” Six said.

“Where you two from?”

“Virginia.”

“And her?”

Six’s lip twitched. “I took her from her boring life in Ohio.”

I wanted to object, but he was right—my life was boring.

The man nodded. “My drink’s gone dry. Think I’ll head over to the sports bar for a refill and place a penny or two on some ponies.”

“Good luck.”

He nodded at us. “Night.”

Six and I were left alone at the table, the dealer waiting on our new bets. Reluctantly, I pushed a ten out, while Six pushed an entire stack out—almost four hundred dollars.

That was a lot, and when the cards came out, my eyes grew wide. There was no way he would hit on twenty, which would be a nice payout.

I only had six, and hit three times before busting at twenty-two. When Six knocked on the table I turned to him in wide-eyed horror.

What was he doing? The odds of him getting a one were astronomical.

Three.

He tapped again and I was shocked when the dealer continued.

Eight.

Again.

The dealer ignored him and went on to his own hand.

“Dealer wins.”

“Too bad,” Six said as he stood.

Everything in me wanted to go off on him, but I couldn’t cause a scene. Instead, I stared at him as I took his hand and waved goodbye to the dealer.

“What was that about?” I asked as we merged in to the flow of human traffic.

Holy shit, Six was right. A herd of cattle walking together.

He didn’t respond but kept me close, even going so far as to wrap his arm around my shoulders. There was an opening in the crowd, and we rushed through. After weaving through a few slot banks, we ended up at the sports bar and went in.