Chapter 4

"Hey, baby." Grady's southern accent vibrates against my ear. I jolt and my hand instinctively falls to my thigh. These daggers have circular finger holes at the top, which is convenient for gripping one with a single fingertip in an emergency. Grady chuckles as his calloused hand lands on mine. "You know, I'm always looking for an excuse to feel you up, but darlin', you can't be showing all your cards in front of the employees."

I can feel the curve of his smile against my cheek as his stubble scratches over my skin.

He gives me a ridiculous kiss on the edge of my mouth and pats my hand.

"You hardly ever let me sneak up on you. What's got you distracted?" He squats at my side, studying the computer screen. "Well, I guess that'll do it." There's something in his tone that my system dislikes. Grady huffs, turning my spinning chair to face him. The shoulder-length blond hair on top of his head falls around his face as he quirks a bushy eyebrow. "Why is Spades dead?"

"That's thanks to Mr. Cassian Forbes." I bat my lashes. "You don't recognize the name, by chance?"

His lips micro-twitch upward, making my eyes narrow. He's an excellent bluffer, but I've learned his quirks over the years. He's about to lie to me, or he genuinely doesn't know but doesn't want to admit that.

He drives me absolutely crazy because every time I think I've pinned down his tells, he switches them up.

It's unnatural.

Nobody adapts that quickly or has that much control over their microexpressions. I mean, maybe serial killers and psychopaths or trained killers, but Grady is none of those things.

His deep blue eyes stare into mine. "I've heard the name around town. Word is he owns a bunch of restaurants and a construction company or two." He shrugs a muscular shoulder.

My head tilts.

My instincts don't pick up any discomfort like I would if he was lying. That, along with the look on his face, leads me to believe he's telling the truth.

He breaks into a lopsided smile. "That combination? I'm not saying the man is into organized crime, but I wouldn't be shocked if he also owns a crematorium. You know what I'm saying?" He chuckles a low, throaty sound as he squeezes my knee.

Little wrinkles form around the edges of his eyes as he laughs, and I bite my lip.

Sometimes, I can recognize I'm a suspicious hag, and now is one of those times.

It's a necessity, considering the hard lessons I've had to learn, but Grady is a great guy. He's been nothing but good to me.

Yet my paranoid self always tries to pin some level of shadiness on him.

I sincerely hope I can figure out how to be a normal human one day. Luckily, he can't read my mind, but my stomach still bubbles uncomfortably. I hate that my first reaction is still distrust.

Out of everyone I've met in my new life, Grady has proven himself time and time again.

My feet wrap around his back, pulling him to me as I lean in for a silent apology kiss.

I chopped off my nearly waist-length hair when I ran, but I didn't have the heart to bleach my dark brown waves. To be fair, I would've looked ridiculous as a blonde. It tickles around my shoulders as I move.

"I don't know what I did to deserve a kiss, but I'll take it." Grady's dimples pop as he bends low, pushing his mouth to mine.

My hands twine around his neck, wrapping in his long hair. His is actually a few inches longer than mine now, but when we first met, it was the same length. It bothered me at the time. Spending almost six years growing out my hair made it painful when I cut it off, but I think the new shorter style is more me.

Or maybe I've grown into my own over the last couple of years.

Our tongues clash as he palms the back of my head. I love the way he always makes me feel safe and protected, even if it's as simple as him holding me to him.

He rakes his teeth over my lower lip as he pulls back, nuzzling his cheek to mine. "We've got to talk about it sometime. There's barely three weeks left until our heat leave starts."

"Somewhere around there," I admit as my eyes fall shut.

"Here and now isn't the time or place, but I'm in your bed tonight. We can talk about it then."

My eyes pop open, and I nod, even though I don't want to.

The law only guarantees time off for bonded alphas during their omega's heat, but Jimmy and the other managers always go out of their way to schedule him time off for mine. It's really considerate because they don't have to, but the High Roller treats its employees well.

"I guess I better actually get to my job." He chuckles. "But I want to hear all about what's going down in Spades. It can be our pillow talk before we pass out."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I agree, yanking him closer with a hand in his shirt. We share one last extra dirty kiss that makes my heart race.

I lost a lot when I ran, but I did find one good thing.

Grady heads back to work, and I watch Mr. Forbes for an additional half hour.

He's very good at flashing his cards so quickly that it's impossible to pick them up.

The cameras in Spades are some of the highest quality I've ever seen.

I've never run into this problem before, but then again, I can usually mosey up to the table and pretend like I'm another guest.

This is going to take some creative thinking.

I make a quick call down to the bar in Spades, and it doesn't take long for Dave to realize who he's speaking with. He's great at following instructions.

I hear the crash of the Macallan bottle.

"Jesus Christ, I'm going to need a replacement bottle sent over," Dave says. "And maybe a cleaning crew."

"I've got you covered, Dave. Give me five minutes. We're swapping out. I'm guessing you'll be able to call it an early night."

"Understood." He disconnects.

