Being a cheat isn’t the only thing that I’m good at. I also know how to pick a lock. And I popped this one with a pin from my hair only a few minutes after Tristan Broussard left.

I quickly found out that he wasn’t lying. There’s something else keeping this door closed. Something that I can’t get to on the other side. And I’m running out of time. He’s going to move me from this place soon. And that can’t happen.

I’ve ransacked the room looking for anything I can use to hurt him.

An ink pen. Maybe I can stab him in the eye.

The lamp. It’s solid. Maybe I can slam it over his head. Or use the cord to choke him.

The mirror. I could break it. Slice him with one of the shards.

I’m lying on the bed thinking of all of the ways that I could attack him when I hear a noise on the other side of the door. Sounds like the slide of some kind of surface bolt. That comes as no surprise.

I sit up and watch him come into the room, and I’m reminded of how big he is. How muscular. How fit. And I reconsider all of the ways I could attack him.

“Good morning, Miss Grant.”

“Nothing good about it if you ask me.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

I’ve been kidnapped. This isn’t a fucking vacation. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t sleep at all.”

His eyes roam downward and then up to my face again. “I see that you didn’t shower or change into the gown that I left for you… after I specifically told you to in the note placed on the bathroom counter.” He looks annoyed. Good. “I wanted to see you in it when I arrived this morning.”

I’m sure that he did.

I found the ivory silk gown and matching thong not long after he left. Along with the note.

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it.”

This man is a stranger to me. Why would I follow a demand like that from him?

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think that I’m going to do something just because you tell me to.”

He stalks toward me, and I scramble off the side of the bed to get away. But he’s faster than I am. His hands catch me around the waist, pushing my back against the wall. Using one hand, he grasps my wrists and holds my arms above my head. “You are going to shower and put on the gown that I left for you. And you’re going to do it promptly because breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes.”

I do something that I’ve never done to any human being in my life: I spit in his face. “I will not, and you can’t make me.”

He releases my wrists and places his hands on my waist, using his grip to force me around so that I’m facing the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you who’s in control here.”

I twist to get away from him, but he holds my body in place with his hips. Proof of the power behind those big muscles.

I hear stitches popping as he roughly yanks downward on the zipper on the back of my dress.

“Please don’t.”

I grasp the front of my dress, holding it against my body, but the bastard continues yanking at it until he has completely ripped it open. Baring my back. Exposing my ass. In a thong.

“Shower and put on the gown that I chose for you. I will not tell you again.”

He’s won. Given me no choice. I’m forced to put on that damn gown if I want my body to be covered.

He releases his hold and I waste no time squirming away and racing to the bathroom to get away from him.

“Don’t linger or I will come in there to see what is taking you so long.”

I don’t doubt him for a second.

Tears burn my eyes as I slide what remains of my dress down my arms and drop it on the floor beside the wastebasket. Trash. That’s all it is now.

Despite shampooing my hair and washing my body as fast as humanly possible, he still knocks on the door before I finish. “Breakfast will be here in five minutes. I don’t want to be left waiting.”

“I can’t go any faster, asshole,” I whisper.

“What was that, Miss Grant?”

I quickly rinse the suds from my body. “I said that I’m almost finished.”

“Very good.”

I’m moving too fast to be completely dry when I slip the gown over my head. Water droplets from my soaked hair fall from the tips, leaving wet spots on the ivory silk. The breeze from the vent is cold, making my skin prickle. My nipples look like two points straining against the fabric. That’s just fucking great.

I open the door and become motionless when I find the bedroom empty. And the door open.

He left without locking me inside?

“May I bring you anything else, sir?” A man’s voice. There’s someone else in the suite. This could be my chance to escape.

I dash into the living room and stop dead in my tracks when I see one of the men who escorted me to the suite last night. All of my hope is immediately extinguished; I’ll get no help from him.

“I believe that everything we’ll need is here, but I’ll call if we require anything else.”

The man glances at me and quickly looks away when Tristan flicks his hand. Dismissing him.

The door shuts, and Tristan’s eyes roam my body, making me feel like I need to shower all over again.

“I’ll make an allowance this time because we’ve not yet discussed it, but while you are mine, you will never let another man see you like this unless it’s someone that I’ve invited to join us.”

Everything about that statement makes me feel sick inside.

