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“Yes, Black Jack is much more fun.”
I didn’t respond. My head was pounding so furiously, I just went along with it. Just play a few hands and get gone, I told myself.
Nothing. There was nothing below. She hadn’t jumped.
I staggered back into the villa and shut the balcony door, locking it behind me before dragging my feet to the sofa and falling on top. My face hung near the edge, forcing me to acknowledge the mess, the chaos, around me.
I watched a still bottle of Jack underneath a shattered glass coffee table. It had maybe an ounce of liquor left inside and it sat, the perfect gold liquid inside its clear glass coffin, waiting for its fate, waiting to be consumed or discarded...much like myself.
I was so tired of nights like those. So tired of fearing the unknown, of discovering near-death experiences, exposing myself to dangerous things I wouldn’t remember until it was usually too late. That night may seem out of the ordinary, but not for me. Not for Spencer Blackwell. That was fairly typical for me. That was my life or, very likely I knew, soon to be the end of it.
“Just get your cash, send it to Switzerland and call it what it is.” I turned and laid on my back. “Get out now, while you still can. Run.”
I ran up the stairs, dressed and grabbed my bag before heading to the lobby to check out, but first I needed to cash out. I visited the new concierge, a woman this time, someone I’d seen before but couldn’t remember her name.
“Good morning, Mister Blackwell,” she greeted cheerfully, her hair clean and kept, her teeth bright and white.
“Good morning,” I told her, my voice rough. I looked down at myself, fully aware that despite my designer digs, I looked as to be expected.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to cash out, please.”
“Not keeping your balance here?” she asked.
“No, I’ve decided to take a-a breather for a bit.”
“Just a moment,” she said, secreting to some area in the back.
I leaned against the counter, ready to beg loudly for her to return quickly that I was in so much pain.
She returned a minute or two later but it felt like an eternity.
“Mister Blackwell, it appears you don’t have a profit balance.”
My mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”
She peered at a computer screen in front of her. “Yes, it seems you lost your balance. There’s actually a settlement owed of five million seven hundred thousand.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “That cannot be,” I insisted, bracing my head in my hands. I didn’t think it could take much more pressure. “Okay, uh,” I breathed. “Charge it to my father’s account,” I told her.
“Of course,” she said.
When he found out, he would remove my signing privileges.
“Thank you,” I muttered before heading toward the lobby and sitting down in the nearest chair to catch my breath.
I lost it all. I was relying on that two million to fund part my freedom. Now, I knew I was going to have to live another year under my dad’s thumb to make it up.
The very thought made me want to wretch. So I did. All over the expensive marble floor.
Chapter Six
I held out her chair for her and she tucked herself within it as I pushed her in place. I glanced around me. Every eye in the place was peeled and staring a hole through the miniscule dress I begged her to change out of but she didn’t. Bridge never listened to me when it came to that stuff. Ever.
“Assholes,” I spoke between gritted teeth toward all the leering eyes.
When I sat myself, I immediately shot a blazing look at the fifty-year-old idiot at the next table. He was sporting a wedding ring and was undressing Bridge with his eyes. When he caught me staring, his eyes popped wide for a moment. Embarrassed, his bright red round face found the ceiling. Apparently, it was fascinating. I had something just as fascinating—my fist. In his stupid face. My hand closed, the skin at my knuckles pulling tight, the blood fighting to reach my fingers. After Vegas, I was in the mood for a fight.