A quick call to the main bar ensures a tray with a replacement bottle is on its way to me. Once that's done, I dig out my compact, apply a fresh coat of lipstick, and swipe on some mascara.

The toe of my heel catches in the bottom of my desk drawer, and I yank it open. Grabbing my equivalent of a petty cash box, I pull out ten grand in chips. It's the minimum buy-in for the high-roller tables. I doubt I'll need it, but if I do, it'll be better to have it just in case. The box is looking a little empty. I'll have to talk to Jimmy about that. I grab another forty grand in chips, close the box, and shove it back in the drawer before aiming for the VIP bar.

Glade meets me in the hall, handing off the tray.

I grunt.

Damn, I forgot how heavy these things are. She went above and beyond with glasses and a small ice bucket.

Back when I first got to Vegas, I spent a few weeks as an actual server.

I was so god-awful at it that Jimmy and the other old-timers still heckle me about it to this day.

Mostly, I refill drinks while scoping out the suspicious bets, but even then, I try to avoid holding one of the heavy-ass trays. I lug the thing to the closest entrance of Spades and eye the beefy bodyguard at the door.

"Could you please move? I need to get through." I balance the huge tray on my shoulder and pop a hip out, giving the beefcake a questioning smile.

"Sorry, ma'am. The high-roller room is closed tonight." He crosses his arms over his chest.

"If that were true, then I wouldn't have gotten a call to deliver this. Now would I?"

"Hand it over. I'll take it in."

"Are you going to take over bartending too? You've blocked off an intricate part of the business, and my boss wants Dave moved to somewhere he's actually needed." My free hand pops up, giving him a shooing motion. "I like being employed. Talk to whoever you need to check in with on your little earpiece thingy, and get me permission to head in there. I'll wait over here." My chin tilts in the air as I back a few feet away.

There's some low murmuring, but he's good. I can't pick out any actual words of what's being said.

I pace the area in front of the door that leads back to the main club, occasionally glancing at the beefcake.

He smirks, eyeing me from head to toe. "Just a heads up, in case you think you're about to land yourself a billionaire; the boss only likes blondes."

I snort. "His loss."

"But not mine," he says seductively. "I'm a big fan of your ass in that—" He cuts off as the door opens behind him.

It's crazy watching his gaze snap to eye level as he slides to the side.

The man standing in the doorframe isn't Cassian Forbes, but holy hell.

He's not bad to look at.

Not bad at all.

The short, dark hair on top of his head is a little longer than the sides. There are hints of gray at his temples and along the jawline of his short beard. He's wearing jeans with combat boots, a suit coat, and a dress shirt with suspenders—like the super sexy kind, not the old man variety. They're dark gray, a couple of inches thick, and end in the horseshoe clips that I have a weird affinity for.

My gaze rakes over his strong chest.

Dammit, I'm now one-hundred-percent sure that suit coat is hiding two shoulder holsters.

I let myself get distracted by the big dick energy and forgot to immediately assess his risk factor.

"I haven't had the chance to pat her down yet, sir," the original beefcake says.

My head tilts, and I do my best to paste on a doe-eyed expression as I back up a step. The tray hits the wall behind me, and my other arm flies up to stabilize it.

"Christ, Tanner," the older guy grunts in a Scottish accent.

"I'm just trying to do my job." I flutter my lashes for good measure and purposely quicken my breathing so my chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Me too, sweetheart," Tanner, the beefcake says. "Sorry, Ward. I was about to handle it."

"I'm supposed to be taking over for Dave—the bartender…"

"Come on." Ward, the sexy new guy, waves me forward.

I stabilize the tray in front of me using both arms. It's awkward, but I imagine it seems like I'm using the tray as a shield of sorts.

Human nature tends to have a few universal tells. Someone who's afraid might use a physical object to put distance between themselves and someone they're uncomfortable with.

The new guy holds the door open, nodding for me to come inside.

I flash Beefcake a nervous smile because I'm nothing if not committed to my role.

Grady is probably getting a good kick out of watching my performance. Not that I have any experience to compare him to, outside of the couple heats he found us extra partners for, but Grady is fun and adventurous. He doesn't take life too seriously, which I find incredibly attractive after a lifetime of men who have tried to control me. He'll probably want to play the billionaire and role-play tonight, which I am so totally here for.

I stare at the dome camera and wink in case Grady is watching. When he first started at the High Roller, he was also working as an escort. I don't really like thinking about that. It's the one part of his history I'd wipe from existence if I could, but it was over basically as soon as we met, and he never kept it from me.

For me, that's a big thing because I feel like everyone I've ever known has kept things from me to try to protect me.

Grady is real with me in a way no one has been. He also doesn't try to stifle me, and that alone has forever endeared me to him.

"Set the tray on that table so we can get this over with," Ward says, looping his thumbs through his suspenders.

My heart races as my eyes widen. I doubt my daggers will pass inspection, and they're technically in violation of the club rules.

Well, fuck.