All In: A Vegas Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  “I’m by the cash counter,” Eddie said. “Did you lose him or not?”

  Bryce’s head spun, locking onto something I couldn’t see. He scratched his cheek. “Your four o’clock, Sage. The Buffy slot machines.”

  I whirled and saw him immediately. He sat in the stool in front of a Buffy The Vampire Slayer themed slot machine, idly examining the flashing screen. He checked his watch, looked around the casino, then checked his watch again.

  “I think he’s spooked,” I said, sliding sideways to hide behind a machine.

  “He’s waiting for something,” Bryce said. “Oh! I know what he’s doing—”

  He cut off abruptly. The pit boss was speaking to him. For a moment I feared that he’d been caught, but he only nodded to the pit boss and then tapped another dealer on the shoulder, taking their place at a table.

  No more Bryce helping me.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  Eddie said, “Almost there. Sit tight.”

  I checked on the mule one more time, then leaned out the other way into the aisle. A moment later Eddie appeared at the far end of the room. He walked in my direction with speed, but not enough to raise suspicion. He definitely stuck out a lot more than a waitress. People noticed him and got out of his way.

  Suddenly an old woman shouted loud enough to cut through the din of casino noise. There was a flash of fists and a girl half her age stumbled backward into the aisle, tripping over her heels and falling on her butt. A martini went flying, spraying alcohol through the air like green rain.

  For a moment the girl was shocked, then fury spread across her face. “You cunt!” she shrieked, lurching to her feet to fight the old woman.

  Eddie was on her in a flash, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her away. The girl flailed and windmilled her arms with cartoon punches while the old woman cackled and pointed.

  “She pushed me!” the girl shouted. “Arrest her too!”

  Eddie sent a regretful glance my way as he handled the commotion.

  Shit. I was on my own.

  I leaned back around the machine in time to see the mule leaving his stool, walking straight toward me. I acted casual and he brushed past me, re-entering the aisle walkway and moving deeper into the casino.

  I followed about 15 feet behind. I wasn’t going to lose him this time, especially now that I had no backup. He circled the card tables and I shared a look with Bryce, who was dealing cards to a table of giddy college girls.

  The mule crossed the casino, walking with purpose now. He was heading toward the side of the room with the performance stage, where Xander stood chatting with stage crew wearing all black. I guess that’s why he’d been silent.

  The mule reached the far wall by the stage and turned left, following the wall. Then he disappeared down a hall leading away from the main casino floor.

  The bathrooms.

  I stopped at the hall entrance. It extended straight away from me for 40 feet, with the men’s room on the left and the women’s on the right.

  I sighed. I should wait for him to come out and follow him some more, but there weren’t a lot of people on this side of the casino and I was afraid I would stick out. Waitresses in their Soviet uniforms only blended in when they were actually doing their job, and right now—without my tray of drinks and napkins—I was as obvious as a bull in a tuxedo.

  But then something magical happened. The mule walked right past the bathroom doors. He kept going until the hall ended at a neon Employees Only sign. He pushed open the door a crack, just wide enough for his body to fit, and slipped through.

  The door closed behind him.

  “He went into the employee section!” I said into my ring. “The one by the bathrooms on the east side of the stage!”

  Nobody responded. On the stage Xander was chatting with a gaggle of fans holding headshots out for him to sign.

  Damnit. I wanted someone to share in my excitement!

  “Should I follow him?” I asked. “I’ve never been down that hall. I don’t know if waitresses will blend in or not.”

  Still no answer.

  I didn’t want to follow the mule. I’d risked myself enough already, and I was keenly aware of the risk of getting caught tailing one of the Russian money launderers. But following him into that section might be the only way. Every second I deliberated he drifted farther and farther away, along with our chances of pulling off any sort of heist.

  If I didn’t follow him the others would chew me out. They’d yell at me for not trying hard enough. I could hear their voices in my imagination. I didn’t want to fail them.

  “Last chance to stop me,” I whispered, gathering my nerve. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

  “Wait!” Xander hissed. “Don’t do it.”

  I twisted back toward the stage. Xander had left the girls and was hidden in the wings behind the curtain, his hand over his mouth.

  “Knowin’ he went that way is good enough for tonight,” he said. “I’ve got eyes on that hall from here. I’ll watch him come out. Head back to your section before you get caught.”

  Relieved, I turned and strode away. My heart was racing and my face was flushed with excitement. That was exhilarating! All I did was follow a guy across the casino for a few minutes but it felt like a high speed chase.

  I passed the card pit and gave Bryce a wink. He grinned back at me like we’d just been named King and Queen of prom.

  My excitement didn’t last long.

  I was halfway back to my section by the entrance when Zeke appeared in the walkway. He held a black serving tray in his hand like a frisbee. As tempting as it was to run in the opposite direction, I approached and stopped in front of him.

  “You are not at your assigned post,” he said in that slow Russian drawl.

  I winced. How long had I been gone? Long enough to be noticed, clearly. Shit.

  “I can explain…”

  “Please do.” He stepped so close I could smell his sour breath. “Now.”

