CHAPTER 36
EDEN
Jagger had not been thrilled when I told him I was going to work.
“Eden,” he’d said slowly, like he was explaining gravity to a particularly stubborn child. “You don’t have to work.”
“I know,” I’d replied.
Which had been exactly the problem.
Because if I stopped working completely, then suddenly everything in my life—where I lived, my food, my clothes, the air I breathed—would belong to him. And while the idea of belonging to Jagger Thatcher in certain contexts made my stomach flip in ways that were definitely not practical . . .
The rest of my brain still needed a little independence.
So, I was at the casino.
Which meant noise and lights and the constant churn of voices and chips and machines, familiar chaos that had once felt normal and now felt strangely small compared to the world Jagger had started showing me.
I was weaving between tables with a tray of drinks when a hand suddenly clamped down on my ass .
. . and it wasn’t just a brush. It was a full squeeze.
I spun halfway around automatically, glaring at the back of a middle-aged man already pretending to focus on the blackjack table as if he hadn’t just committed sexual assault.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.
Honestly though . . . between things like that and the constant wandering hands of drunk businessmen, Jagger’s offer to quit was starting to look more and more appealing. “Eden.”
I looked over and saw Leigh was standing near the service station, her eyes huge and bright in that way they got whenever she had a piece of gossip she couldn’t wait to unload. Except this time there was something else mixed in with it.
Nerves.
“Can you take a five-minute break?” she whispered.
That alone made me pause. Leigh never voluntarily stepped away from the floor. Not when there were rich men wandering around looking bored.
“Yeah,” I said slowly, setting my tray down. “What’s going on?”
We slipped into the small employee hallway behind the bar, where the noise of the casino dropped to a dull roar.
Leigh ran both hands through her hair. “I think I’m going crazy,” she blurted.
That was not how Leigh usually opened conversations. Normally it was You will not believe what I just heard followed by a ten-minute breakdown of someone’s divorce or secret mistress.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “That’s a strong opener.”
“I think something happened to Carl.”
I blinked. “Like . . . he got fired?”
The words came out before my brain caught up, and only then did I realize something strange.
Carl wasn’t here . . . and he was always here. Carl had worked this floor longer than anyone. He practically lived at Paradise.
Leigh shook her head fast, her hair bouncing. “Yesterday,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, “I saw Cruz Vale come down onto the floor and take him into the back.”
I pursed my lips thinking of Jagger’s best friend. “And?” I asked.
“And Carl never came back.”
She looked at me as if that sentence alone should explain everything.
I shrugged. “Well . . . maybe he just—”
“No,” Leigh cut me off, her eyes wide. “Eden, there was something in Cruz’s eyes. It was—” She shivered a little. “It was terrifying.”
I snorted softly. “Cruz is one of the owners of the casino. I’m sure it was just some kind of staffing issue.”
“But don’t you think it’s weird?” she pushed.
“Weird how?”
“The email from HR this morning,” she said quickly. “It didn’t say Carl had left or anything. They just introduced a new guy like everything was normal. I think the new guy is his replacement, though!”
I hesitated. That email had been . . . odd. “You said you saw him walk off with Cruz?” I asked.
Leigh nodded frantically. “Yes. I watched them go down the hallway.”
“Well,” I said slowly, forcing my voice to sound reasonable even as unease began to coil in my chest, “I’m sure it’s fine. Maybe he quit. His job had to have felt like a lot after so long.”
Leigh’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm. The sudden grip made me jump.
Tears were filling her eyes. “I’ve been sleeping with him,” she whispered.
My brain stalled. “Oh.”
“I called him,” she said shakily. “And he didn’t answer. So I drove by his house this morning before work, and no one answered the door, and his car wasn’t there, and—”
Her voice broke. “I think something happened to him.”
My chest tightened. I reached up automatically and patted her arm, trying to soothe her the way you do when someone spirals. “I’m sure he’s okay,” I said gently.
Leigh shook her head, but I could see the way she was clinging to that reassurance anyway.
“I’ll ask Jagger about it,” I added after a moment.
Her head snapped up. “You will?”
“Yeah,” I said. “If something happened here, he’d probably know. Or at least know who would.”
Leigh’s fingers tightened around my arm. “Eden . . . be careful,” she said quickly. “Okay? Promise me you’ll be careful.”
I stared at her for a second. Then I laughed.
“You’re acting like I’m going to interrogate the mob,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just asking my boyfriend a question.”
Leigh didn’t laugh with me. She still looked nervous.
And that strange feeling in my chest tightened just a little more.
***
Jagger
The guy started talking the second Cruz shoved him into the back room. “Hey—hey—what the hell is this?” he blurted, stumbling as the door slammed behind him.
