Page 4 of The Alpha's Gamble
And in a few minutes, I’d find out for sure.
Lucky me.
Chapter 2
A Moral Debt
MacKenna had said he owned the casino, so I was a little surprised when the two security goons escorted me not to the very top penthouse of the place, but to a—still very expensive, of course—suite a couple of floors below that. The room I’d been given twenty-four hours ago, before they figured out what had happened to my finances, was a floor above this one, in fact.
Apparently MacKenna wasn’t one for taking the maximum perks he could.Iwould have. False humility on his part? Or maybe he’d overextended himself financially and needed the income from the penthouse? Well, not like I could throw stones in that direction.
One of the goons opened the door, they all but shoved me inside, and the door shut behind me, leaving me alone in a spotless foyer with a huge, gilt-framed mirror hanging over an end table. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help glancing to the side.
No, being manhandled off the casino floor, left to stew for hours, and being interrogated and humiliated had not in fact left me at my best. Pale lips, too-flushed cheeks, and damp with sweat everywhere. My light blue eyes were even a little bit bloodshot despite my werewolf healing—no magic could completely compensate for the shitty, moistureless air in the bowels of a casino hotel. And my blond hair hung limp and bedraggled around my temples.
Fucking great.
I drew in a deep, shuddering breath and stepped through the foyer toward whatever lay beyond.
The luxurious vista before me had all the personality of a dentist’s office, albeit a dentist who only cleaned the teeth of royalty or billionaires: several leather sofas, a huge screen on the wall, an elegant dining area, a cream carpet so pristine you could rub yourself all over it, a full bar stocked with—even by my standards—top-shelf liquor. No trace whatsoever of the man who presumably lived here: not a book, an item of clothing, or any personal touch. Beyond all of that, an expanse of windows displayed the whole Strip glittering and winking and flashing against a backdrop of mountains in the distance.
Fucking gods, it hadn’t even gotten fully dark yet while I’d sat in that room. The setting sun still gilded all of it, just enough light for Vegas to become unearthly and impossible in its tacky beauty.
I’d had a room like this. I could’ve been lounging on my own sofa, pouring a drink from my own bar, getting ready for a night out at one of Vegas’s most exclusive clubs. Or several of them. Surrounded by beautiful, laughing people, instead of here alone waiting for the next blow to fall…
And then I felt his presence, a flutter in the edges of my magical senses and a rich, dark scent in the air. MacKenna stepped out of a doorway off to the left, a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand and an unpleasant smile twisting the corners of his lips.
He’d lost the jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves to show a pair of muscular forearms with tattoos all over them under the brown hair.
My eyebrows went up. It took effort, expense, and magic to successfully tattoo a werewolf whose body was primed to reject anything it perceived as unhealthy. I’d never gotten any tattoos, knowing my father thought they made people look like lowlifes. But they’d always fascinated me. And they didn’t seem to go along with the casino-owner-in-an-expensive-suit image. He had a past, maybe.
He’d also made a couple of remarks about my wealthy family background. A heavy, sinking sensation took over the pit of my stomach. If he had a past, if he had overextended himself buying this place, then…my attitude toward money, my past, would only make this worse.
“Take a picture,” he drawled. “It’ll last longer. Except that my people confiscated your phone, I assume?”
As a matter of fact…
“Yes, and they haven’t given it back. Or my watch. That’s Cartier. And you have the nerve to tell me I owe you money!”
His grin widened, and he took a swig from his drink and sauntered into the room, disposing himself in the corner of the nearest sofa. Taking his fucking time, while I seethed and stood there like a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s office.
My every limb trembled with the urge to launch myself at him, claws and fangs out, and draw blood. Claw out his eyes, slash across his stomach, crimson splattering the black leather of the sofa and marring the perfection of that creamy carpet.
“I saw your watch,” he said at last. “Next time invest a little more if you want something you can pawn later. That’d barely cover your bottle service from last night.” Another swig. “I reviewed your bill. You drink like a teenager.” A shrug. “A rich teenager. But I might be a little more sympathetic if you’d spent that much on Scotch instead of glow-in-the-dark vodka cocktails.”
“I wasn’t spending anything,” I protested, furious.Invest a little more?What a hypocrite. He was the one living three floors from the top of his own casino! “It was a line of credit—”
“Exactly, you were spendingmymoney, not yours!” He only raised his voice a little, but his eyes flashed and he bared his fangs and he—gods, the crashing wave of alpha rage and pheromones, almost a tangible thing in the air, and it hit me like a blow to the face.
I reeled back, stumbling a step before I righted myself, my whole body going hot.
I was an alpha. The strongest. The best. A Castelli. Except that I’d always had the impenetrable armor of a prominent pack, an endless bank account, more credit cards, my father’s name and reputation.
And now I only had myself. No phone, no watch, no wallet. No one who’d take my call anyway.
His voice, smooth and deep again without a hint of emotion, cut through my confusion and whirling despair. “And now we’re going to talk about how you will repay me, and the Morrigan, for the bar tab. And the suite. And the gambling losses. And by the way, you’re shit at counting cards, if that’s what you were really do—”
“I’m great at counting cards,” I snarled, pushed beyond my limit at last. “And fuck you for—”
