Chapter 11

LOUIS

I stared back at the email in the slightly darkened hospital break room.

"Congratulations. We are pleased to extend an offer to you for a position at Allure Casino as a Floor Assistant."

I read the mail five times, my heart racing.

This was a joke. It had to be.

No one just gave away jobs at Allure—the most upscale, casino in Chicago. It was a palace of vice, talked about behind nurses' masks and janitors' gloves.

And yet, there it was. My name. My acceptance.

I sat there in shocked silence, hope flickering like a fragile match in my chest.

I need to call Jamie.

I picked up my phone and dialed his number. It rang twice before he picked up.

“Louis, my boy,” his rough voice poke from the other end. “How are you?”

“I got a job, Jamie,” I started.

“A job? Where?”

I could hear the confusion in his voice and I understood it but he had to know.

“At a casino called Allure,” I replied. “I think this is it, Jamie,” I added. “This could be my ticket away from that house. Away from him. I’ll finally have a chance to live.” I pressed a trembling hand over my eyes and breathed out slowly.

There was silence on his end before he spoke.

“Allure?”

“Yes, Jamie.” My voice had begun to lose its spark. I expected him to be happy. Why wasn’t he happy?

“Jamie, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t trust anyone there, Louis,” he said, voice filled with urgency. “That place is filled with people that’ll eat you up at the slightest chance. Be careful.”

“How do you know, Jamie?” I asked, feeling fear crawling beneath my skin. “It’s a casino. Of course, it’s filled with gamblers and thieves and all sorts.”

“I know, boy. Just be careful,” he replied. “And by the way, I’m proud of you, Louis. You deserve it.”

A smile spread across my face. “Thank you, Jamie.”

“No problem,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “Now, get off my phone. This old man has got to sleep.”

A laugh escaped my lips and we told each other goodnight before I ended the call.

Afterward, I accepted the offer without hesitation or regret because now, I was more determined than ever to leave that house.

I walked home lighter that evening, visions of shining floors and generous paychecks keeping my battered heart afloat.

But by now, I should have known better, than to believe that my joy could last more than a moment.

Immediately I pushed open the creaking front door, the stench of stale beer and sweat struck me in the face.

The air itself seemed to curdle. My body locked up in fear.

He was home.

"Boy," growled the low, gravelly voice of my father from the kitchen.

I turned slowly, my heart raced within its confines.

My dad was slumped over the scarred table, a smoldering cigarette hanging limply between his two grimy fingers.

His cruel, red-rimmed eyes bore into mine with intense, seething hatred.

"Out all night, huh? You think you're grown, now?"

I didn't say anything. I knew better by now to shut up whenever he’s speaking.

Words only made things worse.

He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor and closed the space between us in two lurching steps.

The first one hit me across the jaw.

I stumbled back, biting back a cry.

The second was fast—a fist in the ribs.

Hot, burning pain spread through my body.

"You, useless little shit!" he shouted. Each word was followed by a heavy blow.

I folded up on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around my head in a protective stance.

He kept hitting me, raining kicks and blows on my body—my back, stomach, thighs.

I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood.

I wasn't going to cry. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.

No more.

No longer.

No longer for him.

At last, he wore out, cursing and spitting at my feet. "Clean up this goddamn mess," he snarled, stumbling back to the kitchen.

I stayed there for a good minute, panting hard. It felt like all the bones in my body had to painful mush.

But I pushed myself up and somehow climbed the stairs to my room. There I carried on with my usual ritual:

Rinse, Clean, Wrap.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow would be better. It just had to.

The next day, I dragged myself through the city, each step thrust jagged knives of pain into my side and leg.

The bruises were probably worse by now—swollen, purple-blue flowers along my skin.

But I was not going to be deterred.

I arrived at Allure around noon, clammy and ashen under my gaudy button-down.

The casino was bigger than I had anticipated—vaulted ceilings, chunky gold ornamentation, a constant, pulsing buzz of music and conversation.

I felt like an insect slinking into a shrine.

The woman behind the counter at the front desk looked bored. She squinted at me as I approached her.

"Name?" she mumbled.

"Louis," I croaked.

She flashed a look at her screen, then at me with a flicker of surprise.

"You're the special hire," she breathed between her teeth.

Before I could ask her what she meant, she was ushering me down a gleaming corridor.

"This way."

I was half-way through signing forms when he appeared.

Elias.

Even in a plain black suit, he looked dangerous.

I was still admiring him when our eyes met and all else was overshadowed.

His gaze dropped to my side—to the minuscule hitch in my gait; the way I was leaning on my left leg.

His jaw tightened.

I was already prepared to spit out an excuse but before I could do that, he gave the woman a glance that sent her away and turned to face me.

"Louis," he growled, his voice low and dark.

He sounded pissed. And honestly, I didn’t understand why.

I swallowed hard.

He stepped closer, getting into my space, his scent—clean leather and cold steel—driving me wild.

His fingers grazed my wrist—feather-light, but unyielding.

"You're hurt," he said in a soft voice.

I flinched, pulling away.

"It's nothing," I lied.

His eyes narrowed, a tick in his jaw.

"Nothing?" he asked again, his voice like velvet wrapped around a blade. "You're limping. Twitching even."

I flung open my mouth—to lie again, to say I tripped or something of that sort—but nothing came out.

His intensity held me in place. It was like he could see it all.

The bruise marks. The terror… The yearning.

My throat closed up. I was scared of saying anything that might make him angry.

Gratefully, before he could push further on the issue, a voice broke through the suffocating atmosphere.

"Boss! We've got a situation out back," a huge guy in a black blazer shouted, sprinting towards us.

Elias didn't move at first. He just stood there, looking at me with an indecipherable look on face. Then he drew a harsh breath in.

"Don’t move," he said, his voice low. "I'll deal with you later."

My knees almost buckled.

He turned around, walking away with deadly precision.

I leaned against the wall, taking in a shaky breath.

What the hell had I just gotten myself into?