Cashing Out
By Nicolette Pierce
Published by Nicolette Pierce at Smashwords
Cashing Out is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Nicolette Pierce
Cover Design by Lan Gao
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
For all those who read my books: Thank you for your support on this journey! It’d be a sad road without you.
Acknowledgements
As this is my fifth book, the acknowledgements seem a bit redundant since it’s the same fabulous people who help me time and time again. Without them, this book wouldn’t be worth the few kilobytes of storage.
To Judy Hanson, my wonderful mother, thank you for the time you spend reading over the books and giving suggestions . . . even if your computer likes to replace words with its own. We’ll keep it “on the hush-hush” . . . wait, it was supposed to be “on the down low.”
To my beautiful Aunt Victoria Jacobson, thank you for working your magic on the novel. And for all the fun extra stuff the manuscript is returned with. It makes me smile.
Lan Gao, thank you for another excellent book cover! It’s always a pleasure working with you.
A special thank you to Amber Barry, who has been an amazing editor. Thank you for taking on the challenge. We are finally at the home stretch.
Books by Nicolette Pierce
Mars Cannon Novels
Deadly Dancing
Predator Patrol
Security Squad
Biker Brigade
Nadia Wolf Novels
The Big Blind
High Stakes
Cashing Out
Squeeze Play
Nadia Wolf Character Novels
The Last Tailored Suit
My Traitor
Please visit Nicolette on her website at:
www.nicolettepierce.com
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
“Poker is a lot like sex. Everyone thinks they are the best, but most don’t have a clue what they are doing.”
~ Dutch Boyd
Chapter 1
“David, hurry! I think there’s something wrong with Nadia!” Mya urged from the doorway.
“There’s nothing wrong with me!” I growled as I nailed the punching bag. “There is, however, something wrong with men!”
David strolled into my bedroom with Mya close on his heels.
“See! This is why I called you,” Mya explained.
“She’s punching a bag. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But she never punches the bag unless you force her to. And her eye keeps twitching. She won’t tell me what’s going on.”
“Nadia, do you want help with technique?” David asked.
“No! I want to punch this stupid bag until it falls apart.”
“I told you there’s something wrong,” Mya insisted, knowingly.
“It would fall apart faster if you improved your technique,” David said, failing to see the bigger picture as most men tend to do . . . or perhaps just ignoring the bigger picture since it leads to feminine emotions. Shudder.
“David, stop encouraging her! I want to know what’s going on.”
He sighed at his wife’s insistence. “Nadia, why are you trying to murder your punching bag?”
“I’d rather murder a couple of people, but that’d be considered a felony,” I growled and kicked the bag as hard as I could.
“Is this about Greyson?” David asked. “We all want to beat the tar out of him, but he has cut off all communication.”
“It’s not all about him. Just let me beat this bag.”
“You heard her, Mya. Let’s go home and let her work out her aggression in peace.”
“David! This is not peaceful at all! She’s going to hurt herself.” Her lips threatened to pout.
“Keeping problems bottled inside hurts a person too. We’ll check on her later.”
Mya’s mouth twisted as she decided whether to listen. I gave her a mental salute for not blindly following him . . . a man. Although, I’d be happy if she’d listen to David just this once.
“Nadia, do you promise not to hurt yourself and call as soon as you’re done assaulting the poor bag?” Mya asked.
“Okay,” I agreed so she would leave.
“And you have to tell me what this is about,” she demanded as David attempted to shoo her from the room.
“Ask your brother-in-law.” I slammed my fist into the bag.
“You know I can’t reach Greyson.”
“I meant the other one.”
“Ian? What did Ian do?” Mya’s eyes widened.
As I side kicked the bag, sweat trickled into my eyes with a raw sting. I blinked the sweat away, continuing my assault.
“Nadia, stop for a minute and tell me what’s going on,” Mya demanded.
I stopped for a breath and leaned on the bag. “With everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, I’ve been inching closer to the proverbial breaking point. Ian was kind enough to finish the job.” I pushed myself from the bag and delivered a growling right hook.
It felt good!
“I still don’t get it,” Mya said. “I thought you didn’t know Ian. Isn’t he in Africa?” she asked David.
David eyed me. “I have a feeling he returned. Mya, why don’t you give us a few minutes to work on the bag. She’ll be back to normal soon.”
