She tossed her overnight bag on the nearest bed, pulled her things out, and hung up the red minidress she hadn’t worn since punching Rick Sobona. She jumped in the shower and washed off ten hours of road and recycled air. She shampooed her hair and styled it to make it more edgy and dangerous. She worked the makeup hard to hide the bruising. The careful application of foundation and blush gave her stunning cheekbones.
Before she slipped into the dress, she examined the blotches of purple and blue mottling both sides of her rib cage where the iPhone thief-not-so-extraordinaire had pummeled her. She stared at the damage before applying concealer. How many times had she picked up injuries like this in the last year? Five? Six? She thought it was closer to nine. They were nothing serious—always superficial. Nevertheless, Jarocki was right. She did put herself in the firing line. No one she knew got hurt as routinely as she did. She blamed it on the fact that people underestimated her. She was female and slight, which made them think she was unsubstantial, a paper target. Those people learned that she was a force to be reckoned with and wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. She pulled up the zipper and smoothed her dress down over her hips.
It was midnight when she reached the casino floor. Although it was a weeknight, the casino was bustling. She guessed that if you were in Vegas, you didn’t have a day job to wake up to in the morning.
She changed two hundred bucks into chips, although she didn’t plan on spending more than half. She couldn’t afford to lose more than that.
She hit a packed craps table. She liked craps because of the decent odds and the community spirit. It wasn’t long before she had forty bucks on the pass line, a cosmo in one hand, and the dice in the other. People cheered when she rolled and willed her to do well. She liked the thrill of the unknown and the unforeseeable consequences. Each cast of the dice could lead to fortune or ruin.
She rode her luck for as long as she could, but the crazy train came to an end when she threw a seven before her point. Boos and moans followed, and the stickman clawed back all the money everyone had been making during her sweet run. Not all was lost, because she’d pocketed three hundred and fifty dollars before she’d sevened out. That was enough to cover the costs of this expedition.
Just as she walked away from the craps table, two guys in their forties sidled up to her. Both sported the same Men’s Wearhouse look, simple dress shirts and slacks. Neither were Brad Pitt in the looks department, but they weren’t entirely hard on the eyes either.
“Hey, you’re not going, are you?” one of them asked. “The night is young.”
She glanced at her watch, which told her it was close to 2:00 a.m. “Yeah, a girl has to get her beauty sleep.”
“Have a drink with us first,” the other said.
“Why would I get a drink with a couple of strangers?” She smiled to let them know she wasn’t being mean.
They smiled back.
“A stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet,” the other said.
A stranger is also someone who’ll abduct you, hang you from a hook, and lash you with a whip, she thought.
“I’m Jack,” the first of them said, “and this is Rob.”
“And you are?” Rob asked.
“Zo?.”
“The stranger spell has been broken,” Jack said. “As new friends, let’s toast the occasion with a drink.”
She felt the weight of their stares passing over her body. “Why would you want to have a drink with me?”
Rob held a fist of chips. “You won us a lot of money. It’s only right to thank you. Blame my Texas upbringing.”
“So, what do you say?” Jack asked.
She was going to say no, but then considered how stressful tomorrow was likely to be—finding the places that had wrecked her life and cost Holli hers. Regardless of what she discovered, it was going to be brutal on the soul. A cocktail with strangers would be a nice distraction.
“Why not?”
The three cut across the casino floor to Mark Anthony’s. They were trying to impress her. Mark Anthony’s was the kind of bar where complex lighting accentuated the extravagant decor, to justify the high prices, and a pair of bouncers protected the entrance. They grabbed a high-top table in the middle of the place.
Their waitress came over the moment they sat. She introduced herself as Jade, a name Zo? suspected was fake. Zo? guessed they were similar in age, although the waitress’s makeup made it hard to tell. The black cocktail dress Jade wore was low in the front, backless, and high on the thigh. It was all designed to get men to act like fools and spend recklessly in order to impress. Zo? couldn’t really judge. Didn’t she wear the same type of outfit, for a similar effect?
“So guys, can I interest you in a cocktail? Our crew can rustle you up anything you care to name. Or, better yet, can I interest you in a bottle service?”
“Champagne,” Jack announced. “We’re celebrating.”
“I can go for that,” Rob added. “What do you say, Zo??”
Neither of them seemed like champagne guys to her, and she certainly wasn’t into it. She shrugged. “You said you guys were buying, so I leave it to you.”
“Champagne, it is,” Jack said.
“I’ll bring that right over, guys,” Jade said.