Karin tilted her head. "Luckily, you won't have to deal with his penchant for very long."
Because I only had so much time to fleece the man.
I'd once been asked if I felt guilty conning people. Nope. You have to play to pay. Behave yourself, and you'll never know my family exists. We targeted those who could never report a con to the police--because of their own dirty deeds.
So what had Dmitri done to deserve me? What if he was a little crazy--and a lot vulnerable? I kept replaying how he'd leaned into my touch for comfort. He'd already been burned in his life and still bore the scars.
Maybe Pete's initial instinct to cut that family had been right on. "I've been thinking about tomorrow night," I said to no one in particular. "About the congressman."
Blackmailing him could be the family's largest score yet. Badger games were like grifter annuities; they paid for life, and sometimes even appreciated if the mark made it big.
The congressman could be a presidential hopeful. We wished him all the best in his future campaigns.
Unfortunately, Karin would have to turn over the big payout from that asshole to service our debt.
Her blond brows drew together. "What about him?"
Benji perked up too. He was instrumental in badgers. He'd earned his nickname "the Eye" from his remarkable camera work.
"My string of bad luck, or whatever, seems to be over." I got up, knocked on the wood of my desk, then returned. "If I start roping guys and you bag the congressman, maybe we . . . shouldn't run Dmitri."
"What?" the three exclaimed in unison.
I played with the sash on my robe. "We might be able to scrounge up enough if Mom and Dad make good on their art scam. And Nigel could reconnect. Plus there's the watch I lifted." From a genuinely nice woman. If I felt this shitty about that, I couldn't imagine what playing with Dmitri's feelings would do to me.
In a scandalized tone, Karin said, "You like him."
"Or maybe I'm thinking about our own rules? No sins, no in. We have a code, remember?" In all my life, we'd never broken it. "What has the Russian done to merit a financial punishment and a helping of pain? We prey on vulnerabilities, not the vulnerable."
Benji scratched his head. "Why would you consider a brilliant and handsome BDSM billionaire vulnerable?"
"Call it grift sense."
"He simply hasn't shown you his sins yet," Karin said, disturbingly confident. "Give him time. Sins always out. I guarantee he's part of the ninety-seven percent."
Like the father of her kid?
She was right. I knew better. You'd think I would've learned after all the lying, two-timing scrotes I'd encountered in the grift. Hell, my own ex-fiance should've taught me.
"The point is moot anyway." Karin sighed. "Dmitri could be pure as driven snow, and we'd still have to target him. Hon, think of the alternative."
Three months ago, we'd swindled a drug-trafficking couple from overseas for a cool million, our largest take to date. We'd spent ages doing foundation work, yet no amount of research would've revealed that the woman was an untouchable. The lovechild of a cartel kingpin.
In lieu of an outright execution, the man had allowed us to repay the score in full--while owing six million in interest.
Karin had banked one and a half of it with her nonstop badgers. My parents' art scheme might net us five hundred. I would contribute two fifty. We had less than three weeks left to pull together the rest.
If we failed . . . That kingpin enjoyed necklacing: shoving a gasoline-soaked tire around a victim's chest and arms, then lighting it on fire. He'd threatened to do that to the primary on the con--my dad.
Pete said, "Vice, it's life or death. You have to break the code."
Dad was the bighearted rock of the family, nicknamed Gentleman Joe because he could mingle with the upper crust--but also because he had a kind smile and was a softie for a grifter.
My mom and dad were freaking symbiotic. If anything happened to him, I'd lose both parents.
Our only other option was to rabbit. The problem with that? We had dozens of people at Sunday dinner. Would everyone in our extended family go into hiding? What if someone wanted to remain?
To the grave. "You're right. When the Russian calls tomorrow, I'll do what I need to do."
CHAPTER 9
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As I skulked in platform high-heeled boots and a party dress through the dark, I could have sworn I was being watched.
I narrowed my eyes and surveyed the murky brush around our prop house, a.k.a. the badger den. I strained to hear, but A2B continued to wheeze and rattle long after I'd turned off the ignition.
