Page 112 of Old Money Roulette: Complete Trilogy

Staring down at the large diamond on my ring finger, I wondered if my life would ever be anything other than pure insanity.

In my gut, I knew things were about to get much more chaotic.

Chapter Six

The magical sorcery in a pill bottle had me out like a light the second I laid down.

I rubbed my eyes, searching for the television remote and finding it beneath my pillow. The digital alarm clock was missing a button and one number was faded out, so I used the guide as my way of telling time.

Two twenty-three AM sat in the top left corner of the screen. It had officially been four days since I’d left Remmington Hills. I sighed and tossed the remote back down.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I rested my chin on them and stared blankly ahead.

These moments were the worst.

Late at night, early in the morning, afternoon…it didn’t matter. When I had no distractions, I was with the depressing company of all my thoughts racing through my head.

I hated that I missed him. I craved him in the worst possible way, feeling like a junkie who would soon malfunction if I didn’t get my fix.

I think saying we were perfect for one another, equal in a million different tragically dysfunctional ways, was a generous way of putting it.

Funny how many different things a person could find themselves addicted to—most of them never really good for your health. I suppose that’s what the appeal was.

Running my fingers through my still damp locks, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my arms towards the ceiling.

My throat felt like the Sahara desert. Being that my motel room didn’t come equipped with a mini fridge to keep my drinks cool, the ice machine down the hall was my best bet. I refused to drink from the rusted tap; I did have some limits.

Sliding my feet into the pair of fuzzy slippers Melody had brought me, I grabbed the ice bucket and my room key before heading out.

Immediately, the smell of damp, recent rain assaulted my senses. One single light was on in the motel’s parking lot.

Navigating the maze-like halls, my house shoes lightly padded over the dull orange concrete. I was halfway to the machine when I saw a man smoking a cigarette from the corner of my eye. I wouldn’t have spared him a second glance if he wasn’t wedged between two walls like some generic Jack the Ripper.

“That’s a nice diamond,” he stated as I continued past.

I ignored him.

“You’re supposed to say thanks, bitch,” he called after me.

I ignored that, too, reaching the old machine without further incident. Eyeing it suspiciously, I pushed down with my bucket and cringed.

The thing sounded like a stuffed up garbage disposal. I pulled back, just for ice to come falling out of the chute like pieces of hail from the sky, with no sign of stopping.

“Are you kidding me?” I moaned, catching what I needed and then hurrying away before some pissed off guest could wake up and see me standing there.

On the way back to my room, I was relieved to see the asshole from moments ago was gone.

That feeling was short lived.

Entering the room, I locked the door and sat the bucket of questionable ice on the table. As I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, I noticed the tiny hairs on my arms were on edge.

My body had sensed something was wrong, and my brain delayed in catching up. I turned my head and audibly swallowed, seeing a pair of worn tennis shoes sticking out from the far side of the bed.

I wasn’t bothered by the body, not really. Dead people didn’t faze me.

I was much more concerned with the framed king of diamonds someone had sat on top of the comforter.

Chapter Seven

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