“It isn’t my intention to be seen like this by any man, including you. I’m not yours, and you can forget about my being part of any act that involves a person you’ve invited to join us. Because that would be fucked up.”

Tristan Broussard pulls the chair away from the table as though he’s some kind of gentleman, but we both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Sit… please.”

Tristan Broussard saying please… it comes off incredibly insincere.

“Stop standing there looking at me and sit so that we can have breakfast. I don’t have time for delays this morning; I have a meeting soon.”

I could come up with endless ways to cause this jackass delays, but my stomach is pleading with me to save it for another time. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

He pushes my chair under me as I sit and then takes the seat across from me. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I had the kitchen staff prepare a little bit of everything.”

I sit motionless and watch him pour a cup of coffee. “I only drink the best Kona.” He holds up the carafe once his cup is full. “Would you care for some?”

I’m not really a coffee drinker, but there’s steam coming from the spout. It’s possible that I can toss the burning hot liquid on him and make a run for the door. “Yes please.”

I turn over my coffee cup, and he fills it.

“Creamer?”

The creamer will cool the temperature of the coffee. “I take mine black.”

“Me too.”

He nods in the direction of the food. “Go ahead. Ladies first.”

I fill my plate with pancakes, sausage, bacon, hash browns, eggs—twice the amount that I would normally eat. And I’m not the least bit ashamed.

He sips his hot coffee and watches as I stuff a huge bite of pancakes drenched with maple syrup into my mouth. “I’m happy to see that you have an appetite.”

I cover my mouth with my hand when I reply. “Yesterday’s lunch was a long time ago.”

“I assumed that you’d had dinner when you declined my offer for food last night.”

“I don’t eat before I gamble.”

He smiles. “You get nervous?”

“Pfft.” I chuckle. “You think that I get nervous?”

I actually am on edge the entire time. Especially when a pit boss lingers at my table for too long. But that’s not the reason that I don’t eat.

“If not nerves, then what reason?”

I place my hand on top of my stomach. “Can’t come into a casino in a tight dress with my belly bloated. That’s not an attractive look. And part of my MO is looking my best.”

“You’re gorgeous. Sitting there with dripping wet hair and no makeup, you’re still the most beautiful woman whom I’ve ever seen.”

I stop eating and look at him, saying nothing. Because I don’t know how to reply. I can’t decide if he’s serious or not. And if he isn’t, what is his motive for telling me something like that?

“It isn’t often that I tell a woman that she’s beautiful.” His brows scrunch. “In fact, I can’t remember ever doing so.”

I think that he’s full of shit. I can’t be the first woman that he’s ever said that to.

“It’s your turn now to thank me for the lovely compliment.”

He flatters me and then demands gratitude for doing so. What a jerk.

“Thank you.” My voice is robotic.

“Thank you… Sir.” His brow lifts when he says the last word.

This asshole wants me to call him Sir?

Not just no.

Hell no. That’s not happening.

I hear a buzz, and he reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket, taking out my phone. He frowns when he sees who’s calling. “It’s your brother.”

He places my phone on the table and slides it to me. “Put him on speaker after you answer. Tell him that we spent the night together, you had a wonderful time, and you’ll be staying with me for a while. Make it sound convincing.”

“Hello.”

“Where the fuck are you?” I hear the panic in my brother’s voice.

“Calm down, Adam. I’m fine. I’m with Tristan Broussard.”

I’m fine. I’m with Tristan Broussard. Those two sentences don’t belong in the same conversation.

“You said that already in your voicemail, but what the hell have you been doing with Tristan-fucking-Broussard all night long?”

Tristan forms an O with one hand and thrusts one of his fingers in and out of the hole. Fucking perv.

“No,” I mouth and shake my head.

He chuckles and I consider putting my foot against his crotch and crushing the shit out of his balls. To hell with the consequences.

“He asked security to bring me up to his suite; he wanted to meet me.” Hear what I’m telling you, Adam. Security brought me to his suite. I’m still in the building. Come for me.

“That rich fucker can probably get laid by just about any woman on earth, but he chooses to meet you?”

What is that shit supposed to mean? “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, but card counters and casino owners don’t mix. You’re asking for trouble by spending time with him.” Adam sighs. “Are you sure that you’ve not been made?”

“It’s cool. He doesn’t know anything.” Adam and I have never had that twin telepathy thing, but I wish like hell that we did.

