Page 8 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“Like you said, I’m in a Romano basement. I don’t exactly have a choice. But with enough money, we’ll be able to disappear.”

“And you won’t throw it all away by gambling again?”

His eyes darken. “Careful, Bianca.”

I exhale but let it go.

“What happens if you end up in prison?” I continue.

“You know the mayor quite well, don’t you?”

I gulp but don’t deny it.

Yes. I know the mayor very well.

“This is risky,” I point out.

“It’s our only shot.”

“And what if he finds out I was a prostitute?”

“Was?” He smirks.

Pursing my lips, I cross my arms again as my anger feeds off his condescension. “If he divorces me before we can disappear, then we’ll be back to square one, and it’ll be my head on the guillotine when my previous clients find out I’m not protected anymore.”

“Then he better not find out, huh?”

“You’re not helping.”

“Make him fall in love with you, Bianca. Then he might not even care about how many dicks you’ve sucked.”

My manicured nails dig into my palms. I really do hate him, but I’ve been backed into corners before. I’ll find a way out of this one too.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Who?”

“My, uh,”––my expression sours––“fiancé.”

“Oh.” He laughs, finding way too much humor in my future husband’s whereabouts for my own liking. “He’s in jail.”

“What?” I screech.

“He turned himself in. Not for the shit he’s being framed for, obviously, but for running from the cops when he was going to be brought in for questioning. We figured it would be in his best interest to have a solid alibi before we set up a little meeting with the dirty Fed I’m connected to.”

My mind spins like a top as I try to connect the load of shit that’s been thrown at me since I walked through the door.

With a subtle shake of my head, I ask, “So, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to wait twenty-four hours then bail out your fiancé as soon as the dirty Fed is arrested. Kingston will keep you up to date.”

“That sounds promising,” I grumble. This is insane.

He steps closer, intimidating me with his size before brushing some hair away from my face. Like I’m a doll. A plaything. An object. Just like always.

“Don’t fuck this up, Bianca.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”