Page 1 of His Bet To Take

Chapter One

Ian

Day after day, night after tonight, I crave.

I’m not sure what I want so badly, but it gnaws inside me, eating away at my motivation to continue this empire.

Something is missing.

“Mr. Roulette?” James, my security guard knocks on my open door.

“Come in.” I stand, throwing on my blazer while looking out the window to the ocean. It’s a beautiful night. There are stars out by the millions. The moon is high, casting an ethereal glow onto the sea. The dock is empty, lamps glowing like mini suns, a beacon for the smuggling boats to anchor here.

I have my hands in plenty of jars.

Casino and resort owner by day. Illegal gambling and trade dealing by night.

Do I know it’s wrong?

Yes.

Do I fucking care?

No.

No one becomes an emperor playing by the rules. I’ve built my kingdom from the ground up. Every billionaire, every pirate, every dealer, in every corner of the fucking world knows who I am.

Ian Roulette doesn’t play games.

I win them.

But games, while they have made me all the money in the world, are missing a component. They say money can’t buy happiness, and for a long time, I believed that nonsense because I could buy whatever I wanted.

Yet here I am, thirty-five years old, and I’m tired of the game.

I’ve learned money can’t buy happiness because what I want can’t be bought, and that’s something I am not used to.

“Patrick is here to see you. Again.” He stands in the doorway. Hands behind his back. Dressed in a sleek navy suit, the gun on his hip causing his blazer to stick out slightly, and the scar along his jaw screams not to fuck with him.

“Tell him to go home, James. He has no place here.” I button my suit, trying to keep the exhausted sigh locked inside my body.

Patrick is a regular here at the casino and in my underground gambling den.

He’s addicted. The type of man who makes promises he can’t keep. The only reason he doesn’t have a bullet between his eyes is because his father knew my father.

Not even a familial tie will be able to save him much longer before I feed him to the sharks.

“He says he has something to pay the last bet with, the one he lost.”

I down the rest of my whiskey and lift a brow. Patrick has lost plenty of bets, but the last one, he had nothing to offer me in return.

Two weeks ago, he bet his home.

And now, I’m the proud owner of a small family farm.

Before that, he had to sign the title over to his gorgeous 1956 Mustang.

And before that, his mother’s wedding ring.