Page 3 of Gang of Roses: Dice

His eyes drifted toward the empty space where my chips used to be.

“If you’d like to continue playing, we can extend you a marker.”

Normally, I would’ve laughed in his face and walked away because why in the fuck would Global Jamerson need a damn loan?

Normally. But there wasn’t nothing normal about tonight. I was grieving, tipsy, and ready to do just about anything to keep my mind from spiraling.

“How much?” I asked.

The manager smiled.

And that’s when everything started going wrong. Before I knew it, I was fucking $175,000 in the hole.

What the hell did I do?

Just when I was about to call it. A big ass undertaker-looking nigga darkened the doorway of the back room.

“Ms. Jamerson, your presence has been requested.”

“And just who the fuck are you?” I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms. “...And by who?”

But I was met with silence.

Judging by the faces in the room, I was sure I was looking like a big, black, and loud ghetto bitch, but I gave two fucks because what the hell was going on?

“Bitch, did you call him?” I said, pointing an accusatory finger at the dealer. “I can pay this raggedy ass one-seventy-five. This ain’t shit to me, love.” I had to let this little thin patty know because she had me fucked up.

“Ma’am, I assure you I did not make the call. But if you look in each corner of this room and on the button here on my shirt,” she said, pointing to the small button that I knew was a camera just from looking at it. “It’s all recording.”

That meant someone was watching at all times. A major reason we never took down a casino. Too busy, too many people, way too many cameras, and it’s hard to gain control of the money room.

“Ms. Jamerson, if you could please follow me. Mr. Monroe would like a moment of your time.” My eyes widened at just the mention of the owner’s name. Yeah, I was playing at the high-stakes table, but what did he want with me? I was sure many people came in here and did more damage than this small ass one-seventy-five.

“Did he say what he would like to speak with me about?” I asked this buff ass nigga.

“No, ma’am. My job is not to ask questions.”

Any other time, I would have cussed his ass out, but I understood because I lived the life. Deciding I would stop making it hard for this man to do his job, I pushed my chair back, opened my clutch, grabbed what I was looking for, and coated my heart-shaped lips with my signature fire-red lipstick.

I never left a shade behind.

Once I felt like I was ready, I stood to my full height of 5’7. Just to toy with the men that were still seated, I adjusted my bra under my crop top, exposing the top part of my triple D’s, pulled up my black leather leggings, which caused my booty to jiggle, and ran my hand through my short curls. My action had the men stuck, just like I knew it would. I smirked.

“Good day, fellas.”

I could hear them loudly whispering when my backside was fully shown to them as I tried my best to strut out of here, slightly tipsy, I guess you could say. However, falling in these red bottoms wasn’t an option, so I straightened my spine and followed Hercules.

The closer we got to the elevator, the more I wondered what the hell Mr. Monroe wanted with me. Any other time, I would’ve asked a hundred questions by now.

Tonight?

I couldn’t find the energy.

If Hulk’s big ass had told me we were headed to the roof so he could throw me over, I probably would’ve shrugged and told him to make sure I landed on my good side because I wanted an open casket.

That was the kind of week I was having since the robbery. Rose was dead, and our once-strong, as concrete as we like to say, was fractured. If you were on the outside looking in, you probably could visually see the crack going down the middle of our foundation.

I was so emotionally exhausted I couldn't tell if I was angry, sad, numb, or all three.