The bright lights of Chicago invade the car as we pull up, highlighting her ample cleavage and plunging neckline. I smirk, amused by her discomfort and humiliation, and then exit the car to walk over to Rody by the door. He nods his head at me, crossing his arms over his chest as I weave through the crowd queueing to get in.

“The Russians are already here,” he says, “playing your tables like God gave them every right to screw us over.” I chuckle at that and smooth over my tux, already knowing they will. I don’t care. We make more money out of their gun running than they could ever win back from me, regardless of me handing some over to them tonight for previous runs.

Emily looks fucking ridiculous as she suddenly clambers out of the car, struggling to balance in her heels and grabbing the driver’s hand for support.

“What’s this?” Rody asks.

It’s none of his business is what it is.

“Date.”

He laughs and glances over her frame, appreciating curves he’s got no right to even look at.

“Unusual for you.” I’m not sure if he means the date aspect, or why I even said the word, but to have said she was a debt would have been absurd. No one takes a debt out of the four walls they’re kept inside, let alone brings them to a casino. She trips over the kerb, awkwardly trying to tidy her black-sequined dress after her mistake. “She gonna keep doing that all night?”

Probably.

I frown at him as he laughs and opens the glass and gold door, inexplicably interested in her inept actions for some reason. It might just be that she fucks without care once the right mood is forced upon her, or the fact that she’s nothing like anyone I’ve been with before.

Fuck knows.

Marco Mortoni comes into view as we walk in, his sharp demeanour owning the ten feet around him. Much as I might fucking hate it, he’s good at what he does, and we’ve spent enough time dealing with each other now to understand our dynamics. Regardless of the past.

“Quinn,” he says, nodding at me as I pull Emily into my side.

“Marco. Trying to win some of your money back?”

He laughs and walks with us, unconcerned with the wealth we continue to move between families.

“I want to talk with you.”

Does he? I keep walking towards my private section, annoyed with his presence in what I’m considering downtime.

“Times are changing.” I stop and look across at him, tucking Emily behind me for some fucking reason. I know they are, have done since I took over, but this is the first time Marco’s mentioned it with any seriousness.

“And?”

“Mortoni’s changing with it.”

He looks nervous for a half second, eyes flicking around the room. Is it fuck. We might have discussed it before, card games and drunken talk, but the words coming from him now haven’t got any damn strength.

I chuckle at him, amused that he thinks he’s got any sort of power. The only way anything will organise itself into a new order is if someone knocks off the father, Joe Mortoni. By the look of him now, that killer is unlikely to be Marco, and few else would dare.

“Yeah, call me when that happens.”

“I’m calling you now.” I stare for a few minutes, trying to work out what the fuck he’s telling me as Emily fidgets behind me. He looks around again, acknowledging the crowds. “Somewhere else?”

I shake my head, needing a stronger version of this fucker to come at me if we’re going to have this conversation sober.

“Not tonight,” I reply. Tonight I’ve got other business to deal with. Marco isn’t part of it. “You know what needs to happen, Marco. That’s not Cane business.”

I turn and start walking, pushing Emily in the direction we’re heading and dismissing the conversation. It’s not something I’m discussing until we’re all ready.

He’s not yet.

“You need a drink to calm those nerves, dirty girl?” I eventually ask, leading her through to the lavish rooms towards the main casino.

She doesn’t answer; she just tries to squash her cleavage back into position and flicks her eyes around the space. I yank her over to a corner and slap her hands away from them, exasperated with her constant jiggling and fidgeting.

“Leave yourself the fuck alone,” I snarl, grasping her by the arm and leading us around the corner to my private bar. She immediately blanches in my hand, feet tumbling over themselves again. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“If you could just give me five minutes to compose myself. This dress is obscene and makes me look like a cheap whore, Quinn.” My brows rise at the sudden venom in her voice, ready to slap her little mouth shut for it. “I’m sorry, is there a bathroom somewhere that I can—”

“You’ve had the entire damned journey here to prepare yourself. Behave.” She gawps, eyes wide and near glaring. “You’re about to meet the Russian mafia, Emily. Get yourself together or I promise you’ll not like the fucking result.”

