Play Me Wild (Play Me 1)

Shit. I am so sick of this rich old boys’ club, the one where men get to do whatever the hell they want as long as they’re ponying up the dough. It’s amazing how much willful blindness and sexual harassment a couple million dollars will buy.

With no other recourse available, I head over to the whale and his unlucky choice for the night.

“Here’s your drink,” I tell him, banging the glass down onto the table a little too forcefully. “Can I get you anything else?”

He doesn’t even look at me as he runs his free hand up the girl’s thigh and under her dress, but she does, her heavily made up eyes pleading with me to do something as she tries to inch herself away from him. For a second, it’s like staring into my own eyes, into the memories of the girl I used to be.

Damn it. I can’t get involved. Not in this—I’m smart enough to know that it won’t end well for me. But at the same time, I can’t leave the poor, dumb kid here, either. Not when she’s so obviously uncomfortable.

I give her a subtle nod, then head back over to the security guard. Manny, I think his name is. “Look, you’re going to have to intervene. That guy is totally out of bounds over there.” I nod toward the Russian.

Manny’s eyes follow where I’m indicating. “She doesn’t look like she’s asking for help.”

“Well, she is. He’s practically assaulting her. You need to get involved.”

“I’ve got strict orders from Mr. Caine. We don’t intervene in those situations unless we’re specifically asked to by a customer.”

“Seriously?” I don’t wait around for his answer—it’s not like he’s got one that will make me happy—and instead take off to deliver the last of my drinks.

I keep my eye on the two of them as I take new orders and continue to deliver drinks. A couple times it looks like she’s trying to brush him off, to escape, but both times he refuses to take the hint. She even gets up to leave at one point, moving to another table, but he follows her, his hand sliding over her ass much like it slid over mine a little while ago.

I grit my teeth, try to tell myself it’s not my business. If she really wanted to, she could just get up and walk out of the casino. At the same time, though, I’m not sure he wouldn’t follow her. And obviously, neither is she. It’s not a stretch to think that she’s safer here, being hassled by him, than she would be trying to walk away on her own. Protection in numbers and all that.

And still I tell myself to stay out of it. That it’s not my problem. That I have enough going on right now without taking this on, too. That I’m set to get off in fifteen minutes and I should just put my head down and ignore it.

But I’m swinging back over to that group of tables anyway and it costs me nothing to stop and ask him if he wants another drink. So I do. And this time I see his hand skimming under the hem of her dress, his finger running along the top seam of her stockings.

I glance at her face then, my brows lifted just a little. She looks at me pleadingly before grabbing his hand and shoving it off her leg. Of course, he’s a creep—and an entitled one at that—so it’s only a matter of seconds before his hand is back, even higher than before.

I turn away, determined to get Manny over here this time—no matter what it takes. But I’ve barely taken a step or two before I hear her shriek. I turn back just in time to see him squeeze her breast.

“Get lost,” he says to me, breathing heavily, and there’s a part of me that knows that’s exactly what I should do if I want to keep this job.

But I can’t do that. Not when Manny’s turned down my plea for assistance twice. And not when I know that leaving her alone with him is only going to lead to a worse assault.

Bending down so that he can’t help but look me in the eye, I tell him, “I’ll get lost when you do. She’s obviously not interested.”

“What do you know?” he sneers at me, his hand tightening on her leg until she yelps again, this time in obvious pain. A couple of the other players look over, and one even looks like he’s going to intervene. But one stone-cold look from the Russian and they’re all suddenly fascinated by their cards again. “Whores like her are always interested.”

I’m seeing red at this point, but I use every ounce of self-control I have to keep my voice even when I say, “Please let her go.”

“Or what?” He glances over at Manny who is looking everywhere but over here, it seems. “You’ll sic your fat-ass security guard on me? That threat doesn’t impress me.”

To prove his point, he slides a finger even higher beneath her dress.

She shudders, starts shoving at his hand.

“Stop it, you little bitch,” he tells her then, viciously squeezing her thigh in retaliation. “You should be glad I’m even bothering with you.”

It’s the last straw. “You’ve got that wrong,” I tell him as I turn my empty drink tray on its side. “You’re not bothering with her, you’re just bothering her.”

“And why’s that your business, you little cunt?”

The insult rolls right off my back. These guys aren’t known for their class after all, at least not when they’re being thwarted. “Because she’s a customer of this casino, too, and you’re making her uncomfortable.”

“I could buy and sell this casino. You’d do well to remember that.”

Of course he could. Why, oh why, do discussions like this always come down to bank balances? I don’t have many good things to say about the life I led before I came here, but at least in my family and among their associates, the size of a man’s dick depends on a lot more than how many zeroes he has after his name.