Chip buckets in hand, I jerked to a stop. Kisten was coming down the stairs, movements sharp and quick with a living vampire’s speed. “Where have you been?” I demanded when he came even with me. His face was tight and I could see a line of sweat on him.

“We’re leaving,” he said shortly. “Let’s go.”

“Hold up.” I jerked out of the grip he had on my elbow. “Where’ve you been? You left me all alone. Some guy had to teach me how to throw craps. See what I won?”

Kisten glanced down at my buckets, clearly not impressed. “The tables are fixed,” he said, shocking me. “They were entertaining you while I talked to the boss.”

I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut. I jerked back when he went for my elbow again. “Stop trying to drag me around,” I said, not caring that people were watching. “And what do you mean, you were talking to the boss?”

He gave me an exasperated look, the first hints of stubble showing on his chin. “Can we do this outside?” he said, obviously in a hurry.

I glanced at the big men coming down the stairway. This was a gambling boat. It wasn’t Piscary’s. Kisten was handling the undead vampire’s affairs. He was here leaning on the new guy in town, and he had brought me in case there was trouble. My chest tightened in anger as it all started to come together, but discretion was the wiser part of valor.

“Fine,” I said. My boots made muted thumps in time with my pulse as I headed for the door. I dropped my buckets of chips on the counter and smiled grimly at the chip lady. “I want my winnings donated to the city fund for rebuilding the burned orphanages,” I said tightly.

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said politely, weighing them out.

Kisten took a chip from the pile. “We’re going to cash this one out.”

I plucked it from his fingers, mad at him for having used me like this. This was where he wanted Ivy to go with him. And I had fallen for it. Whistling, I tossed the chip to the craps dealer. He caught it, inclining his head in thanks.

“That was a hundred-dollar chip!” Kisten protested.

“Really?” Ticked, I took another, throwing it after the first. “I don’t want to be a cheap ass,” I muttered. The woman handed me a receipt for $8,750, donated to the city’s fund. I stared at it for a moment, then tucked it in my clutch purse.

“Rachel,” Kisten protested, his face going red behind his blond hair.

“We’re keeping nothing.” Ignoring Kisten’s coat that the doorman was holding for me, I blew out the door with its double S’s. One for Saladan, perhaps? God, I was a fool.