I rummage through my clutch while the blackjack dealer, my twin brother, Adam, false shuffles the decks. He’s so damn good at what he does. But he should be: he was taught by the best. We both were.

The pit boss comes to the table and stands behind Adam, his arms crossed and watching his every move. Makes me so fucking nervous when they do that, but I keep my cool. It’s what I’ve been trained to do.

The pit boss is looking at my chips instead of my cleavage. Dammit. I should have worn the red dress with the plunging neckline. “Lucky night for you, huh?”

I give him my most seductive smile and innocently shrug. “Lady luck, I guess.”

He smirks. “Right. You have lady luck on your side every time you walk through our doors.”

Shit… damn… fuckity fuck. He recognizes me?

He seems confident in his memory of seeing me prior to tonight. To deny being here would be to overplay my hand. It would definitely raise a red flag.

“Not my first time here. Or my first time to win.”

“It certainly isn’t,” he says, one brow lifted.

“Not really sure why I’m back tonight. I lost enough the last time I was here that I should have learned my lesson.” Maybe that’ll throw him off of my scent.

“How much did you lose?”

I roll my eyes upward and shake my head. “So much that I can’t bear to repeat it.”

“Um-hum.”

Adam slightly narrows his eyes. Not enough that many people would even notice. But I notice. And I know what it means: he’s silently telling me to shut my mouth.

And he’s right. Saying too much is how one fucks himself.

I bring my wine glass to my lips and go still when I see a suited man approaching the pit. The guy is easily one of the sexiest men that I’ve ever seen in my life.

He’s every bit of ten years older than me, maybe fifteen, but that doesn’t make him one bit less attractive. Hell, I think that the scattered gray hairs at his temples and in his facial scruff makes him sexy as hell.

I’ve always had a thing for older men.

I straighten my spine and squeeze my arms in, pushing my boobs upward so they’ll spill a little more over the sweetheart neckline of my black dress. I definitely should have worn the red fuck-me dress tonight.

The pit boss leaves his place behind Adam and goes to the man, leaning close to say something into his ear. The two exchange words for a moment and then as quickly as he appeared, Mr. Sexy is gone.

Where the hell did he go?

The pit boss returns to my table and looks at my brother. “Time to rotate.”

Dammit. I wasn’t finished.

My brother places his hands together and then turns them upward, the customary gesture for a departing dealer.

The new dealer takes my brother’s spot, but the pit boss doesn’t take his eyes off me. And that makes me super nervous.

“Mr. Broussard, the owner of the casino, would like to see you.”

He nods, and I turn to find two security guards standing behind me… blocking my escape route from the table. “The owner of the casino? Why in the world would he want to see me?”

“I think you know why he wants to see you.” He passes a towel to the new dealer who takes it to cover my chips. “We’ll keep these safe for you while you’re gone.”

What do I do? I can’t run. Hell, I can’t even look at my brother for a cue.

I’m so fucked.

I stand, and my knees nearly buckle beneath me. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

“You can use the restroom in Mr. Broussard’s suite.”

Mr. Broussard’s suite?

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

I walk with security to the elevator, but inside all I want to do is cut my losses and make a break for the exit. I’m wearing thousand-dollar Jimmy Choos, but I’m willing to ditch them if it means getting a clean getaway.

What would Dad do?

Dad wouldn’t do anything because Dad wouldn’t get caught.

We rise in the elevator to the top floor and security leads me down a long hallway—a very long hallway in which we don’t meet a soul. No witnesses.

The guard rings a bell and Mr. Sexy from downstairs opens the door.

“Miss Grant. Please… come in.”

Holy shit. Mr. Sexy is the Tristan Broussard, the owner of the casino, and he knows my name? This can’t be good. No way, no how.

I pass through the doorway of his suite and an internal distress signal is alarming. It’s telling me to run because nothing good can come from being alone with this man behind a closed door where no one can hear me scream.

“That’ll be all, gentlemen. Thank you.”

I look at Tristan Broussard’s hand on the door handle. He’s about to close the door, and there’s this moment where I consider shoving him aside and fleeing. Except I know that it would be useless; the two goons who just delivered me to him won’t let me go without a chase.