Her lips turned into a slight pout. “I’ll go visit Frankie for a few minutes, but I demand an answer when I get back.”
As she walked out of the apartment, David turned toward the punching bag. “I’ll call the punches. Make sure they’re solid, and keep your wrists straight. I don’t care about strength, just accuracy. Gloves up!”
I positioned myself in front of the bag with my gloves up and ready.
“Right hook, left hook, uppercut, jab. Repeat one hundred times.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
“Go!”
Damn the Miller brothers! Right hook.
Damn men! Left hook.
Screw this; I’m a strong woman! Uppercut.
I’m independent and strong! JAB!
“Faster!” David called.
; I don’t need men in my life! Right hook, left hook, uppercut, jab.
Men suck! Right hook, left hook, uppercut, jab.
Tackle bag!
The force of the tackle tipped the bag over, taking me with it. I wrestled with it, hitting and kicking until my mind numbed.
“Nadia?”
The voice drifted to me like it had at a different time in a different apartment. I kicked back from the bag. Dagor.
“Holy crap! There’s something wrong with me,” I wheezed, wiping the sweat from my eyes . . . perhaps a few tears as well.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” David assured as he helped me up and righted the toppled bag.
“I think I just went berserk.”
“Well, maybe a little. But you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Greyson being an idiot doesn’t help.”
“This time it’s not about Greyson. David, I was the idiot.”
“What do you mean?”
A shriek echoed through the staircase and footsteps followed in quick succession.
“Nadia! Omigod!” Mya burst into the room with blonde ringlets bouncing every which way. She latched onto me with a giant Mya-style hug. “Why didn’t you tell me? I knew we were going to be sisters-in-law! I just didn’t think you’d marry Ian.”
David caught himself before his jaw swung open. A bewildered look permeated his otherwise strong and in-command features. I shrugged, not knowing what to say.
“When did this happen?” David asked.
“Two nights ago after the trophy fiasco,” I muttered, inspecting the floor for large holes I could fall through.
I’m so stupid!
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Nope. No holes.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“At Lost City the morning after. I’m sure you have a ton of questions,” I sighed. “Let me just rinse off and I’ll explain.” . . . or attempt to.
David gave a tight nod. I scurried to the bathroom and jumped into the shower.
How am I going to explain what happened when I’m still confused? And where is Ian? After I ran from the hotel, I hadn’t heard from him. Granted, that was less than forty-eight hours ago, but I’d think he’d want to talk . . . or file for an annulment, at least.
I was all for an annulment. I didn’t even know Ian, so the last thing I wanted was to be his wife.
Oh crap! I’m a Miller.
I bet the paperwork shows that I’m Nadia Miller. I’ll have to check the chapel files later. I let the thought settle as I finished my shower.
* * *
Three months later.
Since my banishment from Lost City Casino, I’ve searched for a new casino to call home. Frankie found an online list of casinos operating under Greyson’s Rotunda Casino empire. I steered clear of all of them.
The Backlash Casino was five miles from the strip. It had plenty of play at the tables and was comfortable enough to call home; there was no one to bother me. It was so far off from mainstream casinos that I was confident Greyson wouldn’t step foot in it.
I sat at the table, shuffling my chips and listening to the repetitive clicks as they fell together on the worn felt.
Caleb still played at Lost City, unaware of my current problems. I’ve been dodging his efforts to contact me. Greyson, as far as I know, was still in his ivory tower with Fiona. I assume Remy’s stewing in his limo.
The only Miller I see is Mya since she’s impossible to ignore. God love her. The last thread of information was that David was searching for Ian. It seems he jumped ship as quickly as I did.
I’m still married to Ian; a fact that I’ve tried to ignore. Annulment is the only option, but I refuse to fill out the paperwork alone. If Ian was dumb enough to marry me, he should have to fill out papers too.
I peeked at my dealt hand. It was a playable hand, but I had reached my capacity to think clearly. Playing while emotional would leave me penniless; a constant battle these last few months. I threw in the hand and packed my bag. I cashed out with two hundred dollars fattening my pocket. Not a bad haul, considering.
Driving home on Sergio’s scooter, I found myself smiling . . . something that hadn’t spontaneously happened in a while. I wondered at it. Perhaps I’m done with the anger stage. The crying and self-pity stage only lasted for a couple of days. I’m not normally a crier, and having a wet, puffy, red face was extremely unpleasant.
