Married to the kingpin

CHAPTER ONE

I jolted awake, gasping, the sharp crack of a gunshot still reverberating in my skull like thunder trapped inside bone. Sweat coated my skin in a hot, sticky sheen, making the thin cotton sheet cling obscenely to my naked breasts and thighs, a suffocating second skin that smelled faintly of fear and stale air. The room lay shrouded in darkness, broken only by the garish neon glow bleeding through the cracked blinds from Las Vegas strip: pulsing pinks, electric blues, and violent reds painting the walls like fresh bruises.

My heart thundered against my ribs, a frantic and erratic drumbeat that made my whole body tremble. Another nightmare…Always the same. My father, on his knees in that filthy bed warehouse, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air, dark blood pooling around him while his desperate eyes stayed locked on mine, right until the final, merciless bang.

A soft, plaintive meow drugged me back to reality. Ice, my enormous Maine Coon, pressed his warm, heavy body against my bare calf. I reached down in the dark, fingers sinking into the luxurious thickness of his fur. His deep, resonant purr vibrated through my leg and up into my chest like a soothing balm, the only sound that ever truly anchored me when the nightmares tried to pull me under.

My phone screen glowed and the alarm rang at exactly 5:47 am. s**t, I was already late for the janitor shift at the casino. I hauled myself out of bed, my legs were unsteady, a dull ache lingering between my thighs from tossing all night. The floorboards creaked under my bare feet as I shuffled to the cramped kitchen. The faucet dripped relentlessly like a metronome counting down to collapse. A greasy takeout box of cold fries sat on the counter, the stale scent of oil and salt hanging in the air. I shoved a handful into my mouth anyway, chewing the limp, salty strands.

From the living room, the door creaked open. My mom’s cough sliced through the quiet, dry, sharp and painful. “Jane?” Her voice was thin, brittle as old paper. I crossed the tiny apartment in the three quick strides and knelt beside her bed. Elena Moore looked smaller every day, swallowed whole by sagging pillows and faded blankets that smelled faintly of antiseptic and sickness. The weak glow from the bedside lamp carved deep hollows beneath her eyes and highlighted the ghostly pallor of her skin, ravaged by the cancer that refused to let go.

“I’m here, Mom.” I gently helped her sit up, propping pillows behind her fragile spine, then handed her the pills and a glass of water. She swallowed the capsule with visible effort, her throat bobbing weakly.

“You’re burning yourself out, sweetheart,” she whispered, eyes glassy with worry and exhaustion. I forced a crooked smile even as my chest tightened. “Somebody’s gotta build our future empire. One mop bucket at a time, and I’ll be a Vegas millionaire. You’ll be living in a penthouse before you know it.”

Her bony fingers closed around mine, warm, but frighteningly feeble. “Your father would be so…” I cut her off slowly, my gaze flicking to the framed photo on the mantel: Dad’s easy smile frozen in time, forever young. My hand shook as I set the water glass down. The nightmare flashed again, blood, pleading eyes, the bang. I couldn’t let it in, not now.

The front door suddenly banged open, rattling the thin walls. Anna, our landlady, stormed in without knocking, her heavy layered perfume hitting like a wall of sickly sweet flowers and chemical musk. “Rent’s late again, sweetheart. Third time this month.”

I stared down at my feet, planting myself protectively between her and my mom’s bed. “I get paid on Friday. You’ll have it, I swear.” Anna’s small, shrewd eyes raked over me, taking in the flush still lingering on my tanned skin from nightmare sweat, the full curves that always drew stares, the face that earned sporadic modeling calls I could never accept. Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “ Pretty girls like you always think the rules bend for them. Maybe if you put those assets to proper use, you wouldn’t be scraping pennies.”

Allison slunk in behind her mother, her arms folded, with venom in her perfectly lined eyes. Designer knockoffs hugged her body, her blonde hair gleaming like plastic. “Yeah, Jane,” she drawled. “Less time playing saintly daughter, more time on your back. You’d probably clear the rent in one night.”

Fury surged through me, hot and electric. “Get Out.” I said. Ice appeared in the hallway with his back arched and his fur bristling with a low growl rumbling in his throat. Anna snorted “Three days, or I change the locks and they flea ridden cat goes with you.”

The door slammed hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling. Behind me, my mom’s breathing grew ragged and each inhale a struggle. I leaned over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her cool forehead, tasting the faint salt of her skin. “Go back to sleep ma. I’ve got this, always do.”

I snatched my waitress uniform from the chair and slipped out, Ice weaving figure eights around my ankles in silent protest until the door clicked shut. By seven, the diner was already a sensory assault, sizzling grease popping on the grill, bitter coffee scorching in overworked pots, clouds of cigarette smoke baked permanently into the cracked vinyl booths. The corner slot machines jingled their endless, mocking tunes, promising riches that never materialised.