The door closes, and so does my opportunity to run.

Tristan Broussard and I are alone. He probably believes that I’m frightened and nervous about being behind a closed door with him. He isn’t wrong.

I stand in front of him speechless. I tell myself that it’s so I don’t incriminate myself, but the truth is that I’m scared shitless.

“I believe I’ll have a whiskey. Would you care for one?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He gestures toward the sofa. “Have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

Oh shit.

I sit on the edge of the sofa with my legs turned and pressed together so that he can’t see up my dress. Now I’m actually thankful to not be wearing the short, tight red fuck-me dress.

“I can’t for the life of me imagine why the owner of a casino would have a lot to discuss with me.”

He chuckles. “Really, Miss Grant? You’re going to pretend like you don’t know why I had you brought to me?”

Deny. Deny. Deny. “I have no idea, but I’m dying to find out why.”

A lopsided grin spreads. “You have an exceptional poker face. You don’t exhibit a single physical sign of nervousness or deception. How long did it take you to master that?”

I may not appear nervous, but I’m dying inside.

I giggle to make myself seem younger. More innocent. More believable. “I’m just a girl who came in to play a little bit of blackjack.”

Tristan Broussard turns up his glass and drinks half of the whiskey in it before locking his eyes on mine. Making me super uncomfortable, which I’m certain is part of his plan. “Do you really think that I don’t know a card counter when I see one? A dice slider? A past poster? A dealer who false shuffles every time that a certain blackjack player is at his table?”

I’m busted, and so is Adam from the sound of it. I don’t think that things can get worse at this point. But I have to stand by rule number one: deny, deny, deny.

“As a casino owner I’d guess that you and your people had better know those things, or you’re going to get ripped off pretty often.”

“I’ve been ripped off by you and your brother… using your father’s skills.”

Oh, this is far worse than I thought.

I shrug. “I don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about it, Mr. Broussard.”

“I’m not a fool. I don’t expect you to admit to anything, but you should be aware that I have footage of everything you and your brother have been doing. And you know that I’m not bluffing.”

I’m sure that he does.

Adam and I pushed beyond reasonable limits. We won too much, too quickly. Captured the attention of the wrong people. We didn’t stay below the radar, and now we’ve exposed ourselves. We won’t be able to stay here now. Once exposed, it’s time to move on.

I see now that there’s no point in pretending that I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m caught, and we both know it. To continue my denial will only insult him.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not interested in your brother. But you… I’m very interested in you.”

Tristan Broussard is a gambling man. Maybe we can work out some kind of deal.

“Interested in me how?”

“You’ve taken a hundred thousand dollars from me that you didn’t fairly win. You as good as stole that money from me. And now you have a debt to repay.”

I disagree. I might not have won the money fair and square through the eyes of a casino owner, but I worked for that money. Hard. It took a long time to accumulate that hundred grand. Months.

But the law is on his side. I’m actually lucky that he had me brought up here rather than just turning me over to the authorities.

“I have most of the money, but I’ll need a little time to get the rest.”

Thank God that I didn’t spend all of the money already.

“I don’t want the money back.”

What? What casino owner doesn’t want back the money that he feels was taken from him unfairly? “I don’t understand.”

He smiles. Not a smile of happiness. Not a smile of contentment. It can only be described as deep-rooted satisfaction. A smile like that coming from a man like Tristan Broussard frightens me. Mostly because I suspect that very few things bring him true satisfaction.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to keep you.”

Keep me? There aren’t a lot of ways of misinterpreting what those words could imply, but I hope like fuck that I am misunderstanding his intentions. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve decided that you’re going to be my sub until you’ve repaid your debt.”

“A substitute for what?”

“Not a substitute. A submissive.”

Submissive? Fuck. I only know of one thing that he could mean. This man must be a Dominant. A sexual deviant.

“You’re out of your mind if you think that I’m doing kinky shit with you tonight.”

“Do you really think that you could possibly repay a hundred thousand dollars with one night of kinky shit?” He chuckles. “And I don’t recall giving you a choice.”

“This is the craziest thing that I’ve ever heard of. You don’t get to keep a human being because you decide that it’s what you want.”

