Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

SIN

I walk into MonteBella Casino for my random visit to check on my investment. Well, it's mine on paper, anyway. I own three casinos with Luca ‘Bones' Bonetti because it's simply unwise for a mobster's name to be on a business. That's the quickest way to end up on the government's radar, a place none of the Bonetti's want to be.

After meeting with the head of each department, I take a walk around and simply observe the casino floor. It was built back in the sixties, but when we bought it we had the entire thing remodeled. Most of the carpet is a vibrant red with black circles throughout. However, the carpet near the entrances have a large ‘MB' with a gold circle around it. The slot machines are our biggest draw for everyday people. They line the casino, row after row, and are frequently filled with people. Sometimes there's even a few people waiting. I chuckle inwardly at the old lady caressing the slot machine as if that's going to give her the luck she's desperately hoping for. When I approach the high limit poker tables, I find something that piques my interest. A stunning brunette fixing the strap on her blue high-heeled shoe. Phil sits next to her with irritation written all over his face as he leans in and grits something I can't hear through his yellow teeth. The bags under his eyes tell the tale of a man who is doing a lot of drinking and not much sleeping. His khaki pants and blue shirt need a thorough washing, as does his greasy collar length hair.

Phil McEntire has become a bit of a problem as of late. He used to be a good customer, but things have changed. A few years ago, he won just under a million dollars at another casino. He gambled most of his winnings away and then took a second mortgage on his house. Then he had to sell his expensive Mercedes to pay the mortgage because he never learns. He, like many others, gambles with money he doesn't have. Before long, he was taking on debts with bookies. It's a dangerous game. The house always wins. Maybe you win today, but I guarantee you that the hot streak will not last for long. Gambling is an addiction. He grabs the woman's arm, and she jerks free with a glare.

Do they know each other? I know she can't be his because Phil has a wife unless she finally got smart and left him. Besides, this woman is far too beautiful for that loser.

He has her bent over the poker table as he undoes his pants. I don't fucking think so, asshole.

"Let her go," I order.

"In a minute," he says, not bothering to look back and see who's behind him. I can guarantee you, if he knew it was me, he wouldn't still have his hands on her.

"McEntire, you have exactly two seconds to release the girl and get the fuck out of my casino before you're dealt with in a way you won't soon forget."

He bristles at my words, seeming to suddenly realize who is behind him. Instantly he lets her go and turns to me, "I-I I'm sorry. I lost my head."

"Get the fuck out before I have you thrown out."

When Phil lets go of her, she falls to her knees, a soft cry escaping from her lips. I'd love to smash his fucking face in, but I'm more concerned at the moment with the young woman on her knees looking like this event was the final straw for her. Her blue eyes flutter up to mine as she trembles, her gaze nearly begging me for help. There's something about her that makes me want to scoop her into my arms and vow to protect her. Do I know how fucking crazy that is, considering I don't even know her? I'm well aware, but it doesn't curb the desire.

Leaning down, I pick her up off the floor gently and lift her onto the poker table. "Are you okay?"

She nods slightly and now I really see how beautiful she is. Striking. Long dark hair hangs past her shoulders, blue eyes with gray specks throughout, high cheekbones, and pouty lips. Fuck me. She's gorgeous. Too young for me, but gorgeous. As much as her physical beauty calls to me, the need to take care of her is stronger and it doesn't make any goddamn sense. Unfortunately, the world is ugly. I've seen a woman in distress more than once and never had this fucking urge to take it all away.

"What's your name?"

She blinks fast, like she's trying to stop tears from falling, "Kierra."

My heart squeezes as she sobs. I take my thumb and wipe away the tear that has now fallen down her cheek, "I'm Sin. You're going to be okay. Do you need a ride home?"

Kierra arches an eyebrow in amusement. "Sin? As in Sin City?" Her voice comes out with a thick southern accent and I'm a dick, so of course, I wonder how she sounds when she comes.

I chuckle lightly as I watch her facial expression. "No. Sin as in Sinclair."

Living in Las Vegas it's not the first time I've had that question. People assume it has something to do with the city's nickname when it has absolutely nothing to do with it. It's a nickname I've had since I was a small boy. I'm from New York, not Nevada, but people here always assume it's a Sin City reference when they meet me.

"Can I take you home?"

She shakes her head no. "No thank you, sir. I think I've gotten myself into enough danger for one day," she drawls. That fucking accent calling me sir is not helping with the tightening of my pants.

Does she think I'd hurt her? I just saved her from Phil. Surely that proves I wouldn't harm her. Kierra is far quicker than I gave her credit for. She shimmies off the table, slinking to the ground, and darts around me and takes off like she's running for her life. I race out of the room after her, but she's clear down the hall. Her blue dress shifts slightly with her movement showing her toned legs as she dashes to the exit.

I wish I had gotten her last name because this woman fascinates me. Is she staying at a nearby hotel? Hell, is she staying here? Does she live in Vegas? The need to know more about her bothers me. I shouldn't care. Yes, she's gorgeous, but she's got to be half my age. I fuck many women younger than I am. Most of the submissive that come into my BDSM club are on the younger side, but she looked barely legal. I rarely fuck around with the college crowd. Yet had she asked me to fuck her, I would have. No questions asked. I run my hand through my hair, annoyed with myself. A woman like that probably has a boyfriend. She's young, so maybe there's no husband, but there's no way she's unattached. The thought of her being fucked by another man does not sit well with me. It has me clenching my fists as I remind myself once again; I don't know her. I have no claims on her and never will.

I make my way to the head of my security team because this won't happen twice. After attempting to find Jason, I resort to calling him, "Where the fuck are you? Never mind. Meet me at the high limit tables."

Disconnecting the call, I wait and get more annoyed by the second. By the time he shows up, I'm ready to fire someone.

"Why didn't anyone from your team see McEntire assaulting a woman in the poker room?"

He stares at me with a fearful expression as he should, "There was an altercation they were dealing with. Two groups of drunk college kids got into a brawl."

I shake my head. "And everybody had to deal with that one issue?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again."

With a glare I tell him, "It had better not."

He nods with understanding. "Anything else, sir?"

I sigh, "Not that'll be a-"

Jason's eyes me warily as I stop mid sentence, "Yeah. I want someone to print a picture of the girl."

He immediately pulls out his cell phone. "I need a photo of a woman that was assaulted in the high limit poker room. Yeah, I need a photo of-"

Glancing at me, waiting for me to fill in exactly what they are looking for, I growl, "Her face. I need a photograph of her fucking face."

After I get the image, I stand and stare at it. Fuck. What's wrong with me? I simply stopped her from being attacked. So why the hell do I feel relieved to hold the picture in my hands? Why do I suddenly feel the need to hire a Private Investigator to find her? What is it about this woman that has me feeling so unsettled?

I should probably dispose of the picture, but I won't. I'll keep it even though I promise to myself to forget about the girl who ran from me like a scared little rabbit running from a wolf. She's gone. I have to move on. I'm acting like a horny teenage boy and it needs to stop. It's been a couple of months since I fucked a submissive. Clearly, I'll need to fix that. And soon.