AMELIA
“What do you mean I can’t cash it in?” I ask the woman behind the counter. She looks a lot more glamorous than me. Better skin, better hair. Effortlessly slim.
She’s smiling at me and I want to leave. I don’t fit in here. I’m waiting for her to laugh, to tell me the chip’s a fake.
The doorman has already taken it off me and then given it back like he’s Jekyll and Hyde.
One minute he’s dragging me through the employee corridor, the next he’s handing it back and apologizing like it was all a big mistake. Told me to go cash it in and good luck to me.
The woman at the cash desk has other ideas, though.
“I’m afraid it is only valid for a single spin on the roulette wheel,” she says. “Table four. You are welcome to make a bet of your choice, and any winnings can be cashed out immediately.”
I try to persuade her to change her mind, but it’s like talking to a robot. She just keeps saying it’s only valid for one spin on table four. Over and over again.
I’ve seen a couple of Bond movies. I have a vague idea of how roulette works. “Okay,” I say, at last, taking the chip back from her. What choice do I have?
I try again to get Paul to tell me if Leo’s here tonight, but he acts like he can’t hear me, walking off and leaving me alone.
I make my way through the large room, wondering where all these people have come from. There are lots of men in suits and they smell of sweat and alcohol. It’s nowhere near as sexy as the movies suggest.
The carpet’s worn and the croupiers look tired. The women range in ages from are they legal through to how are they not dead? Some of the guys look little better. I spot about three heart attacks waiting to happen just at the craps table.
No one looks my way. They’re all too busy trying to recoup losses. I look at the roulette table in front of me. Table four. The croupier is holding the ball in his right hand and the spinner in his left. “Any more bets?” he asks.
I hold onto the chip. I look down as the wheel spins clockwise and the ball spins the other way. It spins and spins and then slows, bouncing from one number to the next, coming to settle.
I slide the chip onto the table ready for the next spin. Eleven red. Seems as likely as any of the others.
There’s a crash behind me and I turn around in time to see a server trying to gathering up broken glass from a fallen drink. I turn back to the table in time to see the wheel spin one way.
“Come on eleven,” I say out loud as the ball bounces the other way, slowing, slowing. It hops past double zero and then it’s landing, coming to a halt on twenty-six black.
I’m turning to leave, my night already over, when the croupier slides a pile of chips my way.
“Well done, madam,” he says as other players groan at their bad luck. I’m about to protest when I see they have moved my chip to twenty-six black. Who did that?
I’m frowning and about to protest when I see the chips in front of me. Thirty-six thousand. Holy shit. That’s enough to keep the sanctuary going for about five years, maybe longer. Or to pay for my course. I could become a vet like Moira.
The ball is spinning again. “Hold on,” I say, reaching for my chips, but the croupier shakes his head.
“Too late, madam. It must ride.” I’m kicking myself. It was more money than I’ve seen in my entire life.
Something’s going on here, but I can’t work out what. I didn’t bet on twenty-six, but my chip got moved to that square. I’m being given money, but why?
I want to run away without it. I want to grab it and run. Both thoughts exist in my head at the same time.
There’s a gasp and people are looking at me. Why? I look down at the wheel. Twenty-six black. Again.
The chips are piled up in front of me and I can’t believe what’s happening. I gather them up and feel sick. People are patting me on the back. “One point two mil,” someone says. “What number’s coming up next?”
“Give me some of that luck, would ya?”
“Jammy bitch. How’d she know it would ride in again?”
I walk away in a daze. I cross to the cash desk with the chips. Before I walked in here, I knew what was going on, but now I’ve no clue. I’m confused. I’m dizzy. I want the money and I want to leave it behind. Someone is toying with me, but who?
My legs feel weak. It’s so much money. More than a million dollars. I think of Leo as I slide the chips across to the woman behind the counter. Is he toying with me? Is this some kind of game?
“I can’t authorize this much myself,” the woman says, picking up the telephone. Is it him on the other end of the line? Is he behind this? The man I never forgot. The man I’m looking for.
I came to tell him his dog is dying. How did I forget that part? I’m a bad person. His dog is dying and I’m too busy caring about how much I just won.
“If you’d like to accompany this gentleman,” she says from behind the counter. “He’ll attend to you.”
I turn and I’m looking at the white-haired guy in his sixties who looks like he could just as happily slice my throat as talk to me. “This way,” he says without smiling.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see, Miss Dooley.”
I have a lot of questions in my head as I follow him across the floor, but the one I want an answer to more than any other is, how does this complete stranger know my name?
