Shared & Protected

by J P Books

  CHAPTER 1

  Adele

  The couple sitting at my blackjack table is wasted beyond hell, and yet for some reason, they won’t leave. I keep my fake smile plastered on my face and deal the cards, and when he sees the ace on top of his nine, he grins.

  “Aw hell, looks like I’m gonna take the casino’s money again,” he says with a chuckle. His girlfriend snickers and puts her head on his shoulder.

  “If you win, you can do anything you want when we get back to our hotel room,” she coos.

  The idea of these two fooling around makes my skin crawl, and I can see from the other players at the table that I’m not the only one that’s uncomfortable.

  “You heard the lady,” he says to me, waggling his bushy black brow. “Help me then, dealer.”

  I finish handing out the rest of the cards and flip mine. It’s also an ace.

  “Shit,” he mutters.

  “Would anyone like insurance?” I ask the others. A few nod enthusiastically, but the couple directly across from me glare at me.

  “Do it, baby,” she whispers.

  He shakes her off and stares at me intently. “I don’t think she has blackjack,” he says simply. He’s the kind of guy I immediately hate upon meeting them. He speaks with unearned confidence. I know that if it weren’t for all the booze he’s been downing, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as cocky. He’d probably snag insurance first.

  But now that he has an audience and he wants to impress everyone, he’s acting irrationally. He’s acting like a prick to make everyone think he’s cooler than he actually is. I say a quick prayer, praying that I have a ten underneath the second card.

  When I look at the card underneath, it’s a king.

  I bite back a smile and flip my second card over. Immediately, there are two reactions. Relief from those who agreed to have insurance, and explosive anger from the man across from me. He stands up quickly, his chair falling backward, and stares at the cards.

  “This is bullshit,” he shouts. “This bitch is cheating.”

  I can see he’s getting more and more aggravated, so I press a small button under the table to call for security. Within seconds they descend on him, pulling him away while his girlfriend screams how they’re being unfair and treating him poorly.

  This is why I hate my job.

  It wouldn’t be that bad if I did this somewhere without alcohol, but instead, I’m working at this casino in Vegas dealing with alcoholics every other day. I’m not that tall, standing at around five-three, so when big guys like that get pissed off, I can’t help but feel worried about my safety. And does the Red Royale management even act like they care about that?

  Hell no.

  If I could get out of doing this, I’d quit this job in an instant. I’d find somewhere else. Hell, I might even go back to being a waitress if I could find somewhere that got me plenty of tips. But I can’t. I don’t have a choice right now. Not after what happened to dad.

  The thought makes my stomach twist like it always does. I don’t know if I’m madder at him for being so easily fooled or at the man that scammed him into taking this “business opportunity” seriously.

  Dad’s always been interested in owning his own business, or at the very least, investing in a company that he believes will bring him back a ton of profits. He wants to give me and my brother Mark a better life. He wants to earn enough money so that we never have to work again. It’s an admirable goal, but it’s gotten him into some pretty questionable situations.

  But this time, he made a deal with the wrong man, and it landed him $100,000 in the hole.

  Jesus, I still have trouble rationalizing that this is the reality we’re living in right now. My dad owes some piece of shit conman all that money, and if he doesn’t pay him back, I’m worried that he’ll end up being hurt by this guy. After mom died, dad became the one person I could count on, even more so than Mark. I can’t let anything happen to him.

  That’s why I’m here at the Red Royale. I have to do this for him, to protect him from possibly getting roughed up. I know people like this conman, David. They have no problems hurting others to get what they’re “owed,” even if they tricked that person to owing them in the first place. I refuse to let dad become another one of his victims of violence.

  And right now, I’m the only one that’s willing to help him out. None of dad’s well-off friends want to be tied to this David guy, and Mark is no help whatsoever. All he does is spend his money gambling and paying for one-night stands with girls that work the streets. If it weren’t for me, dad would still owe the full amount instead of $80,000. I’ve been saving for months.

  But jeez, if I don’t hate this place sometimes. I can’t even drink to forget how terrible a lot of these gambling addicts are. The only bright spot is when I get a table full of people that genuinely want to have fun and enjoy this game. I don’t get to make much conversation with them, but the little bit that I do always makes me temporarily forget how draining working at the casino is.

  Halfway through my night of work, a group of guys pulls up to the table, and I expect them to be just as boisterous and obnoxious as the drunk man and his girlfriend. To my surprise, they’re really nice to me and we end up having a decent time. Of course, they still consider me to be evil considering I work for the casino, but I can’t be too mad about that.

  They remind me of my brother and his friends when we were all younger. My brother had two best friends, Wesley and Tyler, and they were as thick as thieves. They always got into trouble back home, and dad would constantly be on their case.

  I was too young to hang out with them being that I was six years younger and much more immature, but I admired from a distance. I might’ve even had a crush on them.

  Tyler was a sweetheart, always offering to help me with homework or sneaking me candy when dad said sugar would rot my teeth out. Even then, he was handsome, with shaggy blond hair and crystal blue eyes. He looked like one of the grown-up angel figurines mom used to collect.