I shove her onto a plush velvet seat and let go, furious with her for reasons I can’t put my finger on. She aggravates me with her constant fidgeting and flustering. I’m not used to it. High-end pussy doesn’t fidget. It blows and goes, the only care based on whether it did well or not. This constant twitching from her puts me on edge, regardless of my interest in it.

“Why Russian?” she asks. What?

I grab the drinks the waitress has already poured for me and then wander back over to where I left her.

“What?”

“Russian? Why not Italian, or American? And are you Mafia?”

My brows rise further, perplexed at this mouse who has suddenly dared turn into a tiger. Perhaps it’s the expensive dress I’ve made her squeeze into.

“None of what you’ve asked is relevant.”

I stare past her, looking through the glass wall to view the clientele for the evening. They’re all the same as they usually are. Wealth resides here. Wealth and criminality. The entirety of Chicago’s premium, dressed for a night of gambling and alcohol. It’s the place they come to unwind or do business. I’ve made it that way, elevating it to more than it was before I took over. The feds know. They stalk these corners, too, an occasional try at my tables, hoping to win big and at least get some Cane money from my hands. They’ve got nothing else on me. Never will as long as Nate does his job properly.

“Can’t you at least tell me why we’re here?” No. She’ll deal with whatever I throw at her tonight so I can indulge in her reaction to it.

The thought makes me flick my eyes to her cleavage again, then walk over to the window to look at the crowd by the blackjack table. Three of the Russians are at it, two of them laughing and moving their chips around.

“Regent?” she asks. I look back at her to see her fiddling with a chip she’s picked up, tracing the lines of the name across the middle of it. “That’s a British word. Why is an American casino called that?”

“I’m British,” I reply, for some reason remembering that fact more and more since her voice has been infiltrating my ears.

“You don’t sound it.” Too many years living here to sound anything but American. “And what’s that got to do with… Oh, you own this, too? One of your interests?”

I nod and keep staring at her fingers, wondering why she’s even here. I shouldn’t have brought her. None of this is what I should be doing with her. She should be at home in the basement, doing nothing but getting on all fours as and when I choose.

“You ever played a table?” I ask.

She looks up at me as I walk around in front of her, startled and still trying to organise her dress.

“No, seems that’s Jenny’s misfortune, not mine.”

I smile at that, glad that her friend did have the stupidity to gamble herself into a debt too large to repay. It’s what brought my dirty girl to me.

“Everything in life’s a gamble, Emily.” I offer her my hand, telling her to get up. She does, quickly, still managing to trip over nothing. “You should learn to play the odds better than you do, and trust instincts you clearly don’t have yet.” She frowns at me, fingers snatched away from the hold I was about to give her. “You wouldn’t be here if you’d listened to your gut, would you?”

“She was my friend,” she mutters.

“No, she wasn’t.”

She pulls in a breath, searching for a retaliation. There isn’t one for her to find. Her friend is nothing but a falsehood. Someone who took her innocence and civility and screwed it over. Those guts of hers need hardening up so she realises life is not about flowers and graciousness. Life is fucked. You either own it, or you get screwed by it.

“You want a chance at winning that debt away from your ass?” Her eyes widen, hands finally stilling against her side.

I flick one of my dice in the air then catch it, wondering what the fuck I’m doing.

“You play a table well enough for me, and you can take your chance at freedom.”

“But why would you do that?”

“Entertainment.” I point out through the window. “I want to see how well that mind of yours can manoeuvre around the Russians, who are currently taking more money than I care for.”

“But... I don’t know how to play. I don’t even know what game that is.”

“Blackjack.”

“What?”

I turn from her, a smile on my face as I leave the room. She follows, scrambling behind. “Quinn, wait. I can’t. I don’t know how.”

