All In: A Vegas Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  But as an employee, I could see through the obfuscation in their design. I found my way through the casino and into the hotel lobby with ease, then into the elevator.

  I hummed to myself while the elevator rose to the 32nd floor.

  Walking down the hall, I squinted at each door number. They were stamped in gold plate in ornate script, which made it difficult to read unless you were up close. 3218. Then 3222.

  I finally reached 3226. Paranoid, I double checked the number on my phone before knocking. Eddie answered after a few seconds.

  “You’re late,” he barked. I almost didn’t recognize him: he’d removed half his security uniform, leaving him in only a tight-fitting tank top tucked into his dress pants.

  I held up my bag. “I brought tacos.”

  His attitude totally changed. “Oh, hell yeah. Did you get salsa?”

  “You know it.”

  I’d learned that Eddie had an abrasive attitude. It wasn’t just with me—he was that way with everyone. That made it a little easier to accept.

  But only a little.

  It was a simple room with a king sized bed and a work desk in the corner. The far wall was all glass covered by thick curtains. Two chairs had been moved from the desk to face the window. Eddie pulled the curtain aside to reveal a view of the Vegas strip extending away from us, hundreds of yellow lights diminishing into the distance like an artery, with casinos on either side.

  Right ahead of us was the Volga, shiny and new.

  Our vantage on the 32nd floor allowed us to look down on the roof of the Volga, and more importantly the white and red helicopter pad. Right now it was empty.

  Eddie sat in one of the chairs and moved a pair of binoculars off the other so I could sit. “This is a nice setup,” I said.

  He was already ripping into the foil of his first taco. “Uh huh. Called in a favor to a friend who works here and had free vouchers. We’ve got this room for the next 7 days.”

  We were fairly sure the dirty money was arriving by helicopter. It seemed obvious once I realized it, but we had to be absolutely certain. The plan was to take shifts watching each night until we saw them unloading the cash from the helicopter. We also needed to verify the night of the delivery. Was it every night, or every Saturday like the delivery I’d witnessed? Or some random night?

  Eddie and I would watch the roof from 5:00 to 10:00pm before being relieved by Xander and Bryce. Zeke was suspicious when I requested the graveyard shift at the Volga for the next week, but only shrugged his shoulders and said sure. Eddie insisted we needed two people up here at all times in case someone fell asleep.

  Eddie pulled a small cooler out from under the bed and cracked it open for me. No alcohol, just a variety of soda and energy drinks. I grabbed a Pepsi.

  “I feel like a cop on a stakeout,” I said.

  He chuckled. “There’s no difference, really. It’s the same thing.”

  There was something in the way he said it that gave me pause. Like he was reminiscing. “Wait a minute. Did you used to be a cop?”

  “LAPD,” he said. “Six years.”

  “Holy moly. That must have been intense.”

  “Yep,” was all he said.

  I took the binoculars and aimed them out the window. The roof of the Volga leaped into view, every detail crystal clear. The helicopter pad was raised off the ground five feet with stairs leading to the roof proper. Then it was a 30 foot walk to the elevator room. From here we’d have a perfect view of anyone moving boxes of cash.

  I put them down and stole a glance at Eddie. He was a lot more muscular than I’d expected, and his face was more defined than usual. It took me a second to figure out why.

  “Did you get a haircut?”

  “Mmm hmm,” he said around a bite of taco.

  “I like it! The shaggy look didn’t suit your features. Where do you go to get your hair done?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Why’d you quit the LAPD?”

  Eddie chewed his food silently. “Who says I quit?”

  “Well, you were a cop for six years. Now you aren’t a cop. So it stands to reason…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Surely you—”

  “You should drop it.”

  The intensity in his voice shut me up more than the words themselves. I’d struck a nerve.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just focus on why we’re up here.”

  It wasn’t a hard job. The roof of the Volga was right there. It would have been impossible to miss the helicopter’s arrival. But Eddie was taking it seriously, and I didn’t want to bug him, so I sat in silence and finished my food.

  It arrived half an hour later, floating into view without any fanfare and then drifting down to the landing pad. Four women in long fur coats got out, holding their hands on their head to keep their hair from being disturbed by the helicopter rotors. Then a man got out and escorted them over to the elevator while the helicopter departed, heading back in the direction of McCarran International Airport.

  No crates.

  The night dragged on. I played on my phone and tried not to think about all the tips I was losing by missing the busy hours at the Volga. The helicopter occasionally returned, dropped off some VIPs, then floated away again.

  It was boring. They didn’t show you that part when they showed cop stakeouts, even though it was intuitively obvious. I wished I had a magazine to read. Next time I’d come more prepared. I made some weak coffee in the tiny hotel room coffee maker, knowing I would need the energy for later.

  The knock on the door made me jump so high I almost fell back in my chair. But Eddie only rose and went to open it. Xander and Bryce strode inside.

  “Ohh, nice view,” Xander said. “Any luck?”

  “Nothing but passengers,” Eddie said from the closet. He was already changing into his security uniform, buttoning up the front. “Have fun you two. Don’t fall asleep.”

