Dopey snatches the phone up from the floor and stares at it for a moment as the far away voice of the 911 operator utters the words I’ve been dying to hear, the words that send Dopey into a blind fury: Ma’am, officers are on their way.

The scar across his face turns purple as the rest of his face turns scarlet with rage. “You’re dead!” he roars, and I brace myself for another blow.

Closing my eyes and tucking my chin to my chest, his backhand lands on the side of my head. I yelp at the burning pain in my ear. As warm blood trickles down my earlobe, I realize he must be wearing a ring. He pulls his hand back to do it again, but someone bursts through the door. Looking up, I see it’s the Russian in the tux who was seated next to me at the blackjack table.

“I’m getting police chatter—” The Russian cuts himself off mid-sentence as he processes the scene before him.

Dopey has one hand raised, ready to strike me, as his other hand grips my phone. “She called the cops,” he informs the Russian.

“You idiot! You left her alone with the phone?” the Russian shouts.

Dopey is about to reply, but the Russian pulls a gun from inside his tuxedo and points it at him.

“Untie her feet. We have to move her. Do it now!” he barks the order.

Dopey sets my phone down on the desk, oblivious to the fact he’s left the line open on the emergency call. Pulling a retractable hunting knife from his back pocket, he slices the plastic ties around my ankles. My thighs tremble as he yanks me up by my hair.

“Let’s move. Come on!” the Russian says, holding the office door open for us to exit.

I’m unsteady on my feet from the blows to the head and the drug hangover. I can barely walk a straight line in my heels. Dopey’s large hand curls around my bicep, his fingers digging in painfully to keep me from falling as they lead me down a drab concrete corridor. We’re halfway down, when the sound of gunshots stops us cold.

“Help!” I shout, toward the sound of the shots. “Help me!”

“Kara, I’m coming!” shouts a deep voice I recognize as Cash.

I want to drop to my knees with relief, but Dopey yanks me back toward the office we came from.

“Run, bitch!” he orders me as I stumble over my heels and he has to catch me. “Run or die!”

“Cash!” I shout over my shoulder, but I still can’t see anyone behind us. “Cash!”

Dopey shoves me into the office and closes the door behind me as I fall onto the concrete floor. I quickly kick off my heels and backup against the desk to grab the handsaw. My entire body flinches at the sound of gunfire and I drop the saw on the floor.

“Fuck,” I whisper, as I try rubbing the plastic tie around my wrists against the sharp corner of the metal desk. Then, I remember that the phone line may still be open. “Operator, are you still there?” I ask as I bend over the desk to put my mouth closer to the phone.

“Ma’am, officers are on their way. Can you get to safety?” the woman asks, and I cry tears of joy at the sound of her voice.

“I can’t,” I sob. “Oh, my God. They’re gonna kill me. Please help me. They’re shooting.”

“Are they shooting at you?”

“They’re shooting at my boyfriend. Please hurry. They’ll kill him.”

How did Cash find me? I don’t know the answer to this question. All I know is that if I die tonight, I will die at his side. He will make it to me. Of that, I am certain.

“Are the gunshots getting closer or farther away?” the operator asks me. “Do you know what part of the building you’re being held in?”

“The shots are getting closer. Oh, God. I don’t know where I am. It looks like, like, like maybe an office building or a warehouse. I don’t know!” I reply with frustrated defeat.

“It’s okay, ma’am. Can you tell me your name?”

“Kara Langley,” I reply before something explodes outside in the corridor, blowing the office door off its hinges.

I can barely hear the 911 operator yelling at me through the ringing in my ears. The phone disappears as the office fills with thick white smoke.

Disoriented and gasping for air, I choke out a response for the operator. “I think we were bombed.”

Crouching down behind the desk, my body shivers with fear as I try to turn my face away from the smoke. But even turning away from the door and taking shallow breaths doesn’t help. The smoke burns my eyes, throat, and lungs.

Closing my eyes, I lie down on the cold concrete as I wait for the wooziness to overcome me. My airway is on fire and my headache intensifies tenfold. The ringing in my ears subsides as I feel my body slackening from lack of oxygen.

“Kara!”

I try to open my eyes, but the smoke is still too hot and thick. “I’m in here,” I reply in barely a whisper, like I’m stuck in a bad dream.

Suddenly, there’s a hand under my cheek. Something is pulled over my head and my eyelids flutter open. This time, I can see, as I’m peer out through a plastic face mask.

Without hesitation, Cash lifts me off the floor and takes me out into the smoky corridor. Keeping his head down so the smoke doesn’t assault his eyes, he carries me with ease. Within seconds, we’re out of the smoke cloud and outside breathing fresh, cool, blissful desert air.

I pull the mask off my head as Cash carefully sets me down on the asphalt parking lot, where a SWAT team is assembling and an ambulance waits with its back doors open.