“I’d love to hear what you plan to do to stop me.”

Okay. Now I’m starting to get scared. Because if anyone has enough money and power to make something like that happen, it’s Tristan Broussard.

He takes what he wants. That’s what men in his position do.

I get up and dash toward the door, but he steps between me and my only escape route. There has never been a man who resembles a brick wall more than he does in this moment. And it’s terrifying.

I’m no delicate flower. I’ve been scrapping with the best of them since I was a kid, but he towers over me by more than a foot. And he must outweigh me by at least eighty pounds. His chest, shoulders, and arms are huge. All muscle.

Dominant and overpowering.

“I will pay back every dime I took from your casino. I swear.” I hate the weakness that I hear in my voice. But I strongly suspect that he loves it.

“I’ve already told you that I don’t want the money. I have plenty of that. What I want is you. And I intend on having you.”

I step backward, an attempt to lure him away from the door so that I’m able to rush past him. At this point, speed is my only hope.

I slowly go up on my tiptoes as I back away, loosening the grip that my shoes have on the backs of my heels. I have to kick out of them. I have no choice. No way that I’ll be able to run in these four-inch bastards.

Just as I hoped, he comes toward me. And away from the door. My window of opportunity is opening. It may only be a crack, but I have to take it. And I do.

I race toward the door, and he lunges forward, grabbing me around my waist. “Not fast enough, sweetheart.”

He hoists me up and over his shoulder, but it’s not the end. Fight or flight has kicked in, and I fight with every ounce of strength and power that I have to make him release me.

Kicking. Screaming. Pinching. Biting. Pulling hair. Scratching skin.

He might overpower me in the end, but he won’t walk away from this fight unscathed. He’s going to look like he wrestled with a wild cat.

His hand comes down on my ass. Hard. Once. Twice. Three times. “Stop. Now. Before you make me really hurt you.”

The command in his voice is attention-getting. Without thinking, I almost obey because there is such power behind it.

He carries me down a hallway, and we enter a dark room. He tosses me, and I land in the center of a bed. “Just so you know, the harder you fight, the harder my cock gets.”

He flips on the lamp and stands at the bedside looking down at me while he touches the scratches on his cheek.

Yeah, motherfucker. I drew blood. You should see what I did to your neck with my teeth.

“Damn, you’re going to be a feisty one.”

I’m lying sideways across the mattress with my legs pressed tightly together. All he has to do is push my dress up and rip my panties and I’m completely vulnerable to him. He can do anything he wants with me.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Just so you know… begging makes my dick harder too.”

I’m not going to get out of this. He’s really going to do whatever he wants with me. And I can’t stop him.

“You’re a sick bastard.”

He chuckles. “Can’t argue with that, baby.”

He says that he’s keeping me, but we’re in a casino hotel. People know that I was escorted to his suite. The pit boss. My brother. The two men from security who left me here.

Witnesses. But none more important than Adam.

“Have you forgotten that my brother knows I’m with you?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.”

“How long do you think that you can keep me here before my brother goes to the police?”

“I don’t plan on keeping you here.”

He’s planning to move me?

That can’t happen; I’ve always heard that you’re as good as dead when you’re transported from one scene to another.

“Adam will go to the police if I’m not back soon.” Maybe that’ll scare him into letting me go.

“I’ve been thinking about this night for months. Do you really think that I’ve not thought out every possible scenario?”

He’s been planning this for months?

This is crazy. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to call your brother and tell him that you are with me in my penthouse. You’ll say that things are going well between us. Very well. And that you’ll be staying with me for a while.”

There’s no hope of getting out of here tonight if I go along with this. “I won’t do that.”

“You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll turn over all of the video surveillance I have of you and your brother stealing from me. And we wouldn’t want to disappoint little Michaela, would we?”

What kind of man would use Adam’s sick daughter as a weapon to make me do what he wants?

Only one answer: a monster.

“Why do you want me? There must a million women out there who would willingly fall at your feet. Volunteer to be your submissive.”

“You can’t break someone who’s willing to be broken.”

“That doesn’t explain why you chose me.”

“You came into my casino. You made a conscious decision to take from me when you’re well aware of what I’m capable of doing. You’ve done what most men don’t have the balls to do. I respect that. And it turns me the fuck on.”

