CHAPTER 8 Dex Bradley
With or Without You
When my father said he wanted to see me, I immediately told him I’d meet him at his hotel.
I’m not ready to admit everything to him yet when it’s still so new to me. I’ve only known about the kid since Sunday, and I promised my dad we could meet up on Thursday.
The problem is that he wants to talk about illegal activities, so it’s not like we can just head to a restaurant and chat over steaks. He was a little offended I didn’t invite him to my place, but I don’t really give a fuck about his feelings any more than he gives fucks about mine.
Hotel it is.
Ainsley and Jack are at home, and so far, nobody is the wiser to my little situation.
After my talk with Everleigh the other day, I guess I’m starting to warm up to the idea that he’s going to be around, but I’m keeping all options and avenues open.
And that’s really the root of why I’m not ready to tell my dad about him just yet.
Or any of my other siblings—provided Ev didn’t tell anyone as I requested before I hung up on her. Or the press.
I’m not even totally sure why I’m meeting my father.
I already know what he’s going to say, but he’ll do it in person in a more convincing way where it’s harder to say no to him.
That’s how he operates. He’s not here for business—at least not legitimate business.
He’s here to run this by me and get me to sign off on it before the season starts.
He has no idea that I’m being crushed by the weight of everything else around me, and he’s just piling on more.
But maybe this is the exact distraction I need. The thrill I’ve been chasing. The excitement of Vegas, where I get to be the house that always wins. It’s those conflicting sides pulling at me again—loyalty to family versus my own needs.
So I’m here to hear him out.
I knock tentatively on his hotel room door, and he opens it a second later as if he was standing by waiting for me. He’s got a suite, and the main living area has a conference table where he already has his plans mapped out.
“I know you’re a busy man, too busy to do dinner with your old man, so I’ll get right to it,” he says, laying on the guilt trip thick before he gets underway.
It’s all so predictable.
“As you know, building a legacy is something I hold in the highest regard. It’s why I started Bradley Group, and it’s why I carefully and quietly started building something off the grid to create generational wealth for the Bradley family. But Chicago has limitations that Vegas simply doesn’t.”
“Dad, if you’re running an underground casino, you’ll need to be even more careful here,” I point out. “Vegas already has casinos that operate legally, so what do you have that will attract people to an underground operation?”
“That’s the thing, son. We’ll start as a private lounge.
High rollers. Invite only. Your connections, like we talked about.
All aboveboard. All legal. But that’s just the front for the backroom operation we’ll also be running.
That’s the one that’ll earn us respect here in this city.
That’s the one that’ll put us on the map, and before long, we won’t just be running some private club.
We’ll own the entire goddamn Strip.” He grins proudly, as if he’s the first guy who ever came up with this plan.
“The entire Strip is already spoken for. You’ve got Wynn, MGM, Caesars. We can’t compete with those huge names.”
“You don’t think Bradley could fit right in with those?
Look, they each started somewhere. I did my research.
One of them started with a small investment in a hotel downtown when he was twenty-five, and now he owns hundreds of acres of land on Las Vegas Boulevard plus hotels around the world. ” He shrugs. “Why couldn’t that be us?”
“Because you said it. He started with a small investment in a hotel downtown a million years ago. Not with a shady private club covering an illegal poker room.” I shrug back at him, and he hates that I’m so much like him.
Except I’m not. We’re different. I may like chasing thrills, but I’m not about to risk my contract over a stupid idea like this one.
Except if it’s underground, theoretically nobody would ever know. Right?
Probably not, since the feds are already on his ass.
My phone starts ringing, and I send it to voicemail when I see it’s my publicist. I’ll call him back when I’m on my way home.
“Look, the plans are already in place. I’m doing this with or without you, Dex.
With would be better. I’d love to cut you in on the action and the profits, which will be huge.
There will be energy and excitement, and I know you live for those thrills and risks.
You know people out here, and you have connections here that I don’t.
It’ll benefit us both to have you in on it, and it will all be yours once you retire from the game. ”
I press my lips together. I want to say no. I want to stay out of the illegal, shady shit he’s doing.
But I’m tempted.
His words about thrills and risks hit exactly where he intends for them to.
And aside from all that, I don’t hate the idea of setting up a legacy for my own kid.
I wasn’t ever planning on having one, but now that I do, pending the results of the DNA test we had done yesterday, I want to set up the sort of future where he doesn’t have to worry about being pressured into doing shit like this for his father.
I may be like my dad in a lot of ways, but I don’t want to be like him when it comes to parenthood.
Not that I have the first clue about what I’m doing…but if I’m setting up a legacy for my kid, I want him to know that he can take it or leave it, and I want him to be able to make decisions for himself.
Besides, just because my father starts it with illegal activity doesn’t mean I have to run it the same way once it’s mine.
I have a kid to think about now, and it’s an interesting dynamic to be here with my father, who doesn’t consider the needs of his offspring. I guess this is one way to set the kid up financially, anyway.
I already know I’m going to agree to my dad’s terms against my will in the end anyway. That’s just what he does. I decide to just skip past the next level of guilt trips and whatever hidden threats he has and get to the point. I should get back home anyway.
“Fifty-fifty split on whatever clients I bring in,” I say to him.
He makes a face as if to say I’m crazy, his brows rising and his lips twisting as if he’s holding back a laugh. He shakes his head. “No. I wasn’t even going to offer you a percentage. A monthly paycheck instead.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “No deal. You need me more than I need you.”
He rolls his eyes, which is his own defense mechanism when he knows he’s been outsmarted by one of his kids. I’ve outsmarted him enough over the years to read that signal.
“Fine,” he mutters. “You get five percent plus a monthly paycheck.”
“I don’t want the monthly paycheck. I want forty percent of profits, not a cent lower, and I get access to the books.” I know how he works. If he’s willing to open an illegal gambling ring, he’s willing to screw over his own kid.
He sighs. “Twenty percent. It’s the highest I’ll go.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “No deal.” I stand to leave, and when he speaks next, that’s when I know I’ve got him.
“Twenty-five, no books.”
I turn to look at him. “Books, thirty-five. And you operate it all without me. I just swing by when I can. Final offer.”
“You’ll need to bring all the whales.”
I nod. I was going to anyway. Of course I’ll bring the whales—those with lots of money to burn. The more money that runs through this club, legal side or not, and the more I take from them, the more I line my own pockets.
He sighs and looks out the window. “Fine. Done.”
After he amends the paperwork he brought along spelling out the details of the legal private club that he’ll turn into his lawyer plus the contract that’ll stay between us in good faith, and after the ink is dry on my signature on all that paperwork, I say, “I would’ve taken thirty.” I smirk.
“I would’ve given you forty.” He mirrors my smirk right back at me.
Fucker.