Cash pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head as I coil my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest.

“You found me,” I murmur, unable to hold in my awe.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t let them.”

He chuckles as he takes my face in his hands. “My tough girl. I’m so fucking sorry I left your side.”

“It’s not your fault,” I reply, meeting his gaze fiercely. “But I think my blackjack days are behind me.”

He smiles as he leans in, his mouth hovering over mine. “I love you so fucking much.”

His kiss is slow and tender, breathing life into me with every exhalation.

When he finally pulls away, he places a soft kiss on my forehead. “You’re never leaving my side again.”

I manage a soft laugh. “I think that’s called stalking. There are laws against it.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but he stops when my eyes widen. My heart drops into my stomach as I see the medics wheeling someone out of the warehouse toward the ambulance. It’s Cash’s father.

After three hours in the hospital waiting room, Jacob Westbrook is still in surgery for the gunshot wound to his neck. I begin drifting off to sleep on Cash’s shoulder, until someone taps my knee. Opening my eyes, I see a nurse in lavender scrubs looking down at me.

“Kara Langley?” she inquires, and I nod. “We’re ready for your CT scan. Come with me.”

I clutch the handbag Hector retrieved from the hotel for me as we’ve been waiting. I wish he’d thought to bring me a change of clothes. The smell of blood and vomit on my dress is nauseating.

Cash rises from his chair and holds his hand out to help me up.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I insist.

Cash’s mother, Anne, flashes me a concerned look as I wobble unsteadily upon rising. “Do you want me to come with you, dear?”

“I’m fine. It’s just a mild concussion,” I say, echoing the ER doctor’s assessment of my injuries.

“Actually,” the nurse says, addressing Cash, “You can come in the observation room while she’s getting her scan.”

“Good,” he replies curtly, giving me no say in the matter.

We follow the nurse to the radiology department, where she gives me a gown to change into in a nearby restroom. Cash offers to help me change, but I’m afraid he’ll see other injuries on my body and turn into Liam Neeson with a special set of skills.

As I change in the private hospital bathroom, my phone vibrates inside my purse. Pulling it out, I see a text message from Jacie.

I shoot off a text letting her know I’ll be there as soon as I can. But as I open the purse again to drop the phone inside, something flashy gets my attention. Digging my hand inside, I come up with a gold $1,000,000 chip with the Billionaire Club logo in the center. Suddenly, I feel sick with myself for risking my life and my father’s life for a stupid bet.

Cash knocks on the door and calls to me, “You okay in there?”

“I’m fine,” I shout back.

But I am far from fine.

I almost got Cash killed. I may have succeeded in getting his father killed. Now, my father may also die because I left him alone to go play pretend with my billionaire boyfriend. And now, looking at this $1,000,000 chip, I realize I’ve managed to get what I wanted, but not without feeling like a prostitute. A reckless prostitute.

I need to get away from Cash before I take down his entire family with my ten tons of baggage.

My brain scrambles for a way to get to my father without Cash at my side. He’ll insist on going to the hospital with me if I’m honest with him. And he’ll never forgive himself if he’s with me and my father in East Las Vegas while his father dies downtown.

Cash gives me a suspicious look as I exit the bathroom with my dress neatly folded under my arm, my other hand clutching the back of my hospital gown shut. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks, walking behind me to make sure the ties on my gown are secure.

“I’m fine. I’m just starving. Can you get me something to eat?”

Merely speaking the words aloud almost makes me want to gag. With the nausea and headache caused by the concussion, food is the last thing on my mind.

“You want something from a vending machine or something from the cafeteria?”

I shrug. “Do they have burgers in the cafeteria?”

“I can certainly ask.”

“Can you pick up my prescription while you’re down there?” I plead. “I need the nausea meds so I can eat.”

If he suspects I’m sending him on a wild goose chase, he doesn’t let on. “Anything else, princess?”

I put on my best phony smile as I shake my head. “That’s all.”

As I watch him set off down the corridor, I step into the room with the large tunnel-like CT scan machine. The nurse makes me drink some oral contrast fluid, which makes me feel like my blood is boiling inside my veins. Glancing at the clock on the wall before and after the procedure, I’m relieved to find it only takes fifteen minutes.

After I’ve changed back into my dress, I call for an Uber as I head in the opposite direction Cash went. Exiting through the women’s pavilion, I slide into the back of the white Honda Civic and ask the driver to please hurry. My father is dying.

If my disheveled and bruised appearance makes him nervous, he doesn’t let on. I spend the entire eight-minute drive to the Billionaire Club ignoring the incessant vibrating from the phone inside my purse. When we arrive, I complete the Uber transaction and tip him well.

“Can you please wait here? I need you to take me to Desert Springs Medical Center.”

“I can’t wait more than ten minutes,” he replies, looking a bit peeved now.