I start reciting the rules to her as we keep moving, the words coming as quickly as they always do. I’ve played for so long I don’t think about them anymore. It was my release when I was younger, my way of forgetting about the things Father made me do.

Now I don’t give a fuck.

“A soft hand is one with at least one ace, which might still count as one or eleven points,” I continue, rounding past the slots and nodding at Nate as I go. She hurries again, trying to hear my explanation over a ruckus of noise at the craps tables. “And if you get a pair, or any two ten-point cards, then you can double your bet and separate the cards into two individual hands. Split, understand?” There’s a gasp from her at one point, making me swing back to see her cowering away from a man who’s reached for her. I snarl at him, causing him to back off instantly and hold his hands up.

Fucking right.

Nate smirks over his shoulder, waving me off and turning back to his whore. I look at her for a minute, overdone makeup signaling her availability to any who will pay well enough, then signal the two standing behind her to follow me. They start across the floor towards me without thought, long legs gliding with perfection in every stride.

“Could you recap on surrendering?” Emily asks, coming into my eye-line, a look of determination written over her soft features. I snort, acknowledging the word for more than she means from her innocent little mouth, and then carry on weaving through the din of sound.

“You, or the Russians, forfeit half the wager, keeping the other half, and you don’t play out the hand.” Whore one catches up with me, her smile as false as the fingernails she latches onto me with. Emily blanches at the sight of her, a frown descending as I keep going and watch the Russians cheer at their achievement in screwing Cane. “But that option is only usable on the initial two cards in my casinos.”

Whore two arrives then and gets in front of Emily, her full figure and white dress blocking her view of me. I don’t care. It will be amusing to see how much tenacity she’s got in obtaining her freedom. Dirty girl is about to ride out her chances, and she’s getting no help from me other than the explanation I’ve just given.

She gently pushes through the crowd until she’s in front of me again, eyes flicking between me and the table we’ve arrived at. The Russians cheer again, one of them finally noticing I’m here and acknowledging me with a tip of his lips.

“So, just get twenty-one, right?” Whore one laughs at her, making her blush.

“Oh, she’s cute,” whore two cuts in.

“The object of blackjack is not to get twenty-one, it’s to beat the dealer,” I eventually reply, smirking at how cute my dirty little slut is becoming. She frowns at me again, and I point at a seat a woman’s just vacated. “Beat the dealer, Emily. Try your luck.”

“New player,” the dealer calls as Emily slides onto the stool.

She looks at the table, barely able to touch it. Her fingers waver, and then begin fiddling with her dress again nervously. Drey Parker, the dealer, looks at me.

“One hundred,” I say, smiling at the thought.

He turns to his runner, whispering the number, and twenty chips each worth five grand land in front of her before she’s organised her dress. She picks one up, seeing its value, and flings her eyes back to look at me, surprise etched into every part of her face.

I nod, nothing else. This is her chance at beating this world she’s stumbled into. She wins me more or she loses the lot and we carry on until I think she’s worked another hundred grand off her debt.

The whores close in as I call for more drinks, ordering some strong liquor for the Russians to throw them off their game. They smile in reply and then laugh, too caught up in their own self appreciation to notice the four whores I’ve ordered over to help them forget how to bet.

* * *

Six hands down and Emily’s beginning to lose any chance she ever had. It’s fucking comical as she flusters, chips tumbling from her hands as if she’s terrified of every toss. I’m not losing a damn thing. It’s going back into my bank anyway, but the way she looks so lost makes my dick harden with every shuffle of the deck.

Whore one reaches for it, her fingers playing with the damn thing as she moves in front and begins rubbing her ass on me. I push her out of the way, more interested in watching my dirty girl throw her chances away than fucking bought pussy, and watch Anton slide across to her. He whispers something in her ear, showing her full view of his cards. Emily notices, nods at him, and suddenly straightens her backbone. I narrow my stare, some element of jealousy pissing me off. It’s enough for me to knock whore two’s hands from my shoulder and walk over to Emily.