He turned, taking in the concrete walls, the metal table, and the fact that there was only one exit and it was currently occupied. Cruz was leaning against the door and smirking, the same expression he’d worn since I’d told him what was about to happen.
I rolled my sleeves up. “Do you remember grabbing the ass of one of my employees about ten minutes ago?” I asked calmly.
The man blinked at me, then scoffed like the whole thing was ridiculous. “Oh come on,” he said, waving a hand. “I was just having a little fun with the cocktail waitress.”
Cruz slowly rubbed his face as if he was bracing for a migraine. “That’s what you decided to go with?” he asked. He looked at me. “Do you want to let him try again, or should we just fast-forward to the consequences?”
The guy shrugged, acting as though he were the victim here. “This is Vegas,” he continued. “Isn’t that what girls like that are for?”
I blinked at him, not because I hadn’t heard him, but because I genuinely could not believe that was the sentence he’d chosen to say out loud.
Cruz straightened slowly, his amusement draining away. “Oof,” he said under his breath. “I really thought he was going to recover there.”
I flexed my hand and then stepped forward and grabbed his wrist.
He jerked back instinctively, but I yanked his arm straight and slammed his palm flat on the metal table. Then I brought my other fist down hard on the back of his hand, putting every ounce of my weight behind it.
His bones splintered under his skin with a muffled crunch that vibrated up my arm. His middle and ring fingers collapsed inward at impossible angles, the knuckles folding into the palm like crushed paper. Blood immediately welled between the joints, bright red against the table’s dull gray.
He didn’t scream at first, just sucked in a shocked, whistling breath, his eyes huge, and his mouth open in silent disbelief.
Then the pain caught up.
A raw, animal howl tore out of him that echoed off the concrete. His knees buckled, and he tried to yank away, but I kept his wrist pinned, grinding the ruined hand against the table so he felt every fractured piece shift.
Cruz winced theatrically. “Hopefully he’s left-handed, because that hand’s not going to be able to grab a dick for a long time.”
The guy started sliding down the chair, gasping like he couldn’t get air. “You broke it!” he choked.
I crouched down in front of him. “Yes,” I said calmly. “I did.”
Cruz wandered over, peering down at the hand. “You know,” he added conversationally, “if you’d gone with ‘I’m sorry,’ this probably would’ve gone a different direction.”
The man’s face had gone pale and slick with sweat. “You can’t do this,” he panted. “I’ll call the police.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Will you?”
He nodded frantically. “Yes! I’ll call the police and—”
“Rebecca Miller,” I said quietly.
He froze.
“Your wife,” I continued. “She’s currently asleep in your house on Sandstone Ridge Drive. Number 4821, if I remember correctly.”
The color drained from his face, and I watched the fear settle in.
“Oh,” I said softly. “And you work at an accounting firm downtown, right? Hargrove and Bell?”
His mouth dropped open as he stared at me in shock. “You . . . you can’t—” The guy’s eyes darted between us. “My—my wife—”
“Yes,” I said pleasantly. “Rebecca. I’m sure she would love to know about all of your extracurriculars.”
His breathing turned ragged, and I leaned forward just enough that he couldn’t look away from me. “Listen carefully,” I told him, “because I’m only going to say this once.”
His head bobbed frantically.
“If you ever come to one of our casinos again,” I continued, my voice still conversational, “I’m not breaking your hand.”
Cruz folded his arms. “Oh no,” he said. “We’re definitely past hands at that point.”
I smiled faintly. “I’ll remove it.”
The guy started shaking.
“Or worse,” I added.
Tears spilled down his face. “I’m sorry,” he blubbered. “I swear, I don’t usually do that—I won’t do anything like that again, I swear—”
Cruz crouched beside me, studying him like a science project. “You know what the interesting part is?” he said thoughtfully.
The man looked at him desperately. “What?”
Cruz shrugged. “You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong,” he said. “You thought you were entitled.”
The guy’s mouth opened and closed uselessly.
Cruz glanced at the mangled hand still pinned beneath mine. “And tonight you just happened to grab the one woman in this building who comes with immediate consequences.”
He patted the guy lightly on the shoulder. “Bad luck, buddy.” Cruz pulled out his phone and typed a quick message.
Thirty seconds later, the back door opened, and two of our security guys stepped in.
“Get him out of here,” ordered Cruz.
The man looked between us wildly. “Thank you,” he gasped as they hauled him upright. “Thank you, I won’t—I swear I won’t—” He started crying again as they led him out of the room.
Cruz glanced at me, straightening his velvet fucking suit. “You know,” he said casually, “I feel like we handled that professionally.”
I considered it.
“Very,” I agreed.