“This won’t take that long,” I say, sliding out of the back seat.

Ignoring the stares from the early morning gamblers, I head through the Blue Pill casino, straight toward the door that leads to the employee locker room. I quickly change into a fresh pair of skinny jeans and a snug gray T-shirt. Slipping my dirty bare feet into a pair black Converse, I reach for the door to close the locker, but I stop myself.

I sigh as I reach into my purse and retrieve the gold chip. As I stare at it, my chest aches for all the people I hurt to get this stupid thing. Placing it on the shelf in my locker, I shut the door softly and head out.

When I’m in the back seat of the Honda again, I pull my phone out of my purse to enter the destination in the Uber app. But seeing the missed calls, voicemails, and text notifications on my lock screen makes it hard to breathe.

As the Honda hits a bump, I scramble to lower the window so I can lean my head out and vomit.

“Are you drunk?” the driver asks. “There’s a $150 vomit cleaning fee if you throw up back there.”

“I’m not drunk,” I reply, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth. “I have a concussion. Can you please drive slowly?”

“Sorry,” he replies. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m taking you to a hospital.”

I close my eyes and draw in a deep, cleansing breath. When I feel the car come to a stop, I open my eyes again and navigate to the Messages app on my phone. I stare at Cash’s final text, actively ignoring the earlier texts.

My finger hovers over the send button, but I can’t bring myself to tap it. Instead, I edit the message.

I close my eyes and hold the phone to my chest as the Honda takes off again down Tropicana. I focus on my breathing to keep from vomiting again as I open my eyes and type my response.

He doesn’t reply right away, and fresh tears slide down my cheeks as I realize that may be the last words we ever speak to each other. But my suspicions are proven wrong when my phone vibrates fifteen minutes later, as my Uber pulls into the parking lot at Desert Springs Medical Center.

I thank the driver as I step out of the Honda. As I step onto the curb in front of the emergency room entrance, my phone begins vibrating again. I stare at Cash’s name for a moment before I tap the button to the answer the call.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I walk through the sliding doors.

“For what?” he asks, his voice as soft as silk. “Baby, none of this is your fault. You just said those same words to me four hours ago when I pulled you out of that warehouse. My father is in surgery because he’s a stubborn old goat who refused to take this shit lying down.”

I let out a congested laugh. “You need to be there with him when he wakes up.”

“Too late. It didn’t take much Googling to find out Desert Springs is the closest hospital to your house with an ER. I called and they confirmed your father is there. Turn around.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and watch as the call disappears. Turning around, my heart stutters at the sight of Cash standing in the center of the hospital corridor, still wearing the white button-up shirt stained with my blood. I crouch down and place a hand on the cold floor as I’m overcome with emotion.

He kneels in front of me and gently lifts my chin to look me in the eye. “I’m never going to regret anything that keeps me by your side,” he murmurs, brushing a tear from my jaw. “And I want you by my side forever.”

I’m suddenly aware that people are watching us through the glass partition separating us from the waiting room we’re standing next to.

But I keep my gaze locked on his. “I’m scared of losing you like my mom and dad.”

“You’re never going to shake me. I’m gonna be on you like a bus of retirees on a casino buffet. I’ll milk you dry.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He doesn’t smile or reply. Reaching into the front pockets of his slacks, he pulls out a ring and holds it in front of my face between his thumb and index finger.

“That’s a forever promise,” he says, looking me in the eye. “Remember when I asked you how many times you’d been proposed to? And you basically looked like I’d just told you you look fat in those jeans.”

I press my lips together to keep from laughing as I nod.

“I’ve known since then that I was going to ask you to marry me. My instinct was to be a jerk about it, to hurt you before you could hurt me,” he says, reaching up to brush my hair back, exposing my injured ear. “Little did I know you were indestructible. Look at you, Terminator,” he says, planting a soft kiss on my ear. “It’s no secret I love the fuck out of you. It’s impossible to keep secrets from you because you make me want to gab like a fucking idiot.”

“That’s not my fault,” I add.

He shakes his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Tough as Teflon on the outside with a heart of glass. I promise I will take care of your heart, Kara. I promise I’ll take care of your every need and desire,” he murmurs, his finger lightly brushing the bruise on my cheekbone. “And I’ll wrap that glass heart in a million layers of love. I won’t let anyone hurt you, especially me.” He glances at my hand and butterflies flutter in my belly as I hold it out to him. “Kara Langley, will you place your final bet on my bruised soul? Marry me, baby.”

I draw in a deep stuttered breath and nod. Cash and I both flinch as our audience in the waiting room erupts into cheers.

He laughs as he slides the ring on my finger and takes my face in his hands. And as he kisses me for the first time as my “real” fiancé, I can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

When an addict gambles, he always loses, even when he’s lucky. Unless he’s gambling on love. Then, he always wins, even when he loses.