  I tried to think of an excuse but nothing plausible jumped out. My mind was totally blank. “I had to use the bathroom!” I ended up saying. It wasn’t a valid excuse because we had strict breaks when we could use the bathroom, but it was the best I had.

  “The bathroom,” he said. A statement, not a question.

  “I know I should have waited until my break but we’ve been slammed all night. I didn’t get a chance in my last break. I can work longer tonight to make up for it, just please give me a chance…”

  His face twisted with confusion. “I do not care about the bathroom. I care about your assigned post. Why did you switch with Carli?”

  It took me a minute to realize what he meant. He’s upset I switched shifts. “Oh, Carli! I, uh, felt bad for her being stuck over in the slots. I wanted to give her a chance at the card tables.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “I choose the schedule carefully. We put Carli on the slots because she is a butterface. We want pretty girls on the card tables, yes?”

  He cupped my chin. I struggled not to cringe.

  “I understand,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

  He let go, handed me the tray, and wandered off.

  I was too relieved to move.

  12

  Sage

  Now that we knew where they were going, I didn’t need to watch the front entrance like a hawk. Which was good since Zeke had relegated me back to the card tables. Poor Carli looked like she was going to cry on the way back to her section.

  Xander was like a kid on Christmas morning. “Another mule just went in,” he said in our ear pieces. “Oh, there’s a third!”

  That wasn’t even the best part. When they came back out later—eight minutes later, to be precise—their pockets were noticeably bulging.

  We’d found where the money was being distributed.

  Bryce and I had a front row seat to the mules’ arrival at the card tables. They immediately threw cash onto the table in exchange for chips.
<
br />   Dirty money.

  It should have looked different somehow. It was as normal as could be. Crisp $100 bills, laid out in big stacks. The pit boss came over to supervise the dealer counting them out while I handed out drinks.

  “Changing $50,000,” the dealer announced to the pit. The pit boss confirmed the amount out loud. More than a few heads swung that way to see who had put so much money down. Someone famous, surely.

  My shift was over soon after that. I went back to the locker room to change.

  “What’s the deal?” I whispered into my hand when the other two waitresses in there left. “We meeting tonight to discuss?”

  “Not tonight,” Xander said. “Too risky. Tomorrow.”

  “Meet at the diner at 6:00,” Eddie said.

  I winced. “6:00pm? I have a gig.”

  “Then cancel.”

  “I don’t want to do that!” I hissed. “These gigs are tough enough to scrape together.”

  I could hear Xander grumbling to himself. “What time works best for you, then?”

  “I can do 7:30 if I catch the right bus,” I said. “That gives me over an hour before my shift at the Volga.”

  “7:30 then,” Xander said.

  There was no other chatter as I finished changing, grabbed my purse, and went outside to wait for the bus.

  I was a bubbling mess of excitement. We’d discovered where the mules were going—and I’d helped! Mules went into that employee hallway by the stage and returned with stacks of dirty money. We were one step closer to discovering where it was being stored.

  I didn’t care how risky it was. I wanted to wait for the others and celebrate!

  Instead, like a good co-conspirator, I obeyed my orders and went home. Angela was still at work so I had the place to myself, which was probably for the best because in my excitement I might have been tempted to tell her.

  Not really, but still. I couldn’t contain myself.

  As I made myself a microwave dinner, I wondered what was next. We still had the details to learn: where exactly the money was being stored and handed off. Then we had to come up with a plan to steal it. Then we had to execute that plan.

  I hardly slept that night. Laying in my bed felt like wasted time. We still had so much to do!

  The next morning was a struggle. I tried to focus on my gig that evening but it was impossible not to think about what I was going to do with my share of the money. The doors it would open for me. The way it would instantly change my entire life for the better.

  What did a lousy gig at a third-rate casino lounge matter compared to three million dollars?

  I took the bus there. Even though I was wearing a tight dress and heels I wasn’t self-conscious. There were plenty of others like me on the bus, waitresses and dancers in skimpy outfits barely concealed by their coats. There was enough makeup and hair spray on this bus to fight a chemical war.

  I want to be better than this.

  I got a text on the way to my gig:

  Bryce: You alright for tonight?

  I smiled. There was nothing like the warm feeling you got from receiving a text from a cute boy.

  Me: Why wouldn’t I be?

  Bryce: Just making sure. Hadn’t heard from you.

  Me: Isn’t that the point? We’re supposed to lay low, not be seen together?

  Bryce: Yep

  I watched the casinos flow by outside the bus window and waited for him to say more. The little bubble appeared once or twice to show he was typing a message, but then it disappeared again.

  Eventually I was too impatient to wait.

  Me: It’s probably for the best that we don’t try to see each other again. It’s too risky with the job.

  This time the reply came back quickly. Too quickly.

  Bryce: Yeah I agree. Gotta play it safe.

  Bryce: Glad you understand

  But his text was like a punch to the gut. Part of me wanted him to disagree, to insist it was impossible to resist being with me, no matter how much money was on the line. A long pronouncement of how he couldn’t stop thinking about me.

