Page 2 of His Kingdom

Sammie:

Fuck no. I don’t need to pay for pussy.

Me:

I got a few things to tie up here. Be over in an hour.

Standing up, I pocket my phone, grab my wallet and keys from the desk, and reach a hand around my back until my fingers run over my pistol. I know it’s there, but checking is just like breathing at this point. Then I walk out of my office and head down to the casino floor. I make it a habit to walk the floor every night. It’s good to be seen by my staff. It helps them maintain the fear of god. Because to them, that’s exactly who I am. Their god.

It takes me almost an hour to make my way through the high rollers, stopping to talk to regulars and business associates. As much as I have my feet in the underworld of Vegas, I also have a solid interest in the legitimate workings of the business. Playing both sides of the coin is crucial… and fucking exhausting. It’s why at least once a week, I allow myself a few hours to sink into some hot, willing pussy. Which is exactly what I plan to do tonight.

I don’t usually pay too much attention to the general area of the casino, but something catches my eye—or more likesomeone.I stop walking as I take her in. Fucking gorgeous. Long, brown curls hang loose over her shoulders. A skintight black lace dress hugs all of her curves. The kind of curves I could get lost in for days. Then there’s the face. Angelic. Thick lips and big, round eyes that have the saddest look in them. But it’s not just sadness. It’s loneliness. I recognize it, because I feel it every fucking day I wake up.

My feet move before I realize what I’m doing. Stepping towards her. I stop one of the drink girls. “How long has she been sitting there?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the woman.

“I don’t know. She was there when I clocked in four hours ago. You need anything, boss?” the girl says.

“Yeah, bring me a whiskey and whatever she’s been drinking.”

“Water. She’s been drinking water,” the girl tells me before walking off.

The woman startles when I sit in the seat opposite her. She’s in a booth, at the back of one of the main floor bars. I bet she was thinking she wouldn’t be seen in this dark corner. The thing with me, though, is I live in the dark. Thrive in it. And an angel like this does not belong here with me.

“Was this seat taken?” I ask her.

She glances from side to side, as if she’s looking for someone else I could be talking to. “No,” she finally says, peering back in my direction. And when her eyes connect with mine, I see so much hurt. Pain that I want to erase from her. Which is fucking weird. I don’t even know this chick’s name.

“I’m Louie. You are?” I hold out my hand to her.

“Charlotte,” she says quietly as she places her palm in mine. The moment my skin touches hers, I get hit with jolts of electricity running up my arm. Charlotte snatches her hand back, staring down at it with wonder.

Yeah, I felt that too,I think to myself.

“So, what brings you to Sin City, Charlotte?” I ask, loving how her name rolls off my tongue.

“I’m in mourning,” she says with a slight southern twang.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her. Everyone deals with grief differently, but not many come to Vegas to do it.

“Don’t be. It’s probably for the best.”

“Mind if I ask who you’re mourning?”

“Does it matter?” she counters.

“Well, kind of, yeah. You see, if it was someone close like a spouse, child, parent, or sibling… that calls for some deep mourning, and that shit takes time. If it was a distant relative or a friend, that calls for getting drunk and honoring their memory,” I tell her.

Charlotte looks at me, unblinking for a minute and a half. I know because I count the seconds. “What if it’s a fiancé and a sister?” she finally asks.

“You lost your fiancéandyour sister?” No wonder she’s so fucking sad. “What happened?”

“The wordlost… It means something is gone, taken, unrecoverable.” She looks away for a moment and I wait. When she looks back at me, it’s with so much hurt that I feel her pain. “My fiancé took my sister from me.”

“What do you mean?” I keep my voice calm. I’m ready to blow the head off whoever the fuck hurt this girl.

“I mean, I walked in on my fiancé and sister fucking yesterday,” Charlotte says. “He could have picked anyone, any girl, and he picked my sister. Why would he do that?” Her question is genuine, as if I have the answers she so desperately needs.

“Any man who cheated on you, sweetheart, is a fucking idiot,” I say, because if I had a woman like her, no way would I stray.

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