Deliciously Damaged (Reckless Bastards MC 3)

“Those egg whites are not stiff enough!” Landry, the executive pastry chef at Knead, barked at me without regard to how his love of raw onions offended my senses. And my eyes. “And don’t think for one second I’ll take it easy on you because you’re a girl,” he sniveled. He was such a fucking weasel, never mind a misogynist, and if given the chance to do so without going to prison, I’d punch him in the throat. With a mallet.

“First of all, I am a woman chef—not a girl. And I’ve never asked you to take it easy on me.” I flipped the bowl over, confident in my skills. “If these egg whites get any stiffer we’ll use them to stack bricks outside.” They were perfect and that wasn’t ego, it was experience. I’d done it enough times to know the difference.

“Yeah, well, you make sure you keep it that way.” Whatever the fuck that meant. He walked away, griping under his breath loud enough for the whole kitchen to hear.

I hated his guts, more than even my most difficult instructor in culinary school. The man’s ego was based on two years of rave reviews plus a few prestigious awards, which he’d earned. Twenty years ago. He refused to change with the times, instead hiring talented chefs and taking credit for their work. Until they realized what a prick he was and quit. I had a feeling I would be just another pastry chef who “used to work for Landry.” If I didn’t kill him first.

We’d gotten along fine at first. Then the write up in Vegas Magazine happened and well, his ego still hadn’t recovered. It wasn’t my problem and I refused to let him get a rise out of me. As long as he knew I expected to be treated with respect, he could be a blowhard. I was used to it.

“We do not allow visitors at work, Mandy!” he barked across the entire kitchen, startling everyone as their eyes turned to me.

“Is this restaurant not inside of a hotel and casino?”

Because members of the press often showed up to speak with the chefs and Landry had no problem as long as they pretended to admire him.

“You have a visitor,” he sniffed, glaring at me like that was supposed to frighten me. “Did you tell them that you don’t allow visitors?”

I knew I was pushing it, but honestly, I was beyond caring. Moving back to this god-forsaken place had proven to be a huge mistake for a few reasons. At his glare, I shrugged.

“Guess not.”

I took a few minutes to get the piping perfect on the custard that would be part of the prix fixe menu before wiping my hands and leaving the kitchen. Since I had no friends or family to speak of, I could only imagine who the visitor could be. I wasn’t at all surprised to find Krissy leaning against the skinny wooden podium, popping her gum.

“What do you want?”

She flashed a fake grin and sauntered outside, leaving me to follow.

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Friends? Is that what we were?” My memory recalled it differently but now wasn’t the time.

“I’d like to think so.” She shrugged as she lit a Newport 100, he

r favorite brand of cigarettes. “But maybe now that you’ve got a big fancy life, you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget anything. I remember all of it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going back. I’m not.”

“Just one job, Mandy. This one tournament. Blackjack. It’s a quarter of a mil to the winner. Imagine what we could do with that kind of money!” She practically salivated at the thought of the cash that she would, no doubt, spend in just a few months. “Can’t you just do this for me?”

That yanked a bitter laugh from somewhere deep inside me. “No. I did that to survive, Krissy. I’m not taking that kind of risk again.”

Her blue eyes narrowed and I knew things were about to get ugly. Krissy was, at heart, a used car salesman. When false flattery and fake promises didn’t work, she turned cutthroat. “I don’t remember you being such a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, I was a vulnerable kid back then, and I bought what you were selling a lot easier when I didn’t know any better.” She could try to deny all she wanted, but I knew the truth.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “When you needed me, I was there for you.”

I laughed again, but this time it wasn’t bitter and it definitely wasn’t amused. It was anger. Rage. “There for me? I asked you to help me get a fake I.D. and somehow you ended up taking a cut of all the winnings when I took all the risk. Sorry, but I’m not so stupid anymore.”

Arms crossed, she placed the filter between thin, heavily wrinkled lips from too much sun and too much cigarette smoke, pulling hard until that hit of nicotine soothed her frayed edges. “I could make life very difficult for you in this city, Mandy.”

“And I can make it just as difficult for you, Krissy. Why do you need the money so bad? You owe someone you can’t pay?”

That quick flash of fear told me I was right. “If you or your friends think you can threaten me, you all better think again. I don’t scare so easily, so think long and hard about your next move.”

She stomped her foot like a five-year-old. “But this tourney is easy money. You’ll definitely place. Third place is fifty grand.”

“No.” It was that simple. I had plenty of reasons that I didn’t want to do it, but none of them mattered. I wouldn’t step foot inside a casino to count cards unless the only other option was starvation, and that would never happen because any greasy spoon or chain restaurant in this city would be happy to have me.