Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Even Money (All In Duet #1) |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Alessandra Torre |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
Sometimes it only takes a minute. A connection of eyes across a room, a quickened heartbeat, and everything changes. I was a cocktail waitress with a fondness for partying and meaningless sex. He owned half of Vegas, with the reputation to match. I should have turned away. Instead, I stepped closer. Then, the lies started. Rumors spread. Stalking commenced. And someone died. None of it stopped me from falling in love. | |
| Books in Series: | All In Duet Series by Alessandra Torre |
| Books by Author: | Alessandra Torre Books |
One
e·ven mon·ey (noun)
odds offering an equal chance of winning or losing, with the amount won being the same as the stake.
The guy in the bumblebee suit was going to walk out of here a millionaire, assuming he didn’t get his fingers cut off by Big Don. I carefully balanced six shot glasses on the glass tray, Maker’s Mark swaying as I moved toward the top table, ignoring a few blatant looks and the hand that found my ass and squeezed it.
I climbed the steps, waited for the tuxedoed protection to move aside, and approached the top table. There were four men left at the felt, all of them silent, their eyes on the flop. I stopped next to the Iranian and carefully deposited the first shot on the green surface, lining up all six in a straight line. He passed me a black chip, and I pocketed it. “Thank you, sir.”
He nodded, and I drifted my gaze over the table to see if anyone else needed anything. There was a flip of cards and the upward drift of cigar smoke. None of the men moved and I stepped back, my attention returning to the game as Bumblebee pushed a tall stack of black and pink chips forward.
Big Don called the bet, and I held my breath as the fourth card unfolded. It was an ace, the second one on the table. I watched Big Don and he leaned forward and smiled. I knew his tells. He had jack shit. I saw a line of sweat drip down Bumblebee’s face and mentally urged him to bet.
He didn’t. He tapped, Big Don tapped, and I turned before I saw fifth street. Nodding to the heavy, I took the steps to the main level and walked through the tables, glancing up at the gold clock above the bar. Almost one, still three hours left in my shift. I moved to the cage and slipped the black chip into the copper box with my name stamped into the top.
I stepped into the dark confines of the back room, the small place dominated by the grid of video feeds that showed every inch of the adjacent room.
“Hey, beautiful.” Lance leaned back in an office chair, his hands linked behind his neck, his eyes flitting over the screens.
“Hey.” I nodded to the screens. “I’ve got the yellow and black suit on the top table. A hundred says he cleans out Don and Mattis.”
“You’re not stealing from me.”
“Give me two-to-one odds, and I’m in.” Rick spun his chair toward me and spoke through a mouthful of Cheetos, a pair of huge headphones half-cocked on his head.
“Done. I got chips in the box.” I didn’t need proof of his ability to cover a hundred-dollar bet. I made pennies compared to the dollars that Rick and Lance brought in. For two Stanford drop-outs, they had done all right, operating the most successful underground house in Vegas.
We watched in silence as the hand ended, a fat stack of chips pushed toward my player, who carefully rearranged his winnings before pushing in the next blind.
“What the fuck is he wearing?” Lance asked.
“I don’t know.” I reached forward and stole a bright orange Cheeto from Rick. “He thinks he looks cool.” The striped yellow and black suit might not have been so bad if the material wasn’t so shiny, the resulting effect that of a psychedelic bumblebee.
“He’s distracting. That might be helping his game,” Rick commented.
“Lloyd shouldn’t have let him in the door. Bell, would you grab me a soda?”
“You got it.” I stepped back and pulled at the handle of the mini fridge, pushing aside beers and finding one of his Sprites. Outside of this room, the place was a palace, but in here, it felt like home. Worn furniture, the guys in sweats and t-shirts, two of the monitors on ESPN, the others on the cameras. There was almost as much gambling in this room as on the floor, and I was as guilty as them, all of us players, our industry the same as our addiction. They stayed in here and kept their money between them, but I’d heard the stories. Lance once bet a stripper she couldn’t fit his cock down her throat. Rick bet ten strangers at the Bellagio that he could swim across the fountains ass naked and escape without being arrested. And those had been the bets outside the casinos. Inside, there were rumors that Lance took the Mirage for three million and used that windfall to open this place. Rick apparently came from money, and lost it all, including his watch, on a bad run of blackjack four years ago. He screwed a drunk Chinese princess for ten grand and built it up to two hundred thousand the next day.
Or, so the stories went. Outside this room, they were Vegas legends. In here, they were two guys on a few hours of sleep, who hadn’t had a real meal in weeks. Lance ran his hand over his face, pulling down on his cheeks before reaching out and taking the Sprite. He didn’t thank me, and I didn’t expect it, but I still poked his arm when I headed back out the door.