Chapter 3 Bunny
three
Bunny
So it turns out, Smoke is far better actor than I thought he'd be. He's got everyone fooled, including me. The shift in him is so sudden, so complete, that I keep glancing over my shoulder just to make sure it's still him standing there.
Sure, he doesn't go pulling me away from the tables I serve.
He's careful enough not to affect my job, but I can feel his eyes every time I try to do my usual routine.
That heavy weight of his attention follows me across the casino floor like a second shadow.
He keeps his distance, sure, but his focus isn't on the games anymore. It's on me.
It's too much. Too obvious. He's going to blow this whole thing wide open if he keeps staring at me like I'm the only woman in the room.
Yet, I can't tell him to pull back. Not when I enjoy what he's doing. Not when the heat of his gaze makes my skin hypersensitive, so that every movement feels like it's his touch grazing my body, rather than this revealing outfit.
Smoke has barely touched me to begin with. I shouldn’t be able to imagine such an impossibility so perfectly.
Some of the other girls have asked what is going on between us. They’d think I’m crazy to mess around with any of the dangerous bikers who own this part of town, and maybe they’re right. I am crazy because I don’t need to lie.
I want Smoke even more than I did yesterday or the day before.
To keep up the act, I've easily announced that we're together.
Said it with a smirk, like it's nothing. But the way my face heats up every time? That part is real. Soon, even as oblivious as he is, Smoke will realize I’m enjoying this arrangement more than he is.
That the words that leave are the truth, not just lines from a script.
The staff has noticed his watchful gaze.
The bartenders nudge each other, most of them confused by the change in the air.
The dealers watch too, most likely wondering when he’ll grow bored and return to them.
But the gamblers? They can't tell the difference.
They're either too drunk or too deep in the hole to notice anything beyond their next card or their next drink.
Which brings me back to my job.
I'm working on a new table now, caught mid-stakes. Men who've had just enough to get bold but not enough to pass out. One of them catches my wrist as I'm setting down a whiskey, almost making me spill it.
Noticing the rings on his fingers, large, thick ones as more of a display, I realize my teeth are already grinding.
Why do the rich ones feel so untouchable? Spoiled fuckers, all of them. They all look the same; I can’t even remember if this is a regular one. At this point, does it matter?
I keep my smile glued on. My voice stays perky, light, a little breathless. "Easy there, sugar. I’d hate to ruin such a good hand."
Giving him a wink, I notice the others at the table shift their gaze between us. The dealer, Reuben, looks my way, his brows lifting in a silent question.
The curve on my lips remains sweet, hopefully reassuring him that I’m fine.
While I can deal with it, I can’t help if my coworkers try to get involved. Some of the men sitting at these tables are powerful. I’d rather avoid confrontation if it’s possible.
“I think I can thank you for that, sweetheart.” He releases my wrist but wastes no time circling my waist and tugging me toward him. “Something tells me you’re radiating luck. How about you stay right here and help me win big?”
There’s nothing I want less than to stay here any longer, inhaling his strong cologne. Whether costly or not, it still smells awful.
What I need is an escape. An excuse to leave without offending this asshole. Especially when I’ve got his arm acting like a shackle.
As I force out a light laugh, my hand strokes the dark hair on his arm. “I don’t want to distract you from winning. Can't enjoy your drink and place with one hand, can you?”
In an attempt to lightly pull his arm away, I realize his grip is unwavering.
“Sir, we would like to resume the game.” Reuben remains patient, but from the way he’s looking at my hand, he must be able to read my discomfort. However, his mouth is already curving downward. “Our staff is busy enough as it is.”
Hoping I can go off of his words to keep the conversation from taking the wrong turn, I stumble as I’m yanked closer. Almost falling over, I catch myself on the table to stop from tumbling onto his lap. My tray clatters to the ground, drawing more attention.
Rich pricks, I swear. Now my patience is starting to run thin. Even more, this is outright humiliating. Fuck his tip, if he'd even have any to give. No amount of money is worth being touched by this guy.
“Oh, she’s fine. You act like I’m holding her here against her will. We’re just having fun, aren’t we?” He looks at me, smirking. “Smile of an angel, this one.”