  Wesley was the exact opposite. He didn’t sneak me candy, he made sure dad saw. He was the one always pushing limits, always seeing how far he could go before he went off the edge. He had dark brown hair and forest green eyes, and if I had to describe a bad boy, I would describe Wesley Scott.

  Mark was somewhere in the middle, the voice of reason between the angel and devil on either of his shoulders. Sometimes I wonder what kind of trouble they’d be getting into had we not moved away when I was fifteen. It’s been seven years since we moved to Nevada, and since then, there’s been radio silence from Mark and the others. I hate that their friendship ended like that.

  Much to my disappointment, the group of rowdy guys doesn’t stay for very long. I deal a few hands, they walk away about a hundred dollars richer, and that seems to be the end of it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a bit disappointed. It’s not often that I get a group of players that I enjoy hanging out with like them.

  When the night is finally over, I stop by the bar and grab a drink, tossing it back and sliding the glass to the bartender. She gives me a sympathetic smile.

  “That kind of day?”

  I nod slowly. “That kind of day.”

  The rest of my night wasn’t that great. A few quiet players stepped up to my table, but for the most part, I got nothing but drunks. The weekday drunks are always the worst. They’re the regulars, the ones that are here every day, burning holes in their pockets and destroying their livers at the same time.

  We exchange a few more words back and forth, talking about how ridiculous some of the customers can be here before I eventually head out to my car. I start up the car and pull out of the parking lot, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as I drive.

  My mind wanders back to Mark’s old friends Tyler and Wesley. I wonder what they did with their lives. Wesley, for as much trouble as he always found himself in, was surprisingly smart. He was valedictorian during his senior ye
ar, and he graduated at the top of his class from college. He had the drive to do anything he wanted, and I remember overhearing him and Mark talk about all the possible routes he could go down with his business degree.

  Tyler was more of a creative. He was equally as smart, but he always focused on writing, drawing, and just creating things. I used to spend hours flipping through his sketchbook, just staring at all the beautiful pieces he’d drawn in his spare time. He always made it seem like it was no big deal, but he had a gift, the same way Wesley did.

  There’s a pang of sadness that hits me on the way home.

  I wish things were different. I wish Mark and his friends were still together. I wish dad hadn’t agreed to this deal that royally screwed us all. I wish mom was still alive and we were all back home in Washington again.

  There’s a lot I could wish for, but none of that matters.

  What matters is where I am right now. I have to focus on the present and not let my head fly too high in the clouds. I have to be realistic because the issues in front of me are pressing and they aren’t going away anytime soon.

  When I make it home, I see the kitchen light still on. I tentatively hang up my coat and start to undo the buttons on my obnoxiously bright red vest. Dad sits in the kitchen with his head in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He looks up, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in,” he says, almost laughing at himself.

  “Sorry.” I take a seat across from him and lean forward, elbows on the table. “Is everything okay?”

  “Honestly? No.”

  I try not to go straight to the worst-case scenario, but it’s hard. The tone of his voice tells me it might actually be as bad as I’m anticipating, if not worse. “What’s going on?”

  “David called me.”

  My blood runs cold. The only time that bastard wants to talk to dad is when something is wrong. “And what did he say?”

  “He told me about some clause in the contract. Something about charging interest for late payments. I’ve been trying to keep up with the payments, but I just… Everything gets away from me and I have a hard time keeping track. He says I owe $150,000 now. I think—I think we might lose the house,” he says.

  I can’t help the prickle of tears that spring in my eyes.

  I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of always holding my breath, waiting for another tragedy to strike. And because no one else will, I’ll have to pick up the pieces in the aftermath. I’ll be tasked with making sure everyone else is okay before considering myself.

  “I’m sorry, Del,” dad says. He reaches out for me, but I can’t. I can’t deal with his touch right now. I know the moment I feel his hand on me, the moment I feel a bit of comfort, I’ll fall apart completely.

  “I…” I stand up from the table and shake my head. “I’ll figure this out tomorrow. I have to get some sleep tonight. You need to sleep too, okay? It’s late. Promise me you’ll sleep.”

  He looks up at me with sad eyes and nods. “I’ll sleep.”

  “Good.”

  Without another word, I go to my room and close the door, leaning against it. In the privacy of my room, I finally let myself break. The tears come without a second thought, and they don’t stop until I find myself struggling to breathe, coughing as I hug my knees close to my chest.

  I don’t think I’m a weak person. I think I’m strong. But right now, I feel as if I’m made of tissue paper. One wrong move could put a hole in me. I could easily be torn to pieces, without any effort at all.

  Mom would know what to do. If she were still alive, she’d give me the advice I need to deal with this. She’d pull me in her arms and tell me that it’s okay. It’s not weak to cry. It’s strong to show my emotions. We’d talk about how we could work this problem out, she’d kiss me on the forehead, and we’d go get ice cream.

  But she’s gone and I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, sobbing.

