Chapter 1: Old Habits
~ Zelda Wilder ~
My heart is beating too fast.
Glancing down, I see my hands tremble, and I take a few measured breaths to try
and make them stop.
I’ve never been this anxious on a
job, but everything has changed in the last six weeks. Looking over my shoulder
has become a nonstop addiction it seems.
For the first time, I’m alone with
Seth, just the two of us. Unknown hit men took out our longtime partner Helen,
and we don’t even know how long ago it was. The radio report simply said her
body was found in a bathtub in a cheap hotel in Miami. A plastic bag was over
her head.
Clutching my black purse, again I
look over my shoulder. Through the neon lights and arcade noises of the Divi
casino in St. Croix, I see men in black blazers dotted among the gamblers. Men
with curly earpieces in their ears, men with dark brows lowered over steely
eyes, men sweeping the room for any signs of criminal activity.
I do another quick sweep, and I
realize I’m looking for Ava. Stop that,
Zee. My little sister is far away from this life, and it’s because I chose
to distance us. I decided her safety is more important than keeping our family
together.
The last time I saw her, she was
wounded and pale, unconscious in a hospital bed. It tore at my heart to leave
her, but at least I know she’s okay. Thanks to the Internet, I’ve been able to
keep up with the “developing story” of the assassination attempt on the future
king of Monagasco and the shooting of his fiancée, a.k.a., my sister. Rowan has
taken Ava from the hospital to the palace, where she’s recuperating under the
watchful eyes of his royal guards.
With a steady exhale, I release the
nerves, reminding myself it’s for the best. She’s with the man who loves her,
who promised to take care of her. If a crown prince can’t do that, I don’t
stand a chance.
Still… it isn’t me.
I’m not watching out for her.
As the oldest, I’ve always had that
job. I’ve taken care of us since our parents died, leaving us at the mercy of
the foster system. I’ve protected her ever since that last asshole thought he’d
try relieving his sexual frustrations on a little girl entrusted to his “care.”
It was me who’d bashed him over the head with the lamp, grabbed her hand, and
run us out of there.
We’d hidden all night in the
pouring rain in a concrete culvert, and I came up with a plan to keep us out of
that life for good. Passing the baton to someone else—even a future king—hits
me harder than I thought it would. My throat aches at her absence, my chest
heavy. Stay safe, Ava-bug.
Tonight is the first time I’ve ever
entered a place like this without her. Ava is the only person I can count on in
any situation. Every security guard in this room reminds me of how we’ve always
been a team. If anything goes wrong, I grab her hand and we run, just like
always. We stay alive.
Only, I made the deal that changed
everything. I shook hands with the devil.
I could argue I didn’t have a
choice. We were facing jail time, felony convictions in Florida for grand
theft, and while I’d be willing to take my chances in jail, there’s no way in
hell I’m letting Ava go to prison. So yeah. Agreeing to work with Reginald
Winchester might make me a “bad guy,” but I’d do it again in heartbeat.
A
heartbeat…
Squaring my shoulders, I slide a
lock of jet-brown hair behind my ear and force confidence into my stride. I
make my way through the glittering, noisy casino to my target—a shiny brass
roulette wheel—and prepare to start the show.
The last time we worked this con in
Miami, Helen had been waiting at the table when I got there. I can still hear
her gravelly voice and see her “May Contain Alcohol” sweatshirt. Sadness followed
closely by fear ricochets through my insides. Whoever killed her is looking for
me.
We were on our way to Tortola to
hide when Seth said we should stop in here and bank extra cash. As Americans,
we don’t need passports in St. Croix, and we can catch a cheap ferry and slip
away in the night to our ultimate destination.
Keeping off the radar is the
goal—as always. We’ll pocket a few thousand and disappear unnoticed. At least
that’s the plan.
“No more bets!” The dealer passes
his hand over the wheel just as I arrive, and I quickly assess the table rules.
Minimum ten dollar bet. Decent.
Opening my clutch, I remove two
hundreds and pass them to the dealer. He quickly exchanges them for twenty pale
blue chips. I’ll join the fray next spin.
Tonight the transmitter is hidden
in my shoe as opposed to my cuff bracelet. I’m wearing a strappy black dress
that stops mid-thigh, and my black heels show off my legs while hiding the
device facilitating our winning streak.
I have to sit with my legs crossed
and point my toe to activate it. One dainty point, one shiny silver ball drops
right in the tray, predictable at ninety percent accuracy. So far the odds have
been in our favor.
We’ll play until Seth gives me the
signal they’re onto us. Then I’ll calmly cash out, walk away, and meet him at
the pier on Grapetree Point. From there we’ll make the forty-mile cruise to
Tortola.
An elegantly dressed woman shakes
her head and gives me a bitter smile as I sit. “Don’t stay longer than three
spins,” she grumbles.
I smile in response. “That’s the
rule, isn’t it?”
“That’s the rule.” Her expression
tells me she lost a lot tonight.
As a student of casinos, I know how
steeply the odds in roulette are stacked in favor of the House—they’re the
worst of any game. The longer you sit, the greater your chances of losing,
times a million. If I were giving advice to a rookie, I’d say stick to
blackjack. At least there you can use strategy and possibly win a little.
Walking away is something I learned early on. You can never be afraid to walk
away—even when you’re certain you’re lucky. Luck is the biggest liar of all.
I place half my chips on the black
rectangle and watch as the wheel begins to spin. The dealer snakes his hand to
the side and releases the ball. It flies around the shining wood with a sharp
rasp. I need to lose this round. The job doesn’t start until Seth arrives, and
I can’t win for longer than a few spins or it’ll look suspicious.
Another glance over my shoulder.
He’s still not here. Casting my eyes down, I watch the wheel spinning,
black-red, black-red, black-red, flashing brass.
“Have you been here long?” A man in
an elegant suit steps into the space beside me and fishes out his wallet as we
wait for the ball to drop.
“I just sat down,” I say without making
eye contact. I’m not here to make friends.
He passes a crisp one hundred
dollar bill to the dealer. “Then we have no way of knowing if it’s a good
table.”
“Sorry,” I shake my head. “I play
red or black.”
“Not much of a gambler?”
A glance, and I see he’s tall and
thick with dark brown hair and a cocky expression like he already knows the
answer to his question.
“No,” I say in a discouraging tone.
No,
thank you. Even if I hadn’t left my heart in Monagasco, I never let romance
interfere with a job. Well, almost never.
“Logan Thomas.” Mr. Persistent
sticks a hand at me.
He waits, and I hesitate. Two first names.
“Regina Lampert,” I lie only barely
touching his fingers.
“Regina,” he gives me a nod, but
that twinkle of knowledge is in his eyes.
A knot forms in my throat. I don’t
like this. The ball drops on black seventeen, and a lady at the other end of
the table emits a little cheer.
“You won,” Logan’s voice ripples
toward me.
The dealer adds more chips to my
pile, and I’m ready to hop up and intercept Seth. A swirl of warmth at my side
tells me I’m too late.
Want to win?