  He left in a hurry. I started to follow but Xander put an arm out to block my path. “Wait a minute or two. So none of us are seen leaving together.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “And use a different elevator,” Bryce added. “I took the east elevator up and Xander took the main one.”

  “Got it.”

  Bryce started removing his dealer vest. “I’m so glad I brought a change of clothes. If I had to sit here wearing my work clothes all night…”

  I tried not to watch as he stripped his shirt off. I could still remember the feel of his muscles pressed against my body, hard and warm. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore so I said, “Have a good night,” and quickly left.

  *

  My shift was busy for the first two hours. That was the tail end of the casino rush. Then it rapidly died down as people ran out of money, or energy, or both. Then it was just the graveyard shift of sad souls at the casino.

  There were no mules to watch either—they’d injected all their money already.

  Soon I was like a zombie on my feet, forgetting drink orders and unable to remember which table ordered what. I chugged an energy drink on my first break but all that did was give me a headache.

  By the time my shift ended I was struggling to stay upright. Even tying my shoes in the locker room required an unusual amount of focus. And when I left the casino the first hints of daylight were peeking over the mountains to the east. It was morning already. That was a depressing thought.

  Angela was on the phone with someone when I got home. It must have been personal because she stopped talking when she saw me come through the door, then told them she’d call them back. “Damn girl. You look like the walking dead.”

  “I feel like it too.”

  “How’d you get stuck with the graveyard shift?” Angela asked. “They usually reserve that for the washed up waitresses.”

  “Long story,” was all I said before collapsing in bed. I didn’t even bo
ther to take my clothes off, and I fell asleep moments after my head hit the pillow.

  I woke up to my phone ringing in my pocket. My first impulse was to ignore it. I’d just laid down.

  What if it’s about the heist?

  Maybe Xander and Bryce had seen the cash arrive and wanted to discuss it! That thought forced my eyes open. I fumbled for my phone and answered right away.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Sage!” came Michel’s effeminate voice. “I have two cups of hot tea waiting in my kitchen, but my kitchen is devoid of Sage!”

  Oh shit. I had a singing lesson today. I looked at the time—I’d been sleeping for 5 hours already.

  “I’m sorry Michel, I lost track of the time. Give me a minute and I’ll be right there…”

  I trailed off. I was already 15 minutes late and it would take another 30 to get there. Michel always had a full schedule, so it’s not like he could move my appointment back.

  “I’m sorry, Michel. I’m going to have to cancel.”

  “These things happen, darling,” he said with a sigh. “I understand. Are you well, Sage?”

  “I’m fine, why?”

  “You sound tired. Very, very tired.”

  “I had to work late.”

  He made a tsk tsk sound. “Do not let your job get in the way of what truly matters to you. Think on this, darling.”

  I laid back in bed and stared at the ceiling. It was good advice, in general. But what was getting in the way of my dreams—the potential casino heist—was something that would help me pursue my dreams.

  $3 million.

  No, it was closer to $4 million now.

  Everything would be okay if we could just pull this off.

  17

  Sage

  It was a long week.

  Between the stakeout across the street and my actual job, I was essentially pulling all-nighters every night. I had old highschool friends who bragged on Facebook about pulling all-nighters at college as if it was a badge of honor. For me it just made me miserable.

  I was a girl who needed her sleep. And I struggled to sleep when I got home while the sun was up because my body kept jerking awake with the certainty that I had slept in, or was late for something.

  It was made worse by the fact that we saw nothing. The helicopter brought no cash. With each day we became more and more certain that the cash delivery occurred once a week on Saturday.

  But Eddie insisted we keep watch each night anyways, just to be certain.

  It took a couple of days, but I was slowly pulling Eddie out of his shell. I brought magazines with me and picked his brain about which fashion models he thought were the most attractive. I filled in crossword puzzles and asked him for help on clues I didn’t know. By Friday night he was an active participant in my crossword puzzles rather than someone suffering my unending questions.

  When you peeled away his harsh exterior, Eddie was a nice guy. He even had a sense of humor, though it was dry and subtle. Once or twice I made a comment about our situation that pulled a smile from the depths of his hard face.

  “Okay, my turn,” he said on Thursday.

  I’d broken Eddie’s rule about no alcohol and brought a bottle of wine to drink with our Italian take-out, and I was happy to see that he was in a good mood after two glasses. Now we were killing time by playing silly college drinking games.

  “Never have I ever…” His green eyes lit up. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”

  I winced and took a sip of my wine.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “It was a few years ago,” I said. “Right after high school. A girlfriend and I were at a club and both had our sights set on the same guy. We made it a competition to see who could take him home, and in the end…”

  “I see.”

  “It wasn’t as fun as you might think,” I said. “Most guys can’t properly please one woman, let alone two.”

  “Maybe you’re just with the wrong guys,” he said casually.

  “Oh? And you think you could do better, mister never-had-a-threesome?”

  He laughed, a rumble as deep as his voice. “Good point. I like to focus on one woman at a time.” He picked up the bottle of wine and gestured with it. “Maybe you need the other kind of threesome. Two men to service you.”

  I smiled over my wine. “Now we’re talking.”