  I wanted this. I was the one who told him I didn’t date, and even though sleeping together could be casual, it wasn’t casual the more you did it. He was respecting the boundaries I’d put up.

  So why did it feel like I was missing out on something big?

  The Lucky Lucy was a small lounge with only a dozen or so slot machines on one end of the room and a performance stage at the other. The smell of smoke and cheap liquor was heavy in the air. The manager met me in the back and confirmed the details, and then—to my surprise—he paid me up-front. It was a relief knowing I wouldn’t get skimped out of my pay like I’d been the other night.

  The manager went to a microphone and announced me to the crowd. Sage Parker. I never got tired of hearing my name announced, no matter how small the venue. The adrenaline rush from that alone was worth pursuing my dream.

  I took hold of the stand microphone and performed my set. The spotlight in the ceiling was hot and sweat soon dripped down my neck, but I wasn’t wearing so much makeup that it would smear. I was smooth and practiced, and received genuine applause after each song. I was getting good at this.

  By the time I reached my final song I was really getting into the performance. I let out all of my stress and worry, pouring all of it into my voice. Belting out the words with everything I had, my diaphragm working overtime to make each note pop.

  Then I saw him.

  He was in the back, on the left at a table by himself. Somehow I knew it was him even though his face was concealed underneath his cowboy hat. I stumbled for a moment but recovered quickly, continuing with the remainder of the song.

  The applause I received at the end was huge for such a small venue. Or at least, huge for me. He clapped too, though it was a slow, begrudging clap.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  I gathered my tip jar from the front of the stage—there was at least $100 in there!—and collected my things from the back. I exited out the side of the curtain and hugged the wall to where he waited.

  Xander leaned against the wall, one leg bent against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. I knew it was a curated look to make him seem like a real country boy. All those country singers had that same cut-and-paste look: tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, a flannel button-down with the sleeves rolled up to show off their forearms. And of course the wide-brim cowboy hat that completed the image.

  Yet even though I knew it was all an act, he made it work. He mastered the sexy cowboy look perfectly.

  “Fancy seein’ you here,” he said in that same southern drawl.

  “Oh, so you just happened to swing by the club where I was singing?”

  I was annoyed at him. We were supposed to be careful about being seen together outside our jobs at the casino, and yet he broke that rule to come here and spy on me?

  Once the doubt was in my head it festered like a sore. Did he not trust me? Did he think I was going to ruin the whole heist even though I’d helped them make the first breakthrough last night?

  “It wasn’t hard to find ya,” he said. “It’s not that big of a town, especially if you know the right people to ask.”

  I couldn’t keep the attitude out of my voice. “I don’t care how you found me. Why are you here?”

  He shrugged and looked at the ground, cowboy hat covering his face. “Figured you could use a ride. My truck’s nothing fancy, but it’s better than the bus.”

  All my anger and paranoia drained out of me like someone had pulled the plug. He wasn’t spying on me, he was being sweet. Now I felt like the asshole.

  “Only because I didn’t want to have to wait for you at the diner,” he quickly added. “We’ve got stuff to discuss.”

  “Right,” I said.

  I followed him to his truck. Say what you would about country singers, but their asses looked good in blue jeans. If I was a 16 year old girl I’d have waited after the show for his au
tograph for sure.

  He drove a pick-up truck with more rust than paint, and the passenger door creaked when I opened it. ‘Wow, you’re really dedicated to the act,” I said.

  “What act?”

  I closed the door. The inside smelled like leather and faded air freshener. I liked it.

  “All of this.” I gestured at him and the interior of the truck. “The country boy who moved to the big city act.”

  He gave me a funny look as we pulled out of the parking lot.

  “You were good,” he said.

  “Just good?” I asked. I was teasing, but he took the comment seriously.

  “If I could offer some constructive feedback?” he said. “You hold some of the end notes too long. Then you have to play catch-up with the music.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I thought it was a stylistic thing at first. Something you were intentionally doing. But by the end of the night I was certain it was a flaw. Something for you to work on.”

  “My singing is just fine, thank you very much.”

  “If you say so.”

  “You’re one to talk, you know,” I shot back.

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  “You’re a great guitar player,” I said, “but your vocals are downright lazy. You don’t stretch yourself to hit the notes on the end of your range. You just sort of sing them flat and move on. Which you get away with since you’re a country singer…”

  “What’s wrong with country singers?” he said with no small amount of offense.

  “Nothing,” I said innocently. “I’m sure it takes a lot of talent to write a new song about your pick-up truck, drinking cans of Budweiser around the bonfire with the boys, your best pair of blue jeans, your hunting rifle. Oh, and your tractor! Can’t forget the tractor.”

  “Not all…” he began, then snorted. “Alright, that makes up a lot of country songs, sure. But don’t act like it’s somehow lesser than what you do.”

  “The songs I sing are classics.”

  “I meant your performance,” he said. “The way you hold the microphone. Wrapping one leg around the mic stand in that skimpy dress. Leaning over to show off your cleavage. You sell sex as much as you sing.”