Reuben looks ready to call for security, but stops just as I feel the hairs on my arms lift.
It's like the temperature dropped ten degrees. Goosebumps lift on my skin, and just like before, I can feel his eyes. This time, something feels off.
Then I breathe in and smell my favorite scent. The motor oil easily takes over whatever in the hell this guy is wearing.
I don't even have time to turn my head before a hand appears over my shoulder. Not reaching for me. Reaching for him.
Tattooed fingers wrap around the rich prick's forearm and squeeze hard enough to bruise.
Security would’ve tried to save face a little bit. Smoke isn’t even counted as staff, so he’s got nothing to lose.
The man's grip on my waist goes slack instantly—not because he wants to let go, but because his body is busy registering pain. His mouth opens, and a choked sound comes out.
I stumble back. My hip hits the edge of the table, and I almost cause the alcohol I delivered to spill. My heart is suddenly beating hard, both from my nerves kicking up and an undeniable excitement to see Smoke up close after all these hours apart.
I’ve never been rescued like this before. My stomach shouldn’t be getting filled with butterflies right now.
Looking his way, my heart leaps upward, and I feel my pulse racing in my throat.
He's not looking at me. His eyes are on the man at the table, and there's something in his face I've never seen before. Something dangerous.
He’s the physical version of the saying, ‘if looks could kill’.
The rich guy rips his arm free, cradling it against his chest like a wounded animal. His face is flushed, sweat beading on his upper lip. "What the fuck—who the hell do you think you are?"
Smoke doesn't answer right away. Instead, he smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's not the kind of smile you give someone you're about to do business with. It's the kind of smile that makes the man across from him flinch back.
Most would call his expression terrifying. Yet, I’m the outlier.
Right there, in the middle of the casino floor, with my back against a poker table and my heart trying to escape my chest, I swoon. Like some damsel in an old movie about to be rescued by her charming prince.
They never had leather vests or tattoos, as far as I can remember.
"Damage control," Smoke says. His voice is low, eerily calm. "I'm going to need you to leave."
The rich guy sputters. "I'm a guest here. I have every right—"
"You do." Smoke nods before his usual frown is back in place. "And I'm asking you politely. Walk away and find somewhere else to play. Because if I have to help you leave?" He squints, and I see his fingers curl. "I can't guarantee I'll be too happy once we're away from an audience."
The table is silent. Even the slot machines in the distance seem to hush as the air grows thick with his threat.
The rich guy's mouth opens and closes like he doesn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is a first for him. He's trying to look tough, but his hands are shaking. I can see it from here.
"You're making a mistake," he manages, but the words hold no weight behind them.
Who’d be smart enough to threaten a guy who looks like he hangs out in dark places during his free time?
Smoke raises an eyebrow as well, waiting for him to say something that would give him a reason to act beyond just words.
The man shoves back from the table so hard his chair scrapes the floor. He points a finger at Smoke, which wobbles at the tip. "This isn't over."
Yet, he's already walking away. Stomping, really, like a spoiled brat getting his toy taken away. His expensive shoes make angry little sounds against the carpet as he disappears between the rows of slot machines, muttering something no one bothers to hear.
Reuben exhales slowly. He looks between Smoke and me, then back again, like he's doing math in his head. "Apologies for the interruption," he says to the players, smoothing his vest. "My apologies for the sudden display. Let's resume, shall we?"
I should say something. Apologize to the others for not putting my foot down better. This could’ve been avoided if I’d just signaled at Reuben to grab security from the beginning.
"I'm sorry about that, everyone." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Please enjoy your game.”
My smile is back on my face, and the frozen atmosphere slowly thaws. Things return to normal, almost, anyway.
Smoke's hand reaches for mine before I can thank him for saving me. He's already turning, already walking, and I have no choice but to follow.
I let him pull me through the casino, past the slot machines, past the bar, past the wide-eyed stares of the cocktail waitresses who just watched the biker drag me away as if I truly belonged to him.
My heels click against the floor. My heart is still pounding. I catch his profile as he glances to the side and notice the set of his jaw. There’s a furrow between his brows.
He's frowning. No, scowling, really.
He looks pissed.
I’ve seen this man startled and protective, but this is new.