AMELIA
We go through an anteroom that smells of old alcohol and regret. I’m guessing this is where people come while they wait to beg for more credit. Is this where Cam signed the paperwork to try to sell me, like he was human trafficking?
At the far end is an unmarked door. The white-haired man stops in front of it and turns to look at me. He’s holding up my original chip to a camera. Behind me, another man has appeared, standing too close, making me uncomfortable.
He examines me closely, his eyes narrowing. For a minute I think he’s going to hit me, but then he opens the door and steps aside for me to go first. “Upstairs,” he says.
I start walking. At the top of the stairs is a wide corridor that’s empty except for a couple of ferns. At the end is a single door painted red.
White hair shoves me forward and I almost trip. I get ahold of myself and make my way down the corridor.
“I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” I say as we reach the door. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not some gangster. I work in an animal shelter. That’s all.”
“Tell it to the boss,” the white-haired man says, knocking on the door. “Enter,” a deep voice replies a moment later.
“Good luck,” the man says, tossing me the chip before opening the door for me. I step through and it slams shut behind me.
“Listen,” I start, but I stop dead. I know the man sitting behind the desk with his arms folded. He’s wearing a black suit, same as the last time I saw him. H e looks a little grayer around the temples, but there’s no mistaking those
icy cold blue eyes.
“You,” I begin. “What are you doing here?”
“Take a seat,” Leo replies.
“I don’t want to take a seat. I want you to explain why I was frogmarched up here like a criminal when all I did was try to cash in the chip that you gave me.”
“A chip I told you to keep safe.”
“Listen. If you think-”
“Sit.” This time his voice is cold enough to chill my blood. His eyes flash with anger. I sit. “The chip,” he adds, holding his hand out, palm up.
“Give it to me.”
“What’s so special about this?” I ask, holding it in my hand.
“The chip. Give it to me now.”
He holds out his arm and I can’t help but obey, passing him the chip.
“Listen,” I say, refusing to be intimidated by him. “I came here to tell you something. Your-”
“Whatever it is, it can wait. Don’t say another word or I will lose my temper.” His voice is like ice, but it’s not freezing me. It’s heating me up.
I hate admitting it but I’m having to clamp my legs together. Something is throbbing with need down there. Something I refuse to think about.
“I’m going to stay in your house with you until Sunday night. In return, your debt will be cleared.”
“I’m not in debt to you.”
He holds up a finger to silence me. “I won’t warn you again.” He pauses, picking up the chip from the desk. “Do you know what this chip is?” He’s running it between his fingers, still staring at me. Has he even blinked yet? “It represents your debt to me. I will clear that debt after forty-eight hours in your house.”
“I told ‘you, I’m not in debt to you.”
He slides a piece of paper across the desk. I recognize Cam’s signature at the bottom. ” Signed by Cam Oakley. In exchange for a substantial sum of money, I might add. You belong to me until the debt is paid. It will be after forty-eight hours in your house if I’m feeling generous.”
“Why would I let you stay in my house? I don’t even know you.”
“We can do this the easy way like civilized people or the hard way. I can leave you locked up in here and use your house as a base anyway. I could cash in your debt in another way if I wanted but lucky for you, I don’t have the time to spare. So I am staying in your house for the weekend and you will say no more about it.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I warned you,” he says, sliding the chip into his pocket. “You say another word before I give permission and I’ll spank your ass bright fucking red.”
“Your dog’s dying,” I say, getting to my feet, digging out the chips, and dropping them onto his desk. “I don’t give a solitary flying fuck about your dirty money. I didn’t come here for the money. I didn’t come here to repay a debt or get involved in whatever bullshit scam you’re running out of here.
“That signature, you can piss on it. It’d never stand up in court. You don’t own me. No one does. I don’t want your money. I came here because your dog is dying and I thought you might want to see him while you still can.”
His expression changes, but only for a moment. I glimpse something behind his eyes. Something that looks like pain. He hides it a moment later, getting to his feet and walking over to the door. “Let’s go,” he says.
“Go? Where are we going?”
“To see Rex,” he replies. He points down the corridor. “Is he still at your house?”
“At Moira’s. Remember, the woman you left bleeding to death five years ago.”
He doesn’t reply. I feel his anger as he walks in front of me. He’s so tall he’s brushing the ceiling. If he wanted to, he could turn and snap me in two without breaking a sweat.
I don’t feel fear. I feel sorry for him. What must it be like to keep everything locked up like that? To never show emotion?
What happened to him that meant he ended up so utterly lost? To think he can act like he owns me just because Cam signed some bullshit contract?