  For seven years, this place has been my home. Leaving the one in Washington was hard enough. I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again.

  I wipe my eyes and blow my nose on my sleeve, taking a few minutes to fully regain my composure. Tears are good and healthy, but they’re not the solution. Action is. Now that I’ve gotten it out of my system, I have to do something.

  I can take on more shifts at the casino. I don’t care how long I have to work, I’m not losing the only sense of home I have anymore. I’m not going to let this fucking David person take everything I love from me.

  When I’m ready, I push myself up from the ground and cross the room to sit at my computer desk. I open my laptop and settle in for a night of searching for jobs. I have to find something that pays a lot in a short amount of time. I’m sure there are all kinds of gigs and things I can find if I look hard enough.

  As I scroll through various ads, I see one that catches my eye. It has the Red Royale logo on it, mean it’s a job that’s being held at the casino. I click it and watch as a video from the same event from last year plays.

  It’s an auction.

  From just the video alone, I gather that mega-rich men donate money to the organization holding the auction in exchange for one night with the women on stage. Majority of the money goes to the women being auctioned, but the organization takes a large cut of the profits first. It’s implied that they’re only going on dates, but something tells me these guys might want more than that. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about sugar babies and anything involving money for companionship, but I think back to dad in the kitchen, sitting there with his head in his hands.

  Utterly defeated.

  The smart side of me says to find another job. This isn’t worth it. But when I look more into the company, they’re reputable. They do all kinds of charity work in the city, from helping with schools to making strides to solve the homelessness problem in Vegas. This isn’t some kind of souped-up sex trafficking organization.

  It might actually be nice to get out. I haven’t been on a date in months, not since I first found out that dad had basically made a deal with the devil. I haven’t had time to take care of myself let alone worry about taking care of another man. This opportunity would give me a chance to get back out there, even just for a night.

  And with the money that I’m seeing be shelled out on these things, I could easily take care of dad’s money troubles and keep a little bit for myself as well. This wasn’t what I expected when I went looking for jobs, but I’m desperate. I don’t have the luxury of being picky, and this option saves me so much time.

  If I do this and it works out, I can quit my job at Red Royale for good. I don’t have to worry about more drunks and assholes bothering me or making me feel unsafe. No more long nights with little pay.

  I glance at my reflection in the mirror on my desk, analyzing myself. I’ll have to get a haircut and trim off some of the split ends of my dark chestnut hair, and I’ll definitely need to do a few face masks to bring my pallid skin back to life, but I still look halfway decent.

  Ignoring the tiny, skeptical voice in the back of my head, I go to the website and submit my name, as well as a few of my best pictures. I say a prayer, cross my fingers and toes, and send the application. All I can do now is wait.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tyler

  In this line of business, getting a day off is a miracle, let alone a full weekend. Every other day it’s a new meeting about products that we’re rolling out, updates and possible new features for the tablets we have now, or general business shit that makes my head spin.

  There’s a reason I’ve always let Wesley take control of the business aspect. He’s the kind of guy that loved to jump at any opportunity to work with money. Unlike me, he came from money, but he never let that get in the way of his goals.

  When we were kids, we always joked that our two powers, mine being creative and his being business-oriented, would inevitably lead us to the life of luxury. It was always just a thoug
ht, something we said whenever we needed a confidence boost, but now it’s a reality.

  We formed Tysley right out of a college. The name was actually something a few of our friends called us when we were in school. They always teased us for being so close, two peas in a pod, but the sting eventually wore off and we decided to reclaim that nickname.

  Being that I was the creative one, I told Wesley that the only way I would be part of his new company would be if I got to focus on the product, the creative element of whatever it is he wanted to work with. He was the one that came up with the product: the Tysley tablet. Stuffed with all kinds of features that would make any digital artist feel like they’d died and gone to heaven, it was a perfect match.

  This tablet became a passion of ours, and soon we had a product that the world was more than ready for. We didn’t stop there, either. In just three years, we’d expanded to laptops as well, something that was compatible with the main product itself. We created our own ecosystem when we finally developed the app. With our technology, digital media became easier than ever.

  It also made us millions. There was something so satisfying about succeeding with a project we were passionate about. The first check we cashed, I bought my parents a house to thank them for all the hard work they’d put into raising me.

  And now it’s finally time to take a break from all the business and just enjoy ourselves. As I sit in the lobby of the hotel and casino waiting for Wesley to return with our drinks, my phone rings. I recognize the number as Roberto Mancini, a former client of ours.

  “Roberto, how are you?” I answer.

  “I can’t complain, my friend! I heard you were at the Red Royale. Is this true?”

  A coy smile spreads on my face. “Maybe.”

  “Where at? I need to see you and Wesley. It’s been ages since we last hung out!”

  “In the lobby, actually,” I say. I look up again to see Wesley appear with drinks. I take mine from him and settle in my chair again. After a moment of working things out with Roberto, I end the call. “Mr. Mancini’s on his way to see us right now,” I say.