Page 34 of Bound By Ruin

“Yes,” I whisper, “I do.”

His lips linger a mere inch from mine as he groans, clutching at my dress. “Fuck, I love hearing you say that.Fuck.” Crashing into me, he steals a kiss that knocks the air from my lungs and tilts my world on its axis. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m dimly aware that he’s dipped me, bending me backwards with a promise that he’ll catch me—hold me—keep me. He grins against my lips as someone in the crowd whistles. We laugh together, breathless and giddy, as he pulls me upright.

“You look fucking amazing in that dress,” he rumbles, nipping the shell of my ear as we blindly walk onwards toward the front entrance, the two of us too enraptured in each other to care for the rest of the journey. We skip the photo shoot and step around couples waiting for their glamour shots. “I’m getting hard just looking at you.” He laughs, a throaty rasp that catches in his throat. “Damn, baby, gonna have me at half-mast all night.”

I join in his laughter, the sound bubbling up like champagne. Light. Fizzy.Freeing.Beginning the night with Rebel may have been a tactical move to loosen me up, but I can’t fault Rage for it when it’s clearly working.

I feel lighter than I have in years.

We finally pass through the high arch leading into a small courtyard where guests can freshen up before checking their coats and handbags. I keep my clutch pinched under my arm as we approach the doors.

“Tickets,” an usher wearing a white suit commands, holding his hand out for them. I quickly produce our three remaining tickets for Rebel, Thanatos, and myself and hand them over. “This one will come behind us,” I assure the usher, keeping my smile up as I tap Thanatos’s ticket with my fingertip.

“All guests have to arrive together,” the man drones, already looking behind us at the next approaching guests. “You can wait for him here.”

My smile freezes in place while I channel my mother’s willpower. Adella Monrovia isn’t a woman who is told no—and I’ll be damned if I let all of her strict lessons from my childhood go to waste.

A woman has to speak up for herself because no one else will do it for her.

“We’ll be going inside now,” I tell him, digging the tips of my manicure into his palm. “And you’ll let my friend through once he arrives.” The ticket crinkles at each point of contact, softening the sting of my fingernails, but the effect is the same as if I’d punctured the man’s skin. He stiffens from head to toe and waits for me to remove my hand before attaching Thanatos’s ticket to the top of his clipboard. Clearing his throat, he nods towards a security guard a few feet away. “Turn in all electronics and concealed carry weapons, and you can go through.”

Rebel makes a show about unclipping a handgun from his waist and turning it in. We discussed this as part of our plan—turn in the most obvious weapons and keep one hidden on your body. Mine is a knife the size of my finger strapped to my thigh, while Rebel has a larger one concealed in the sole of his shoe. I’m not sure what the others are carrying, but after seeing the vast array of options in the weapons locker, I have little doubt that they found something suitable for the evening for each of them.

Once inside the venue, I take a cursory glance around the room, taking in the dozen or so gambling tables set up in the center of the room and the slot machines lining one of the walls. All proceeds for the night are supposed to go to the various charities sponsored by the city’s wealthiest elite, but I can hear the clink of poker chips, the tumble of dice, and the raucous laughter that follows from thirty feet away. People are going to get carried away when betting their money, and more than a few of them are going home with fat dollar bills lining their wallets and purses.

It’s how the rich like to play—for themselves.

Rebel steers us directly into the fray, landing at the closest gambling table using cards. “Watch me, baby.” He licks a stripe across his front teeth and grins. “I’m gonna win you a diamond ring.”

My heart stumbles. “A diamond?”

He isn’t thinking ofproposing, is he?

Still grinning, Rebel winks. “Mhm. A diamond ring for my diamond girl. Look at her sparkle, boys!” He waves toward my dress, and I laugh as it dawns on me.

Diamond.Not a wedding ring, but a reference to my shimmering dress. The dripping stones catch the light with every move I make, making it impossible to blend into the crowd. Although the other women have kept to the event’s casino theme, very few of them chose such an eye-catching design, sticking to metallic fabrics and rhinestone bodices in blacks, silvers, or golds. My dress, however, reflects the tiniest specks of light in all directions, catching the eyes of anyone whose mind wanders amidst their conversations.

I lean into Rebel’s side and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Better win for me then, baby.” I lift my hand and wiggle my ringless fingers to showcase how empty they are. “Mama needs her sparkle.”

A low-pitched moan catches in Rebel’s throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

While the table plays another round, someone approaches us with a suitcase filled with poker chips lying in neat rows, while his partner supplies a locked cash box. They quickly exchange my date’s cash for multiple stacks of chips in red, black, blue, and green, placing all four colors inside a rack for us to carry.

Rebel sets it on the table and claps his hands together as he takes a seat. Glancing at the dealer’s name tag, Rebel raps his knuckles on the felt top. “Don’t let me down, now, Reggie. You heard my girl—she wants a diamond, so show me a diamond!” After checking the hand he’s been dealt, Rebel slides a few chips onto the table to bet on whatever he’s looking for as the dealer flips cards over. A neon sign hanging over the table readsBlackjackin bright red letters.

My mind wanders as Rebel plays his first game. Where are the others? Is their dad even here? If he isn’t, will he show up at all, or are we wasting our time gambling and socializing when we should be out on the streets, as Ruin puts it, “hunting.”

Grabbing my hand, Rebel pulls me from my thoughts and into his lap, keeping my back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around my waist. “You’re my good luck charm,” he murmurs, kissing the curve of my neck. “Do you know how to play?”

I shake my head. “I don’t really need to know.”

Chuffing, he plays with the slit on my dress over my thigh, fingering the seam with one hand while he places a new bet with the other. More cards flip, with one given to each player, and one of the other men at the table curses under his breath as the dealer swipes all three of his cards into a discard stack. Rebel slips his hand beneath my skirt and rubs my bare thigh. “Here, I’ll fold this round, and then I’ll explain the rules while the next one plays.”

Blackjack, as it turns out, is a fast-paced game where winning is determined by chance. Rebel feeds into the chaos, snickering as his opponents “bust” by going over twenty-one points and making them glare in our direction. He pays their animosity no mind, too focused on rubbing his crotch on my ass and tossing chips onto the table. Once he’s fully erect, he sighs into my neck and bites down, making me squeal from the sudden burst of pain.

“A lady shouldn’t be at the table,” an older player gruffs, scowling at us.

My face blooms a deeper shade of pink as I’m stunned into silence. There are beautiful women crawling all over the room—some of whom are stuck wearing skin-tight leotards and tights while serving guests like this guy, for fuck’s sake. If this man has a problem with women, he should go to a gentleman-only game in the basement of one of the city’s bars, not a VIP charity event.

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