I get it now. He likes a strong woman—a strong woman who will submit to him.

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I didn’t walk into your casino knowing what kind of man you were. I didn’t and don’t know what you’re capable of doing. My intentions were to fly in under the radar and fly out with some cash.”

“Bullshit. You’re the daughter of Conrad Grant. Your father told you everything that he knew about me and my casino while he was training you and your brother.”

It’s true. My lessons were extensive when it came to learning everything about casinos across the United States. But not Tristan Broussard’s.

Don’t fuck with the Broussards. Don’t fuck with their casinos. Don’t fuck with them period.

Dad was very clear where the Broussards were concerned. One thing he wasn’t clear about was the reason. He never once gave me an answer when I asked. I think that’s the reason I was so damn curious about coming into one of the Broussard casinos.

But now I’m beginning to see why my dad told me to stay away.

“I understand that this is sudden and you’ll need time to consider your options.”

I have options? “Which are what?”

“Submitting to me.” A wicked grin spreads across his handsome face. “Or… submitting to me.”

He wants to fuck me… and probably in all kinds of demented ways while he inflicts pain. Well, I’m not down with that. “I’ll never submit to being your plaything.”

“If you don’t choose to be my plaything, you’re going to end up in jail being someone else’s plaything. Which may not bother you too much if you enjoy eating pussy.” He chuckles. “Do you enjoy eating pussy, Miss Grant?”

Amazing. This man stands before me looking so damn important. Like a total professional. His appearance would lead anyone to think that he could be a man who works on Wall Street yet the things coming out of his mouth sound like the dialogue for an amateur porn flick.

“I’m not into women, Mr. Broussard.”

“I didn’t think so. I take you for a girl who likes a big, long, thick dick sliding in and out of her cunt.”

“Mr. Broussard…” I don’t know why my cheeks are so hot. This man is the one who is being inappropriate. He’s the one who should be embarrassed.

“I can’t decide which way you’ll look more beautiful—on your knees sucking my cock or on your hands and knees with your tits jiggling every time I shove my cock into your pussy from behind.”

I press my legs so hard that they couldn’t be pried open with a crowbar. “You’ll not get the chance to find out.”

He comes at me, grasps the backs of my calves and forces me onto my side. His hand rubs my ass before he lifts his palm and smacks it hard, forcing an unexpected yelp out of me. I silently reprimand myself for giving him that satisfaction. “We’ll see about that, sweet Em.”

I wait for what will happen next. I don’t have a plan. I only know that I will fight him tooth and nail if he tries to rape me.

But that’s not what happens.

He leaves the room and returns with my clutch in his hand. My purse lands next to me when he tosses it on the bed. “Call your brother. Leave a message telling him that we’re having a lovely time and you won’t be back on the floor tonight.”

I sit up and reach for my purse, taking out my cell phone. I rack my brain for a way to convey to Adam that everything is definitely not okay.

“Convince him that all is well.”

I choose my brother’s contact and wait for the beep. “Hey. I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay. I’m upstairs having drinks with Tristan Broussard. We’re having a nice time, so you shouldn’t expect me to come back to the casino floor tonight. Talk to you later. Love you, Red.”

Red. The color of alarm. Danger. Come on, Adam. Pick up on my code.

“Why did you say red?”

“Adam’s middle name is Redmond. Red is my nickname for him.”

I’m not sure that he’s buying it. I will be totally fucked if he pulls Adam’s employment records and sees that I’m lying.

He holds out his hand for my phone. “What is your passcode?”

I call off the number while he tucks my phone in the interior pocket of his jacket. “Do you need something to eat?”

Are you fucking kidding me? Like I could eat anything without tossing it right back up. “No.”

“This door will be locked from the other side. You won’t be able to open it, so it’s useless to try. Your efforts would be better spent thinking about all of the ways that you’re going to submit to me.”

The reality of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks.

Like a predator, he’s been lying in wait for me. Watching. Biding his time until he was ready to strike. I’ve been the prey out in the open on his hunting grounds, believing that he was oblivious of my presence.

And now the beast plans to feast.

On me.