When a beautiful, young
girl is killed in the high-roller Pleasure Pit of the exclusive Scala
Casino, the news reverberates for hours among the ritzy clientele.
Before taking the stage where she found her death, Crystal was last
seen boarding an unmarked helicopter for a late-night flight to an
unknown destination.

The name of the game is
murder, and it doesn’t stop with Crystal’s demise. Anyone who
threatens to expose the killer’s identity will soon find they’re
being targeted.

  x

1

Odds

They’re called quasi-strippers.

They don’t really bare it all, like real strippers do behind the darkened glass doors of specialty adult clubs, but they aren’t exactly fully dressed either while they perform.

Crystal preferred the term exotic dancer. Five nights a week she took the small stage at the center of the high-limit blackjack tables, in the glamorous Scala Casino. Five nights a week she danced and smiled and undulated her perfect body to the rhythm of sultry songs, carefully chosen to lure the gamblers’ attention away from the cards and the ever-diminishing stacks of their chips. In the background, nothing is more Vegas than the Scala Casino floor, filled with a million noises, dazzling lights, and excess adrenaline. Nothing is more alive.

That’s where she belonged, among the glitter and the gold, the glitzy and the rich. Continue reading →

LOLITA SHIFTED HER LARGE frame in the overstuffed chair and l oked across the small round table at her client. It had been a long day and she slept little the night before. The room glowed softly, lit by an overabundance of randomly placed candles, the decor heavy and full of warm colors. Her cat, Princess, sat on a chair in the corner preening her black fur.

Lolita gently took the woman’s small, white hands into her large black palms, engulfing them in warmth. She rubbed the tops with her thumbs, pulling the client into her presence, Lolita’s voice soothing and deep. She turned the hands over, examining them carefully. Each set of hands showed their own story. Sometimes that story came to her as a vision, and sometimes she had to rely on the creases and lines to divine the truth.

The spirits felt strong the past few days, and she was startled by what she saw. Lolita closed her eyes, not wanting her turned up whites to scare her customer. Once the vision passed, she opened her eyes and examined the lines in the woman’s palms, not really taking notice. Lolita tried to come to terms with what she needed to tell her. Sandy Templeton, twenty-six years old, lived in Bonita Springs. She’d been given an hour’s time with Lolita by her friends as a wedding shower gift, which was very common. Lolita, by her own admission, could be wrong in her palmistry and even her tarot readings from time to time, but the visions never failed her.

She placed Sandy’s hands palms down on the table.

“Sweetheart,” she said in her South Floridian drawl, “I rarely do this, as I need the money, but this is important. I’m going to give you your gift card back and I want you to make an appointment to come back and see me.”

“But—”

“Sweetheart, your fiancé . . . is he tall with dirty-blond hair, and a scar under his right eye?”

“Why yes, ma’am.” Fear crept over her pretty face.

“Is he planning on going over water in the near future?”

Hesitating, she grew paler by the second. “He’s gonna go fishing with his buddies this evening after work.”

“Sweetheart, I want you to go now, and when he comes home, I want you to make love to him like you’ve never loved a man before. I want you to take your time and ease into making him not want to leave the house. Do you follow?”

“Yes ma’am. What is it?”

“Will he be on the water tomorrow?”

“No. We have plans. He won’t be happy.”

“Let me put it this way: No one will be happy if you let him walk out that door tonight. I want you to go now and shine up that pretty little white ass and shake it for all it’s worth.”

x

x

Rick’s seen these odds before but more imporantly, he feels honor bound to
save the person who saved him, a fierce resistance fighter named Gia.
She put everything on the line to free him and he’s not about to let
her fate decide her future.

But The Directorate has put a plan in motion to eliminate the resistance
once and for all. Rick finds himself in a position to help but he may
have to forsake his own agenda to preserve humanity’s last hope for
freedom.

Prologue

Gunfire echoed off the sunbaked stone walls, a rapid succession of shots followed by shouting. Such noise proved common in such provinces but when it came so close, an engagement might be seconds away. Civilians went about their business though they stayed close to the edge of the street, wary enough to know when they might need cover.

Richard Olmos turned to his team. They were a four man squad with a special assignment to take out a local warlord. Intel suggested he would be in that district, indulging a rare departure from his compound. A drone might’ve done the job but this situation required far more finesse.

The State Department made two things clear: no civilian casualties from explosives and no overt military action. That’s why Rick and his team weren’t wearing uniforms, though they still sported assault rifles in case things went loud. They were lingering around an old cafe, trying to look casual while scanning the area through mirrored sunglasses.

Rick and his guys ran more than thirty missions into the busy district. It always proved to be a logistical nightmare. People crowded the area at all times during the day and at night, it was a ghost town. They blended it in with their thick beards but even tanned up and leathery from a year working in the sandbox didn’t hide the fact they were a bunch of white men.

No one bothered them, though the weapons hanging off their backs may have had a lot to do with that.

A car started up nearby and Rick tensed, waiting for an explosion that never came. He’d seen so many improvised explosives and car bombs, he wondered if he’d ever get over the brief apprehension when someone cranked on a motor. It made him sad. He loved his Mustang back home and felt like he’d lose the joy of driving it.

Another spray of gunfire went off and it amused Rick that he didn’t even twitch a muscle to that sound. Weapon discharge was predictable. It had a singular purpose. Vehicles starting up shouldn’t be deadly but when they were, it was always a cheap, cowardly act. Terror through the sabotage of the common.

If someone wants to kill, Rick thought as he tried to shrug off a surge of rage, they should have the balls to do it face to face.

“I’d say twenty yards off,” Simmons said. “South and east.”

“Got it.” Rick nodded. He peered in that direction, thoughtful of the conflict building around them. He was about to say something else when chaos fell over the area. Continue reading →