  He held my gaze a moment longer and then said, “Okay, my turn again. Never have I ever…”

  By Saturday we were all excited—and desperate—to see if the helicopter would make its delivery that night as we expected. There was a feeling of extra tension in the air when I arrived, bag of food in hand.

  “Chinese,” I said when he let me in. “I brought pork fried rice, some chow mein, and a bunch of dumplings. Take your pick and I’ll eat whatever you don’t want.”

  “All of that sounds fucking delicious,” he said as he closed the door behind me. He smelled fresh and spicy tonight, and I could feel steam in the air. He must have just showered.

  “Then we can share.”

  “You look nice,” he said.

  “Oh.” I looked down at the dress I wore underneath my coat. “Just came from a gig.”

  “Somewhere nice?”

  I let out a snort. “I wish. It was worse than the places I usually book. Not even a fourth-rate casino lounge. A bar.”

  “I’m sure you still crushed it,” he said, which was the closest I’d ever heard to a compliment from him.

  I smiled. “I did.” I divided up the food onto two plates and we dug in, not speaking at all while we stared out at the Vegas strip.

  “So why’d you quit the LAPD?” I’d asked him again the second night of our stakeout as a joke to break the ice, but it had become a running joke every night since.

  But instead of rolling his eyes, tonight he said, “Because I was a good cop.”

  I was so surprised to get an answer out of him that I almost choked on my noodles. “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t look at me while he spoke. He focused intently on his plate of food. And no matter how casual he tried to sound, I could hear the emotion in his voice.

  “I was a good cop. Did everything by the book. I’d always wanted to be a cop because I came from a long line of cops. My dad, both uncles, and even my grandpa were police officers. They taught me how to do it the right way. I read the rules and conflict handbook front to back. You see, there’s things you can and can’t do when you’re a cop. One common thing is accepting free stuff. Convenience stores always try to give cops free food and coffee because they want them around. They’re less likely to be robbed if a cop is always around, right?”

  He shook his head. “But not me. I never accepted anything more than a cup of free water while on the force. But my squad wasn’t so strict. Most of them were well seasoned and took a lot more liberties. Free hot dogs or slurpees at 7-11. Got their breakfast, lunch, and dinner free that way. But it wasn’t just that. It was restaurants, too. Sometimes whoever my partner was for that week would walk out of a restaurant without even thinking of paying. Usually that meant I paid for both of us, but that always pissed them off even more. Like I was ruining their fun.

  “So this goes on for a while, right? Until one day the Sergeant takes me out to lunch. Nice Italian place, family owned. Great garlic knots. This sergeant tells me I’m worrying the other officers. That I need to lighten up, relax a little bit. I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want to disagree with him because he’s staring at me intently, real focused, right? So all I do is nod and tell him I’m cool, that I’m relaxed.”

  We heard the familiar THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the approaching helicopter. It landed and a handsome couple in an evening gown and tuxedo got out and were escorted to the elevator.

  “Then what happened?” I asked.

  Eddie paused to swallow a bite of dumpling. “We’re finishing up our meal, and I’m worried about walking out without paying. It’s eating me up inside. I’m thinking of
how I can slip $40 to the owner without my Sergeant seeing, when the owner comes out to greet us. He’s a shriveled little man, had to be pushing 80. His apron weighed more than he did. He thanks the Sergeant for coming, says it’s good to see him, just falling over himself with glee. And then my Sergeant does the last thing I expect.”

  I was leaning forward, literally on the edge of my seat. “What?”

  “He asks for the bill. The owner runs off to get it, and I’m practically dying with relief. I didn’t want to take a free meal from this little old man. And my Sergeant asks if I’m cool. I tell him yeah, I’m cool.”

  Eddie got a faraway look in his eye.

  “The man returns, but he doesn’t have our bill. He’s got a white envelope. Thick. He puts it in front of my Sergeant and thanks him again, and now I can tell he’s scared of my Sergeant, deathly afraid of him. My Sergeant picks up the envelope, opens it to look at the money, then tells the owner that I’m cool too. He asks the owner why he doesn’t think I’m cool. The owner is stammering at this point, protesting that he’s sure I’m a cool guy too, so my boss demands to know why I don’t get the same treatment he gets. The owner runs away faster than I ever thought someone his age could, and when he returns he’s got another white envelope of cash for me.”

  “Oh no,” I said.

  Eddie nodded without looking at me. “We leave and get back in the police cruiser, but my Sergeant doesn’t start the engine. He just stares at me. Then he tells me I’m as bad as all of them now, so I’d better start acting like it or else the other officers might have to do something about it.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Me too. When my shift ended I packed up my apartment and left town without a second thought. I wanted to be a cop in Nevada but I was afraid that would pop me on their background check, so I got a job as a security guard down at the Luxor. They’re a lot more lax on who they hire. I told them I was an ex cop, they gave me an evaluation shift, and then hired me.”

  I wanted to say something comforting but nothing came to mind. Nothing adequate. I tried to imagine having to choose between keeping my dream job and compromising my values. The anguish I felt for Eddie made me want to cry.