“You spent the night with him.” Disappointment. Confusion. Doubt. I hear all of it in Adam’s voice.

“He likes to talk.” That sounds so dumb. A man like Tristan Broussard doesn’t bring a woman up to his suite to talk.

“Did you fuck him?”

“No. I can’t believe that you’d ask me that.”

Tristan grins and whispers, “Time’s up.”

This is it. I have to let Adam know that being here with Tristan Broussard isn’t by choice.

I clear my throat and cough once. “Hmm.” Our longtime signal at the table when something has gone sideways. Please pick up on my distress call, Adam.

“Breakfast is getting cold. I need to go.”

“When should I expect you home?”

I wish that I knew. “Not sure. I’m thinking of hanging out here for a while.”

“Dad will shit when he finds out that you’re with Tristan Broussard.”

I consider asking Adam to not tell Dad. I wouldn’t want him to have a setback because he becomes upset. But I keep my mouth shut; I suspect that he may be my only way out of this mess.

“I’m an adult. Not a lot that he can say about it.”

“You know better than that. He’ll probably come and drag you out by your hair.”

Tristan holds his hand at the front of his neck and yanks it to the side in one smooth motion. The cutthroat motion. “End it. Now.”

Wow. He looks really pissed off. I wonder what set him off.

“Umm… Tristan is waiting with breakfast on the table. I don’t want to be rude so I need to go.”

“Okay.”

“Talk soon. Love you.” I never tell my brother that I love him when we end a casual call. Surely, he’ll recognize that something is up.

“Love you too, sis.”

I end the call and Tristan holds out his hand for my phone. “I wasn’t aware that your father disliked me so much. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”

“No. Really. He never told us why we were to stay away from you and your casino.”

“You were supposed to stay away from me and yet you didn’t? Why is that?”

“I have a bad habit of not doing as I’m told.” It gets me into trouble more than I care to admit.

The wicked smile on his face tells me that something about that statement pleases him greatly. But his smile quickly fades when there’s another buzz from the pocket inside his jacket.

He slams his fist on the table. “Motherfucker!”

Reaching into his jacket, he takes out a phone. “What?”

His mouth is a hard line and the muscles in his jaw are fixed. This man has one hell of a temper. And it frightens me.

“Give me fifteen.”

He ends the call and sits back in his chair. His hard expression begins to soften as he studies my face.

“Have somewhere to be?”

“I have a nine o’clock appointment, and she has arrived early. Which would normally make me happy but not when it steals away time that I had planned to spend with you.” He looks at his watch. “I have about three minutes to talk before I must leave.”

“Three minutes isn’t very long.”

“Agreed.”

His angry mood seems to have passed as quickly as it came on. “Please let me go.”

“No.” No consideration. No hesitation. Just a hard no.

“I can go to the bank and take out seventy-five grand right now. Give me one day, and I can come up with the other twenty-five.”

Technically I didn’t take a full hundred grand. I had twenty on the table last night that I left behind and didn’t cash out. But I highly doubt that he’s in the mood to have that discussion.

“I’m not letting you go. At least not yet.”

I didn’t want to have to go to Dad for help, but I will if it gets me out of this shit. “Let me call my dad. He’ll pay you whatever you want.”

He pushes away from the table. “I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already told you what I want. And I do not like repeating myself.” He flicks his hand at the food. “Take your plate to the bedroom.”

“Please don’t lock me in there again.”

He looks at his watch. “You have ten seconds to pick up your plate and drink and get into that bedroom. If you don’t, I will pick you up and carry you in there just the way that I did last night. Your choice.”

I should toss my coffee in his face and run. Run like hell.

And do what when he catches me?

Now isn’t the time.

I do as I’m told and go to the bedroom, taking my plate and drink with me. It feels like a concession, and I hate that.

“I have some things I must take care of. I won’t be back today but my staff will tend to you in my absence.”

“When will you return?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

That’ll be almost forty-eight hours in this hotel suite. He’s going to need to move me. And I’m guessing that tomorrow night will be it.

“My staff will be instructed to bring you whatever you request for entertainment as long as it’s within reason.”

“Great. I’ll binge watch The Black List.” Maybe it’ll give me an idea about how to escape this fucking mess. And kick his ass in the process.

The clock is winding down. I have until tomorrow night to plan my way out of here.