For months, I'd been feeling paranoid like this. Probably because I was jinxed.
Dmitri hadn't called today, had written me only one cold line of text.
DSevastyan: I will contact you tomorrow.
My sixth busted mark.
At the back door, I glanced over my shoulder again, unable to shake the feeling that I wasn't alone. Maybe one of the cartel's henchmen was following me until we paid.
Surely it couldn't be Brett. . . .
I slipped inside and headed toward the camera room. Recording equipment crowded the small area. Benji was already here, manning a desk with a mic and several monitors. The screens played streams from video cameras all around the exterior--and interior--of the house, but I didn't spot anyone outside.
Benji swiveled around in his chair. "I thought you were meeting us later." Like me, he was dressed up to go out afterward. His stovepipe pants and fitted jacket accentuated his tall frame. He'd shaved his lean face.
"Got stir-crazy." I couldn't stand my lonely apartment any longer.
Earlier, Pete had texted me not to come in, that the VIP lounge was dead.
Vice: I can still take a shift.
P3X: We'll celebrate tonight and let off steam. Tomorrow huge group of Canadian high rollers.
Trying not to appear desperate for news on Dmitri, I'd asked about Nigel.
P3X: He checked out.
Seriously?? Vice: Dmitri? How could a one-word text be so pathetic?
P3X: No one's come down from the penthouse. Not a peep from them. But I know he'll call you.
Vice: Two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it.
I dropped my false-bottomed purse on the couch, then plopped down beside it. I would've gone biking in Red Rock Canyon today to burn off some energy, but A2B might not have made it back, and I'd worried about spotty telephone reception. Not that I'd needed to.
One sentence, Dmitri? After he'd spanked me so much I still felt it? I didn't know if I should be pissed or worried, so I'd settled on pissed.
Benji said, "Well, you're just in time. Karin's ten minutes out."
Like clockwork. In less than an hour, I'd be on a dance floor. Vegas was the capital of electronic dance music; even our loc
al club had EDM Saturdays. After so much work, I craved one wild night out--and I'd dressed accordingly.
I pulled my Bee deck of playing cards from my purse, then mindlessly cut and shuffled for comfort, warming up with basics. Pinky cut, false cut, double cut, the false riffle shuffle.
"Bad day?" My brother knew me all too well.
"It was fine." It was shit. Though I should've caught up on sleep, I kept replaying what the Russian had done to me.
When I'd pictured the look in Dmitri's smoldering eyes--and the glint of his piercing--I'd gotten so horny I'd had to take the edge off. Repeatedly.
Then I'd broken down and looked up Vika. It was a Russian diminutive of Victoria, an endearment. I'd sighed like a sap.
Yet all that had been before I'd known he wouldn't call me the entire day. I flashed cards from my right palm to my left, lifting a king of hearts.
Benji asked, "You never heard from him?"
Everyone in the family now knew I'd fooled around with the richest mark we could ever imagine--but hadn't set my claws. Why had I even expected him to call? Talk about reaching for the stars! I'd reached for a different galaxy!
Roughly eighteen hundred male billionaires existed in the world. Only one out of every four million people was that rich.
My suggestion that we cut him loose now embarrassed me. "He texted that one time." I gave Benji a breezy nod that would convince anyone but a fellow grifter. "He'll call tomorrow." Long cons had taught me to be patient. I drew on that inner well.
"Hey, that's a big mark for anyone."
The unspoken words hung in the air: But especially for you, Vice. With my six busted cons. Everyone was so focused on my recent failures, they seemed to have forgotten my years of success.
I'd had such a great start, and all the support I could ever need.
My mom loved to tell our friends: "I remember when Vice pulled her first card hustle at four." Her voice would grow thick with emotion. "Her hands were so tiny, she could barely palm-deal. And don't get me started on her first three-card monte."
In a monte, the dealer would shuffle around three cards, two black and a queen of hearts, using misdirection to obscure the queen. Dealers of montes were called broad tossers because of the queen card.
Mom had home movies of me hustling tourists, lisping, "Can you keep your eyeth on the queen, thsir?"