Read Online High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) by May Ellis Daniels - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: May Ellis Daniels
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that one.
Guess I learned my lesson.
Savannah’s casino is officially off this grifter girl’s hit list.
You win again, Landon Stone. Must get boring after a while. Life dealing him all the easy cards so he just has to sit back and rake it in—
I reach up and carefully lift off my wig, then stare at the mass of dirty-blonde hair in my hands. Wigs have always weirded me out. Someone else’s hair? Did she bother washing it? Whose fingers ran through it? Smelled it? See? Weird.
There’s a plastic bag stashed under the passenger seat. I grab it, then carefully fold the wig inside. Unpin my real hair, which I’ve always considered one of my my strongest assets in an otherwise generally unimpressive package, a kind of coppery brown with a nice shine when I’m in the Vegas sunlight. I knead at the sore spots where the pins rubbed against my skin.
My busted finger’s fucking throbbing.
I slip out of the Porsche and grab another plastic bag from under the seat, conscious of the shop’s cool concrete on my bare feet. My lavender blouse is rumpled and ragged, but not torn or bloodstained, so it’s worth holding onto. I step behind a rolling tool cart that’s nearly as tall as I am and strip down. Even my fucking underwear are threadbare. Good thing they’re thongs, so there’s not much thread to bare. The blouse and skinny jeans get folded up and placed inside the plastic bag.
I wince, regretting losing the platforms as I slip into a pair of less pricey and more comfy jeans and my favorite black tank-top from the Las Vegas Gun Club. The tank’s pretty low-cut, which isn’t good, considering I know my throat’s bruised.
Fuck it. No use worrying.
I don’t give a shit what people think.
Except moms.
That might be a problem. Maybe Maya has some cover-up.
Alfie’s leaning over the hood of the Porsche, staring at his laptop. It’s dark in the shop except for a bit of light filtering in around the roll-door, and the laptop gives Alfie’s face an eerie, pale glow.
“So I saw your signal while I was dealing with the cops. They fucked off after they got theirs,” he says when I emerge from behind the tool cart, continuing his story about why he wasn’t in the alley waiting for us. “But they held me up long enough to miss you.”
I settle against a workbench and run my fingers through my hair, trying to work out the tangles. “Just that kind of night.”
“Yeah. Happens. Be thankful you’re not in jail.”
“Not yet.”
“You think they’re after you?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Alfie glances at the computer. “Something else. I was still jacked into Savannah’s network while I drove to meet you. This popped up.”
He turns the laptop to face me.
There are six words written across the screen.
“You’re already dead and buried, Wildblood. Huh? What the fuck is that ?”
“Someone else hacked into Savannah’s network with me. Maybe even entered through the firewalls I breached. Riding my bad-ass hacker coat-tails.”
“No shit? So…the casino owner saw that?”
Alfie smiles. “Bet your ass. The message ran on every computer in the casino linked to the network. Everyone saw that message. Busboy and bell-hop right up to CEO.”
“Damn,” I say, real quiet, thinking about Landon without really meaning to. The poor pretty-boy bastard with the surfer blonde locks. Making fuel cells for European yuppies is a lot different than making a go of it in Vegas. “Stone’s out of his element.”
“Dude’s gunna wind up feeding coyotes.”
“Wildblood. Mean anything?”
Alfie shakes his head. “Code name for something. Or some inner-circle insult. Maybe one of those blue-blood secret societies like Skull and Bones.”
“Doesn’t seem like his style. I don’t think he’s old money.”
Something’s niggling at me.
Blake Stone. His mouth opening, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp fangs as he strangled me—
“Who sent it?” I say,
Guess I learned my lesson.
Savannah’s casino is officially off this grifter girl’s hit list.
You win again, Landon Stone. Must get boring after a while. Life dealing him all the easy cards so he just has to sit back and rake it in—
I reach up and carefully lift off my wig, then stare at the mass of dirty-blonde hair in my hands. Wigs have always weirded me out. Someone else’s hair? Did she bother washing it? Whose fingers ran through it? Smelled it? See? Weird.
There’s a plastic bag stashed under the passenger seat. I grab it, then carefully fold the wig inside. Unpin my real hair, which I’ve always considered one of my my strongest assets in an otherwise generally unimpressive package, a kind of coppery brown with a nice shine when I’m in the Vegas sunlight. I knead at the sore spots where the pins rubbed against my skin.
My busted finger’s fucking throbbing.
I slip out of the Porsche and grab another plastic bag from under the seat, conscious of the shop’s cool concrete on my bare feet. My lavender blouse is rumpled and ragged, but not torn or bloodstained, so it’s worth holding onto. I step behind a rolling tool cart that’s nearly as tall as I am and strip down. Even my fucking underwear are threadbare. Good thing they’re thongs, so there’s not much thread to bare. The blouse and skinny jeans get folded up and placed inside the plastic bag.
I wince, regretting losing the platforms as I slip into a pair of less pricey and more comfy jeans and my favorite black tank-top from the Las Vegas Gun Club. The tank’s pretty low-cut, which isn’t good, considering I know my throat’s bruised.
Fuck it. No use worrying.
I don’t give a shit what people think.
Except moms.
That might be a problem. Maybe Maya has some cover-up.
Alfie’s leaning over the hood of the Porsche, staring at his laptop. It’s dark in the shop except for a bit of light filtering in around the roll-door, and the laptop gives Alfie’s face an eerie, pale glow.
“So I saw your signal while I was dealing with the cops. They fucked off after they got theirs,” he says when I emerge from behind the tool cart, continuing his story about why he wasn’t in the alley waiting for us. “But they held me up long enough to miss you.”
I settle against a workbench and run my fingers through my hair, trying to work out the tangles. “Just that kind of night.”
“Yeah. Happens. Be thankful you’re not in jail.”
“Not yet.”
“You think they’re after you?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Alfie glances at the computer. “Something else. I was still jacked into Savannah’s network while I drove to meet you. This popped up.”
He turns the laptop to face me.
There are six words written across the screen.
“You’re already dead and buried, Wildblood. Huh? What the fuck is that ?”
“Someone else hacked into Savannah’s network with me. Maybe even entered through the firewalls I breached. Riding my bad-ass hacker coat-tails.”
“No shit? So…the casino owner saw that?”
Alfie smiles. “Bet your ass. The message ran on every computer in the casino linked to the network. Everyone saw that message. Busboy and bell-hop right up to CEO.”
“Damn,” I say, real quiet, thinking about Landon without really meaning to. The poor pretty-boy bastard with the surfer blonde locks. Making fuel cells for European yuppies is a lot different than making a go of it in Vegas. “Stone’s out of his element.”
“Dude’s gunna wind up feeding coyotes.”
“Wildblood. Mean anything?”
Alfie shakes his head. “Code name for something. Or some inner-circle insult. Maybe one of those blue-blood secret societies like Skull and Bones.”
“Doesn’t seem like his style. I don’t think he’s old money.”
Something’s niggling at me.
Blake Stone. His mouth opening, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp fangs as he strangled me—
“Who sent it?” I say,
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