“I’m losing,” she whispers as I approach.

“You are.”

It’s all I’ve got to give her. I’m not helping her. I’ve got no interest in her gaining any amount of freedom from me. I’m only here because Anton’s too close for fucking comfort. And it doesn’t stop the fucker from invading my space again to lean into her ear. She smiles at something, another nod and then glances back at me.

“They don’t like you very much,” she says.

“Nobody likes me very much, dirty girl.”

I stand there watching fail after fail, another ten thousand disappearing with every hand that gets drawn, her face falling further with each loss. It makes me smile wider with each one, my mind wandering through ideas of how to amuse myself with her once we’re home. Maybe I won’t even wait. I’ll fuck her in the back room. Have some of these Russians get involved so I can watch. Give Russian roulette an entirely different meaning.

I snort, and run my hands across her shoulders, pinching them.

“Another chance gone, Emily,” I say with a chuckle.

She sighs in my grip and lays out another five K chip, waiting for the next card to come.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

My lips have tasted her shoulder before I’ve stopped myself, my fingers travelling towards her neck and tipping her chin back to me as I stand again. Enjoying it? Enjoying would denote something of relevance. She isn’t, other than my money. Or she shouldn’t be.

“You’re an entertainment, dirty girl. Nothing more. I told you.”

I flick her chin away and take a step back. She’s only got twenty thousand left. It’ll be over soon and I can get on with whatever I’m going to do with her. I bank left, nodding at Anton and pointing towards the back room. We’re not here tonight purely for entertainment. I’ve got business to discuss. Like each other or not, we run money through the same countries, and I owe Anton half the last run.

“She’s a peach, Cane,” he says, folding his hand and pushing off the stool. “I should take her back to Russia with me, trade the old hag for her purity.”

I raise a brow at his weathered features grinning and then watch her push the entire amount she has left into the table, frustration shoving the chips forwards.

“Not your usual fuck.” No. Nothing is usual about my dirty girl, and I don’t want this fucker anywhere near her.

“You want your money, Anton? I suggest we go to the back room.”

“All business again? Do Canes ever have enjoyment these days?” No, not when there’s serious money involved, especially mine. “When your father was here, we would drink vodka long into the night, fuck whores ‘til they begged for mercy.” I glance back at Emily, watching her fidget with her hair as her body leans forward, hoping for decent cards. She doesn’t get them delivered. She loses. Game over. Her one chance gone.

“Your peach could be pleasing for the night?” I snarl and look her over, the hunch of disappointment in her shoulders written in neon fucking signs across them. “She could pay that money off without you having to hand it over to me. We all win. Yes?”

She hangs her head, elbows braced on the wood and fingers massaging her temple, the dress clinging to all the right fucking places. Another debt she pays for. Win-win. What would it matter? They take her as the debt owed rather than my money.

The thought makes me sneer, unsure if I’m enjoying the prospect, and fight my instincts back down to my guts.

“No fucking her. She’s worth more than that to me.”

Anton chuckles and slaps my back, the others crowding round him as he calls at them to leave their game. Emily still doesn’t move. There’s only the slightest shake of her shoulders showing tears I can’t see. Fucking tears aren’t helping her now. She just lost the only chance she had.

I nod my head at her, telling Anton he’s got a deal. The resulting speed of his henchman’s stride is immediate. One of her arms is grabbed, the force making her yelp in surprise and turn back to me for aid. She’s not getting any. This is the world she’s in now. She’ll suck these three off and then we can leave when they’ve had their time with her.

She stumbles from the stool, the clientele around her barely noticing the chaos of her movements. They’re still too busy concentrating on cards to give a fuck about her welfare, hoping to screw the house out of some of our wealth.

Nothing screws this house anymore.

I turn and start walking away, following the Russians as they drive through the crowds. Nate gets in my way, his eyes boring into mine with questions he shouldn’t fucking ask. Why he thinks she’s anything special to me I don’t know, but he does. He’s been shoving that thought into my mind since he saw her first-time round.

