Wild Card Read online Renee Rose (Vegas Underground #8)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Vegas Underground Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
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“So how much is interest?” I don’t quite manage to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“Normally we charge forty-nine percent, compounded daily. But let’s just call it an even 200K.”

I gulp. “200K in interest or total?”

I catch that glimmer of a smile. I wonder what he’d look like with a full smile. Somehow, I can’t picture it. It would probably crack his face. “Two hundred total.”

I spread my hands on the table. “I need more time,” I tell him firmly. “The scam I set up on the Bellissimo was a fifth of a penny on every transaction. The money accrued slowly, day by day. I didn’t just siphon off two hundred grand. That would’ve gotten me caught six years ago.”

He lifts his shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“More time,” I insist. I know it’s crazy that I think he’ll negotiate with me, but well, we’ve been doing crazy things. And he did make me pancakes.

“Sorry, doll. Get me the money, dropped into your off-shore account. I’ll handle transferring and washing it from there.” My heart sinks even further, because I’d been considering the very stupid idea of framing him for whatever money I steal.

“And don’t even think about not delivering or messaging for help or anything that will piss me off, bella.” He holds up his phone and I see a video of my brother walking out of his dorm, books tucked under his arm. “I have a guy on him now.”

My stomach sinks to the floor and I suddenly wish I’d skipped the pancake I already ate. I push the plate with the other two away.

I’m not going to get away with this. You can’t steal that much money in a short period of time. Not in the ways I’ve worked out, anyway. Even if I could infiltrate the account system of every casino in Vegas—which I would need months to do—I’m still not even sure I’d rack up the two hundred grand in thirty-one hours.

Fuck.

So basically, I’m going to go down for this.

I guess it’s better than the alternative, which is Trevor getting killed for my stupidity.

I fix my hitman with a glare. “Laptop?”

He arches a brow. “Don’t get bitchy, little girl. We still have to be together for two days.”

I make a snorting sound, but he’s right. We do. And I definitely liked the kinder, gentler side he showed me. I mean, there were moments: the jacket in the trunk of the car. The bath. Pancakes.

Oh God, am I trying to put icing on a cake made out of shit? I’m nuttier than they say.

He clears my plate and lifts his chin in the direction of the dining room. I look over and see all my tech stuff set up—everything from my apartment, including highly illegal blockers and re-routers to keep my identity and location from being discovered.

I get up and pad to the table in the dining room where I sit down and flick the switches on my equipment. I open the lid of my laptop and stare at the screen, which is as blank as my mind.

Crap! Who am I going to steal the money from? Especially if I’m sure to get caught, it seems like I ought to have an agenda for it. Like the Tacones killed my dad. I don’t have any other huge personal vendettas, but maybe I could invent one.

I certainly hate Dr. Alden, my graduate advisor.

But he wouldn’t have two hundred grand available to steal. Maybe I could frame him for the crime, though.

But it needs to be a large corporation. Maybe it’s best to stick with Las Vegas casinos. They’re raping their customers anyway, right? So which one?

I pull up a map of the strip and stare at it, but my thoughts whirl around Trevor. How to keep him safe. If there’s any way out of this for me.

Not arriving at any plan that doesn't leave us dead or hunted for the rest of our lives, I swallow down the bile and choose a large casino at random. The Luxor will work. I start the tedious job of hacking in through their security walls.

Three hours later, I'm stiff and restless. I crack my knuckles and shake my hands out. I beat my fists on my deadened thighs. I need some heavy exercise to bring me back into my body. I should be on my bike right now, riding between the classes I'm missing.

I look over at my captor, who sits on the couch reading the newspaper. Babysitting me. I wonder if he'd let me out for a run? Put me on a leash like a dog—

Now I'm turned on.

I remember all the things he did to me last night. The glorious whipping. The way he stuffed his cock in my mouth. Even the anal. They all made the top of my list of sexual experiences. And my list was fairly long to begin with. Starting with the ones I never want to remember.


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