Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Instead, I head downstairs. Jayson’s on my mind the whole time, since I can still feel him throbbing between my legs. Or maybe that’s just the guilt eating me up.
I slept with the man that killed my father. That’s some Greek tragedy-style fucked-uppery, and yet I knowingly threw myself into Jayson’s bed. I could’ve had some restraint. But I didn’t. Now I feel like I’ve done nothing but betray my father’s memory and my entire clan.
Though isn’t this the point? I’m meant to stay with Jayson, to fall in love with him, to have his little Italian-Irish babies or something. I’m the link in the chain holding it all together, and even though Jayson says it’s only going to last for a year, wouldn’t it be better if it lasted much longer?
Better for the Grady Clan and for the Costa Family, at least.
But better for me? I don’t really know.
That’s the real problem.
Casey’s not working yet once I reach the main casino. I wander some more, considering heading to the cashier and asking for money, but end up at a bar alone instead. I can’t bring myself to act like a Costa.
I’m not one of them and doubt I ever will be.
The bartender brings me a big club soda and I swirl it as I people-watch. I used to sit in the park with my brother sometimes during lunch. We’d eat sandwiches and talk as we made up stories about the people that went past. He’d laugh and act like the lady with the three dogs is actually a spy and the animals are all trained to kill on command, or the big man in roller blades is a former circus pro with scars on his hands from training the lions. Those were easy days, back before I left for school.
“Fallon Grady.”
My name makes me jump. No, not my name—my old name, the Grady name. Nobody’s used that since I came here.
I turn to look. A man’s standing a few feet away wearing a big puffy jacket. Dark hair, squinting eyes, bulbous nose. He looks like a dozen men I grew up with.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Sorry it’s got to be this way.”
Something sounds off about him until I realize. He’s got an Irish accent. He sounds like me.
But there shouldn’t be any other Irish people here.
That’s when he pulls out the gun.
Chapter 25
Jayson
I can’t get any fucking work done because I’m too busy thinking about my pretty wife’s virginity.
Or her former virginity.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her beneath me, her face twisted in ecstasy and pain, moaning as I filled her over and over again. I hear her orgasm, her whispers, her moans as I called her a good girl. It was the peak of my sexual life to this point—a moment of pure, blissful erotic satisfaction unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
My head’s all fucked.
I’m not supposed to like my wife, let alone want to fuck her—let alone care how she feels about anything.
Instead, sitting here, all I can think about is what’s going on with her. If she’s physically uncomfortable, if she’s hurting, if she’s nervous about what happened between us.
It’s driving me crazy. I don’t want to like my wife, don’t want to give a fuck about her, but I can’t get her from my head. Her taste, her moans, her laughter. Being around her is surprising in so many ways, and it isn’t only the sex.
There’s the dinner we had together. She’s clever, outgoing, and hilarious when she wants to be. I like sparring with her, bantering back and forth. I enjoy being in her company, even if she’s giving me shit half the time.
I should focus on getting work done, but after maybe an hour of failing to focus, I end up hunting down the Sunrise’s head of security, a guy named Zach.
“What can I do for you, Jayson?” he asks when I poke my head into the command room.
There are a couple dozen computer monitors spread out all over the place like a NASA launch mission. Security personnel are busy speaking softly into microphones, communicating with the floor bosses and the dealers, as they scan the crowd using next-level facial recognition software. Not even the feds have this kind of computing firepower. It’s next-level shit.
“Need you to locate someone for me.”
“Easy.” Zach gestures at the equipment. “Hit me.”
“My wife.”
Zach nods, turns away, and taps at a computer. A second later, a security camera view appears in the corner. It shows a bar near the sportsbook, crowded with people despite the early hour. A small green square appears around one woman’s face. She’s sitting alone near the far end drinking a big, ice-filled glass of something bubbly.
“There you go.” Zach zooms in. The woman’s face resolves, and it’s definitely Fallon. “Got anything hard for me?”