“You coming?” I ask, offering him some of her mouth too if he wants it. He shakes his head and steps aside, still frowning at me. He won’t frown when he gets his cut of the money she’s about to save us.

She’s dragged after that, feet tumbling again as she goes, her head constantly looking back at me. She’s scared. I know how she feels. I remember the first time I held a gun, first time I saw what my father had made us all become.

Tough. This is the real world. Shit ain’t nice sometimes when you fall into the wrong part of it.

“Quinn?” she says, lips trembling around my name as they lead her through the masses.

Rody arrives in my eye-line with the bag of money in his hands, followed by another one of my men, his hands opening the doors we’re all heading for. I shake my head at him as he offers it to me then watch as the other Russian grabs her arm and hauls her inside.

“No one comes in, Rody.”

He closes the door behind me, the lock of it as ominous for her as anything she’s ever heard. It makes me fold my hands into my pockets and wait for whatever’s coming next, a smile lingering at every perverted thought I’m trying to hold at bay.

She’s pushed into the middle of the room by both of the henchmen, Anton heading over to the drinks tray in the corner and pouring shots of vodka. None of them are for her. They’re for us. We’re celebrating another victory in screwing over the feds with our type of business.

I snort as she scrabbles around the floor, ass shuffling to try to reach a safe corner. Fuck all is safe in here. The only hope she’s got is that I don’t get aroused watching her suck three cocks and decide to join in. That shit won’t end well for her.

“Quinn?” she pleads again, fear etched into the question, her eyes trying to lock onto mine. It causes me to study her mismatched eyes for a moment too long, making me frown at the intent in the room.

I turn away from her voice, aggravated by her ability to weaken me. Quinn isn’t here. The slight part of me she manages to reach on occasion just sold her mouth for Cane money. She’ll suck and take whatever these boys want, paying some of her friend’s debt off as she does.

Anton comes over as the other two move towards her again, his hand offering me a shot glass.

“I’ll enjoy this one, Cane.”

I bet he fucking will.

I smile and take the glass, downing it and grabbing the bottle from his hand as I move to a chair.

“You’ve got thirty minutes, Anton. Get on with it.”

He fucking chuckles again and gulps down his own drink, one hand already reaching for his belt as I sit and watch her cowering in the corner.

“I don’t understand…” The rest of her sentence is halted as one of them gets his dick out and moves closer to her. Her eyes widen, heels digging at the carpet to push her further into the corner.

“Wait,” Anton snaps. “The boss wants his turn first.”

My hand pours a shot and tips it down my throat quickly, resentment idling in my guts. It intrigues me enough to pour another as Anton’s steps get closer. The sound of them pisses me off, making me think of my mother in that fucking room all those years ago for some reason.

I snarl at myself, irritated with whatever underlying issue is getting in the way of business.

“Pretty kitten,” he says, reaching for her neck and pulling her towards him.

She fights, her body trying to edge away from the hold he’s got on her, nails flaring out at his face. It’s stimulating to watch, stirring me up and making me question why I’m letting them at her. She’s my dirty little girl. Not theirs. I could be fucking her myself, enjoying that mouth of hers.

One of the others laughs as she struggles against Anton. Their jeering and taunts piss me off as much as Anton’s steps, but still I watch, another shot sinking down my throat. Business is business.

“Quinn, please,” she begs, her dress riding up her thighs with her continued struggle against him. I watch him brace her back to the wall again, his dick getting closer to her mouth, and then see her snap her teeth at it before it gets there. The slap that lands on her face sends her flying to the floor.

“Bitch,” he snarls, his body hauling her back up before she’s got a chance to breathe from the impact. She’s turned like a rag doll in his hands, like she’s given up.  

I sneer at her lack of battle, reminding myself of my mother’s fight at me when I visit her. That’s what real women do. They don’t give up after one harsh command. They fight and show their venom regardless of circumstance. She might as well be nothing more than one of my whores with this show of weakness.

