Page 2 of Sinful Claim


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Just as I’m merely feet away, I notice a pair of deep-set, piercing grey eyes staring at me from directly behind the Blackjack table.

Oh shit. I’ve really done it now.

The eyes belong to a haggard-looking old man with a golfer’s cap and a red sports jacket, sipping a tumbler of brown liquid that likely costs more than my manicure. I stop hard in my tracks, waiting for something in his gaze to shift. I naively want to assume that he’s looking at someone behind me, but I can feel his eyes on me now.

His stare grows in intensity, and he beckons me over to his table without blinking.

My knees begin to quiver as I change my course, and I nearly fall as my left ankle collapses from my nerves as I walk.

Just as I’m within speaking distance of this foreboding old man, a smile breaks on his face. “I don’t see many ladies around here who look like you anymore,” he says.

I can smell bourbon on his breath, and the red haze in his sclera only emphasizes the bright, intense grey that punctuates his eyes.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry?” I reply, dumbfounded. Was this man really staring me down like that just to flirt with me? Does he give a shit about the briefcase at all?

“It’s just that the women at these places are always so loose, so out of their prime. Did you come here with your husband? Please tell me there’s no husband. I’d hate to be the man who breaks up a marriage,” he continues, his words slurring into each other like they’re driving on fresh snow.

My whole face turns red, and I take a step back from his table. “Oh, sir, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea, I–”

“Shh, you don’t need to explain yourself. Girls with that sexy red hair are always troublemakers, aren’t you?” he asks.

My stomach twists, my once-ambivalent expression now a twist of mild disgust. “I’m going to go now, sorry.”

“Oh yeah? Well fuck you then, slut,” he growls, slamming his glass on the table just a little too hard.

The clatter of glass draws the attention of the people around us, but not long enough to keep their hungry eyes from the screens in front of them. I’m convinced that he could pick me up and carry me away without so much as a single soul caring at all.

With this revelation in mind, I briskly step back in the direction of the briefcase. Snatching it from the shiny wood tabletop, I carry it on with as much confidence as I have left from my previous unpleasant exchange.

It’s lighter than I would have expected, which disappoints me more than it has any right to do so. I suppose I had been hoping to unveil a secret or maybe come into millions by sheer luck, but I should have known better. What kind of millionaire leaves a briefcase full of money in the middle of a highly populated area filled with other money hungry people?

Once I reach the glass doors that connect into the lobby, I take a moment to breathe as I collect myself. The lobby isn’t exactly serene, but it might as well be a zen garden in comparison to the poultry farm of insanity that I’ve just wandered out of.

I step into a short line that has formed in front of the service desk. The concierge is just as frazzled as the bartender, choosing her words very carefully as she re-explains the lack of vacancy to a family of five very weary travelers. One of the children is hanging off her mother’s belt loops, practically melting into the pearlescent floor tiles as she stifles her own angry little sobs.

As I wait for the family to either leave or burst into flames, I reposition myself to carry the briefcase as if I’ve arrived with it myself. It feels strangely sophisticated, just standing here with a glorified container in my favorite dress and pointiest heels. I wish I had chosen a more prestigious career, like a lawyer or an investment banker. Being a sound engineer allows for quite a bit of personal freedom, but it would feel great to project this kind of importance in my day-to-day life.

“Hi, can I help you?” chirps the concierge, sporting the same glassy, deranged expression as her cocktail-slinging counterpart.

I snap out of my daydream, forgetting my fantasy as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh! Right, I just wanted to turn this in. It was left on one of the Blackjack tables for a little while.”

She takes the case from me as I slide it across the counter. “Alright, I’ll make sure to tag it in case someone comes through looking for it. Good on you for doing the right thing. A lot of people would be tempted to crack it open. You never know what you can find in a place like this.”

I chuckle a little. “It was a little light, but I can’t say I wasn’t tempted.”

Her expression shifts, and her smile is tight and curt. “Okay, well, thank you anyway.”

It’s probably best to stay out of this woman’s way for now, so I walk over to the glass elevator on the other end of the lobby, my heels clicking against the tiles. Now that I’ve been both harassed and scolded in a half-hour time period, I’m embarrassed by the attention my shoes are bringing me.

When I enter my room, I nearly collapse into my bed as soon as I close the door behind me. The silence of the surrounding space is deafening compared to that of the casino, and my ears are buzzing nonstop.

Now that I’m out of the chaos, my inner thought life is ready to take back over with full force. All I want to do is curl up and fall asleep, allowing the world outside to continue on without me for a bit.

2

Aleksander

Ishould have known this was a bad idea.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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