My first plan was to wait out Ian and force him to file an annulment with me. I figured I’d need his signature anyway. My second plan was to scrape up enough money to take a vacation.
Alone!
The vacation spot would have to be somewhere close and cheap. Somewhere isolated and quiet. Camping. That’s close and cheap. Mya and Frankie wouldn’t dare come looking for me when there’s a possibility of bugs and other crawly creatures.
I grinned.
I’ll research tonight and head out on the road in a few days. Maybe a week if I can’t come up with the money right away.
I pulled into All Celebrities Chapel and found my way to Frankie’s apartment on the second floor.
“Frankie?” I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he called.
I opened the door and stopped. “Where are you?”
Yards and yards of colorful fabric cascaded through the apartment, hooking and weaving though the furniture.
“I’m over here,” he called. I detected fabric moving near his couch.
“What are you doing?”
He poked his head out from the fabric with a twinkling smile. “Behold! The newest costume creation.”
“It’s very colorful, but I don’t think you need all this fabric for one costume.”
“Normally, you’d be correct, but this costume transcends all costumes.”
“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest. What’s the costume?”
“You know the movie Around the World in 80 Days?”
I nodded, still perplexed.
“I’m making the hot air balloon. It’ll hang on the ceiling, and I’ll be in a basket hanging from it. The basket’s bottom will only be a foot or so in the air. I’ll line the floors with stuffing so it looks like we’re in the clouds.”
“This is a huge undertaking. How long will it take to finish?”
“With your help, it should only take a few days.”
I inched toward the door. “I’m really busy.”
He tisked. “No, you’re not. You sit and stew in your apartment like you’re the first person that’s ever gotten drunk and married . . . hello!? That’s ninety percent of my clients. If it wasn’t for booze killing brain cells, I’d be broke and on the streets. Or working at one of those adult stores for minimum wage while scary men hit on me.” He smiled, enjoying the thought. “By the way, you still owe me for the wedding.”
“I don’t owe you anything. Find Ian if you want to get paid. In fact, I think you owe me gig money.”
“That money went to repair Lucille and your kitchen.”
“Frankie, there’s still a hole in my wall!”
“But your window is fixed, isn’t it? And I’ve been very sympathetic. I haven’t even signed you up for gigs lately. I had a couple of possibilities that were excellent-paying too! Although,” he paused thoughtfully, “perhaps it’s for the best. I heard those mud-wrestling girls can be tough and play dirty.” He chuckled at the pun. “Your skin would glow, though. And you need a little glow; your skin looks like a dried cut of beef.”
I swallowed a sigh of relief that I’d dodged that bullet of another gig.
“Well, I need to scrape up some money for a vacation. But no gigs!” I added.
His eyes perked. “A vacation is just what I need. Where should we go? Hollywood? Hawaii?”
“Sorry, Frankie, but I’m going alone. I need some quiet time. Alone,” I reiterated.
“What kind of boring-ass vacation is that? What you need is a frozen drink, a beach, and a visual feast . . . like surf
ers or beach volleyball. When should we go? Now that Vivian has her license, she can officiate weddings. I can finally get some needed R and R.” He jumped from the couch and hopped his way through the flowing fabric.
“Just leave this to me!” He unburied his computer and plopped down. “I’ll have our vacation booked in less than an hour.”
“I want to go by myself.”
He tisked. “Nobody wants to go on a vacation by themselves. And you have no taste for vacation planning. You’ll end up in a desert with a pop-up tent and a snake in your sleeping bag.”
“At least I’d be alone,” I said, wondering how he’d figured out my vacation plan . . . minus the snake.
“Just because your pride is a little bruised doesn’t mean you should dig yourself a hole and lick your wounds. What you need is action, entertainment, and men! Come back in an hour and we’ll finish the balloon while I tell you about our vacation destination! Oh, you got another postcard from your husband. I stuck it under your door.”
Once again, bulldozed by Frankie, I thought as I wandered upstairs to my apartment. Although, alcohol on the beach sounded like it could soothe my nerves better than a pop-up tent with a snake. Knowing Frankie, he’d fling himself into tourist life, which would leave me time to find a secluded spot and breathe.
“Hello, Gus,” I greeted my tubby gray cat as I walked through the door.
He cracked open one eye and grunted. A hind leg inched up to scratch a pesky itch, but he decided it wasn’t worth the effort and let it fall back into napping position.
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