I check my watch, seeing the minutes tick by without one of them managing to get their dick in her mouth yet.

“Nineteen minutes, Anton,” I call out as I open a button on my jacket and rest back into the seat. That’s what she’s got left to deal with. This might be a deal, but it’s a deal I control. If she’s got any intelligence about her she’ll make those nineteen minutes as difficult for them as possible.

She glares at me, trapped by his hands, some element of that passion I know she’s got returning. I tip my watch at her, tapping the surface of it with a smile and watch her whole body gain some rigidity at the thought.

Anton doesn’t waste any more time. He tugs her into the middle of the room, little care for the fight that’s beginning to come from her once more. I spin my dice, watching determination starting to inch into her features as she kicks the heels from her feet. Seventeen minutes now. I’m willing her to use them wisely. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s this fucking feeling in my guts telling me something’s not right here.

I catch the other two out of the corner of my eye, both stroking their dicks and getting themselves ready for my dirty girl’s throat. It makes the dice slow in my palm, the tension in my fingers deliberately crushing them quietly.

“Fuck you!” she shouts, her body giving everything she’s got to get away from Anton’s dick pressing at her face. The other two grunt. I know why. It’s the same reason my own dick’s hardening beneath these expensive pants.

Fight.

We all want it. Some show of power against us. Whores yield. Real women show their disgust. They might do as they’re told, but they don’t do it willingly. They prove their guile.

And she’s turning more vicious with every passing second. Hair flying around, nails wildly scratching at anything she can get to, another shove from Anton only seeming to heighten her instincts to battle him off again.

Russian cursing comes from his mouth, another grab at her before she counters, shocking him enough to get a chance to run. Her bare feet launch her across the room, scrambling away from his hold. She’s fucking beautiful like this. Wild and untamed, the civil world leaving her as she battles for her life in the middle of this carnage she’s been forced into.

“Fuck you all.”

She pants out as he grabs her more harshly and pins her against the wall, more Russian pouring from his mouth. She fights again, her shoulders twisting and turning to get him off her, but it doesn’t work this time. He shoves her down to the floor with such force she yells out in pain, all the time steering his dick at her again. She splutters around his cock as it’s forced into her mouth. The smirk I thought would come doesn’t.

I check my watch again. Eight minutes. It’s eight fucking minutes I’m not giving them anymore. That one yell of pain stirred an emotion in me I didn’t know I had for any woman other than my mother. Protection.

“Let her go,” I snarl, feet lifting me to stand. All eyes turn to me, including hers above the dick that’s pushed down her throat. Nobody moves, but Anton does eventually remove his dick from her mouth. Wise fucking choice. “Rody,” I shout. He walks in, the sound of the door opening making her look towards it. I snatch the black bag from him, tossing it into the middle of the room. They want a fight about this they can fucking have one with me. I’ll play all night if they want. Either that or they can zip their dicks up and take their money. “Take her home, Rody.”

Anton moves a step, one set of fingers still latched onto her hair in a show of possession, the other reaching inside his jacket. “Be careful with whatever fucking thought you’re having, Anton,” I snap. “You sure you wanna play with me?” Rody moves closer to her, his own hand hovering around the long coat he’s wearing.

I spin my dice and watch them all, unconcerned about bullets being fired in here. Nothing will happen. We all make too much money off each other for a woman to get in the way of it, regardless of how fucking edible she is.

He stares at my hand for a full minute. I feel the seconds going past, my dice spinning as they do. One turn in my palm, another, the pressure becoming less with each rotation now I know she’s not sucking anyone’s dick but mine.

“Have the bitch,” he eventually spits, throwing her head to the floor. She scrambles back to her shoes, cornering herself again. Rody moves in tentatively and grabs her, his hands pulling her upright and moving her out of the way. I watch her go, my eyes glancing at her ripped dress as Rody pulls his coat from his shoulders and wraps it around her. “Your father was more obliging with his debts, Quinn.”

I’m not my fucking father.