Aiden leaned over the counter, belly straining his grease stained shirt, coffee breath sour. “Table six’s complaining again. Move your ass, Moore.” I balanced a tray heavy with eggs, crispy bacon, and butter soaked toast, weaving through the crowded aisle. A trucker’s calloused hand “accidentally “ grazed my hip, his fingers lingering on the curve of my ass beneath the short skirt. I twisted away without slipping a drop, swallowing the urge to drive my elbow into his ribs.

My phone vibrated against my thigh. I quickly dropped the customers orders and checked my phone. It was Ronnie. “You alive, babe? Still on for drinks we can’t afford tonight?

Me: Extra shift tonight. Fancy private party, double pay.

Another buzz confirmed the catering gig. I accepted instantly. Mom’s meds weren’t cheap, and the medical bills climbed, choking and draining everything penny I earn.

That evening, the mansion perched high above the strip like a gleaming fortress of glass and cold marble, radiant obscene wealth. In the staff changing room, I slipped into the provided uniform, black fabric so tight it felt painted on, skirt scandalously short, neckline plunging just enough to tease. Designed to make us invisible to the guests, yet irresistibly tempting if they bothered to look.

Crystal chandeliers dripped like golden light over tailored tuxedos, flashing diamonds, and thick curls of aromatic cigar smoke. Laughter rang out, sharp, hollow, privileged. I circulated with a silver tray of chilled champagne flutes, with my head bowed and my eyes on the floor. Until Allison’s voice cut through the murmurs like shattered glass.

“Well, well. Look who’s playing servant tonight.” She stood radiant in a crimson gown that cost more than I earned in a year, the silk clinging to her body surgically enhanced curves, surrounded by a clique of trust fund heiresses.

I tried to glide past them and she stepped deliberately into my path. “Careful, Jane, you wouldn’t want to spill on the wrong person.” Her elbow slammed into my tray. Champagne exploded across my chest like icy, fizzling rivers soaking the thin white blouse instantly. The fabric turned sheer, moulding transparently to my full breasts, n*****s peaking complex and visible from the sudden cold, cruel laughter rippled outward like a wave.

Then Sabrina Rowe appeared, tall, flawless, her raven hair cascading in glossy waves over bare, porcelain shoulders. Her crimson lips curved in cool amusement as she surveyed the scene. “Standards for staff have really slipped,” she murmured to Allison. “Though she does fill out a wet uniform rather…spectacularly.”

Allison’s grin sharpened, she shoved me hard, her palm connecting with my soaked chest and her fingers brushing a n****e deliberately. I staggered backward, the tray crashed to the marble in an explosion of crystal shards and foaming champagne that splashed on thousand dollar shoes and silk hems. Heads turned; whispers ignited and the humiliation scorched through me, hotter than the alcohol seeping into my skin, my breast rising and falling rapidly as hungry stares lingered on my exposed, dripping curves.

I ran out of the room, going up the staircase in a hurry, my heels clicking frantically, down in a dim hallway, and I went into the first unlocked guest room. I locked the en-suite bathroom door and sank to the icy marble floor, scrubbing uselessly at the stains with shaking hands. Hot tears tracked down my cheeks. My chest constricted, panic clawing up my throat just like when I was eight, hiding under a table, hearing shouts and gunfire, praying Dad would come back.

I splashed cold water on my face until my breathing steadied. The mirror showed a disaster: mascara streaked down my face, my blouses was ruined and my n*****s starkly visible through the wet fabric. I stepped back into the bedroom as the moonlight poured through the towering windows, bathing everything in silver. A polished sideboard displayed rows of premium bottles, amber liquids glinting like liquid gold.

I didn’t hesitate to seize a heavy crystal decanter of something dark and expensive, the glass cool against my palm, and I drank straight from it. It felt smoky and oked whisky burned a fiery path down my throat, blooming heat in my stomach and loosening the knots in my muscles. Then I took another long pull and then another till I got drunk. The room swayed gently, edges softening and the humiliation receded to a dull throb. I had to get back downstairs to clean the mess and salvage the paycheque. I stood up and I turned too fast and tripped over the thick rug.

I felt a strong hand gripped me mid-fall and fingers biting into my upper arms, hauling me upright against a solid wall of muscle. The moonlight revealed him tall, Broad and his suit impeccably tailored even in the shadows, his dark eyes were sharp, almost feral locked into mine. The air filled with his scent… rich out, faint cigar smoke, and something darker, unmistakably masculine. His grips sent sparks skittering across my skin, pooling low in my belly.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was low, and rough like velvet wrapped around steel. Drunk courage surged into me, I laughed, breathless and recklessly. “Nobody, just the clumsy help.”

His gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, to my ruined blouse. The wet fabric clung like a lover’s mouth to my heavy breasts, outlining every curve, n*****s straining visibly against the sheer material. Raw hunger ignited in his eyes, like he was about to eat me raw. I should have pulled away, should have apologised and fled but no, I stayed. Because the whiskey, the humiliation, the crushing weight of my life, they all collided into a desperate, aching need to feel something else and anything else.

Suddenly, his lips crashed down on mine, brutal and starving. His tongue invaded mine, tasting of expensive whiskey and dark promise, while his hands yanked me hard against the rigid planes of his body. I felt the thick, insistent ridge of his erection pressing into my stomach and moaned into the kiss.

Our clothes vanished in a frenzy. He tore my blouse apart and the buttons scattered across the floor, baring my lace bra. His large palms cupped my breasts roughly, his thumbs teasing my n*****s into aching peaks until I whimpered. I clawed at his belt frantically, needing his c**k inside my untouched c**t.

A primal growl rumbled in his chest as he lifted me effortlessly and threw me onto the vast bed. The silk sheets was cool and luxurious as it cradled my back, carrying the faint scent of clean linen and his cologne. He stripped with ruthless efficiency. He took off his shirt, revealing sculpted abs and a chest dusted with dark hair; his trouser shoved down, freeing his c**k, thick and heavily veined, the broad head already glistening with pre-c*m. My breath caught then realisation sets in , I had never done this, not once but he didn’t know I tried to make him slow down but he didn’t.

He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, hot mouth blazing a trail down my throat, teeth scraping my collarbone as he ripped away my skirt and soaked panties. Cool air kissed drenched folds; I was embarrassingly wet, swollen, and pulsing with need. His rough fingers parted me, one finger pushed inside me, then two stretching tender flesh with a delicious burn they drew a sharp cry from my lips. “You’re so f*****g tight,” he rasped against my breast, tongue swirling around a n*****s before sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive tip until an electric pleasure shot straight to my c**t.

I arched wildly, my nails digging into his shoulders, with my hips grinding against his hand as he pumped deeper, curling his fingers to stroke that secret spot that made hot sparks burst behind my eyelids. His thumb worked my c**t In relentless circles, pressure coiling unbearable tight.

“Please,” I sobbed. He settled between my thighs, with his c**k nudging my entrance, scalding, insistent, and impossibly large. “You want this?” he demanded, with his gravel rough voice.

“Yes,” I gasped. “f**k me.” I said shamelessly. He smirked and drove in with one savage thrust, tearing through my virginity in a flash of bright pain that quickly melted into overwhelming fullness. I bit his lower lip hard, tasting like copper with tears prickling my eyes as my body adjusted around his invading thickness. For a heartbeat, he froze, realisation flickering in those dark eyes. Then raw lust look over, he withdrew and slammed me again, setting a punishing rhythm deep, claiming strokes yh at filled the room with the wet slap of flesh, my broken moans and his guttural grunts.

Sweat slicked our skin; the air thickened with the musky scent of s*x. He shifted angle, grinding against my c**t with every plunge, his free hand slipping between us to pinch and roll it until ecstasy crested like a tidal wave.

I came first, shattering and screaming, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around his c**k as pleasure ripped through me in blinding waves. He followed seconds later with a hoarse roar, burying himself to the root and pulsing hot, thick ropes of c*m deep inside me, branding me from within.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, sheets damp with sweat and release, the room was heavy with the intoxicating blend of s*x, whiskey, and his dominance. When I stirred later, he was gone, only the lingering ache between my thighs and the scent of him on my skin remained.

The morning light shone through the curtains. I woke alone, body languid yet deliciously sore, my thighs was sticky with our mingled fluids, a tender throb deep inside, faint bloodstains on the pristine white silk beneath me. My virginity was given to a stranger in a storm of drunken desperation, cold panic flooded my veins.

I scrambled into my ruined clothes, scrubbing frantically at the sheets with tissues, my heart hammering like someone would walk in on me. I slipped out a side entrance before the household staff stirred, I fled down the long driveway as the gates shut behind me.

Across the quiet street, a sleek black sedan idled in the early shadows. The driver, his face obscured behind dark glasses, lowered his window just enough to aim a phone lens my way. The shutter clicked silently, capturing multiple clear shots of me, my wild hair, disheveled clothes, my flushed face. Then the car eased away, tires whispering over asphalt.

I never saw it though. But someone had witnessed everything, and their interest was only beginning.