Roulette
Julencia Slamet · Ongoing · 56.0k Words
Introduction
Vanessa Vargas is juggling three jobs, trying to pay off a debt her mother owes to a man. Her mother is addicted to gambling, cocaine, and alcohol and lives with her boyfriend, making it difficult for Vanessa to manage the bills.
SPADE-
Spade Maverick sends frequent letters to collect money owed to him, and Ms. Katelyn Vargas owes him a significant amount. As the King of Vegas, he runs a massive casino and demands the money back. When Vanessa's payments start decreasing, he insists on meeting her in person in Vegas to settle the debt. He is determined to get his money back, one way or another.
Chapter 1
Vanessa Vargas
"I'm sorry for the wait, but here are your drinks, a Shock Top and a Margarita. We only have one bartender today because it's Football Sunday," I said with a laugh, and the two men smiled kindly at me.
"No problem, little lady. Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me where the restroom is?" the man with the long brown beard asked.
"Sure! Go down to the neon sign, turn left, and the men's restroom is on the right side," I replied with a smile as he handed me a $50 bill.
I returned to the counter, picked up the next table's drinks, and hurriedly served them, apologizing for the wait even though I didn't mean it. People were patient, but I knew better service meant more tips, and that was my concern.
"Liza! Thank goodness you're here, honey. It's a busy night, and I have to go. Here's your apron," I said to my coworker, handing her the waist apron, and I quickly stashed all my cash tips in my bra before patting her shoulder and clocking out.
"Have a good night, Nessa," Colton, our bartender, smiled.
"You too, don't work too hard," I joked, knowing he didn't like when customers said that.
I walked out to the back, unlocked my bike from the rack, and raced to my apartment to change for my next job. Geraldine reminded me about the rent being due, and I assured her that I'd take care of it.
I switched from my black top and jeans to spandex and a revealing tank top, adding a push-up bra underneath. Tonight, I was working as a bartender at a strip club, making drinks instead of serving them at the sports bar. The shift would last from 8 PM to 3 AM.
I collected my tips and stored them in a shoebox with the rest of my money. The tips were essential for my living expenses, while the checks were sent directly to Vegas.
I changed into sweats and a hoodie, securing my black hair with a claw clip and pulling up the hood. I grabbed my keychain, which had various defense tools, before leaving for the next job.
I hurriedly rode my bike to the strip club, where I parked it in the back and secured it with a lock. I removed my sweats and hoodie, carrying them with me through the back door.
Candy greeted me, and I asked if I could keep my clothes with her. She agreed and gave me the locker code.
I stored my clothes in her locker, then quickly punched in for my shift at the bar. I smiled at Braden, telling him I was there to help with the rush for the next few hours.
"Thank goodness," he said while making a gin and tonic.
"Welcome, sir. What can I get you?" I said with a smile, making sure my cleavage was visible.
"Hey, darling, how about a scotch on the rocks?" he replied with a lazy smile.
I nodded, grabbed a glass, and poured the scotch over some ice. Even though I didn't like alcohol, I appreciated being sober to keep an eye on everything.
I placed the drink in front of him, and he gave me a $10 bill as a tip. I smiled and winked, knowing that if he ordered more drinks, he might give me even more money.
I discreetly tucked the $10 bill into my bra for safekeeping.
"I wish I had a nice body. I'd get so much more," Braden joked.
"Oh, stop that. You're beautiful," I complimented, batting my eyelashes.
He laughed, saying he looked like a copy of Brad Mondo, a famous hairstylist.
"Mmhm," he rolled his eyes playfully as he handed a lady her peach margarita, blended, with a sugar rim. She gave him a $5 tip.
I laughed at their interaction.
"Come on, don't be grumpy. Tips add up over time, honey," I teased with a fake pout.
Work. Work. More work. Flirting. Earning $100's and $50's by the blackouts in the end of the night.
"You closing Sandy?" I asked my coworker.
"Yes ma'am. Have a lovely night." She have a sweet smile.
I clocked out, going into Candy's now less glitz and glam locker, grabbing my stuff that had pink glitter on it from her strip tease section.
I pulled it over my body, grabbing my keychain, holding the pepper spray in my hand incase of anything.
Unfortunately I've had a lot of wasted men and women attempt things since I bike so I was prepared to speed home as I put my hair in the clip, my hood over my head.
I sped home, the chilled wind hitting my cheeks, locking my bike back in place.
I checked my mail, groaning at the amount I had compile since I hadn't picked it up in a while.
I walked into my apartment, the disaster it was.
I sighed, finally taking a deep breath.
I went into my room, removing all the cash, putting it in the shoe box.
I walked to my kitchen, beginning to make myself canned spaghettios.
I went through the mail, freezing when I saw an Open Immediately letter.
From Nevada. Las Vegas.
I could scream, or cry.
This couldn't be good.
I wanted to call my mother and ask if she went back.
Stole more shit I have to fix.
Then bills.
I immediately turned off the stove and whatever lights I could except the one I needed to see.
Why is existing so expensive?
I opened the letter, my heart pounding.
Printed letter. A printed letter.
Ms. Vargas,
I've never reached out personally, but I am Spade Maverick, owner of Spade Casino.
It's come to my attention I am missing half a million dollars.
Your checks are lessening, not even making a dent. Before I assume, I'd like to discuss your situation.
So, I will provide a free Uber to the airport, a free flight, and free Uber to my building.
You are to come by 7pm. Your flight at noon 6/27. There's a separate envelope with all the information.
I hope to work something out.
S. Maverick.
With a printed signature in cursive added at the bottom.
That was tomorrow.
It was nearly 4am.
I scrambled for the other envelope, finding it.
My Uber was to come at 10am.
God damnit.
Fuck my fucking mother.
Fuck gambling.
Fuck Vegas.
Fuck my fucking life.
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I hate girls like her.
Entitled.
Delicate.
And still—
Still.
The image of her standing in the doorway, clutching her cardigan tighter around her narrow shoulders, trying to smile through the awkwardness, won’t leave me.
Neither does the memory of Tyler. Leaving her here without a second thought.
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I don’t care.
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