Moments later, I found myself resting in the bed beside Jazmin, the both of us arranged on our sides like some ancient sculptor’s vision of intimacy, bodies curved toward each other, breaths mingling in the warm hush.
I cradled her cheek with one hand, my thumb tracing slow, thoughtful circles across her skin—an affectionate gesture that managed to be both comforting and quietly strategic at once.
Her eyes held that unmistakable look of pleasant ruin, the unfocused softness of someone who’d been thoroughly taken apart and hadn’t yet located the instructions for reassembly.
The violet-gold of her gaze drifted lazily over my face, pupils blown wide, attention present but unambitious, as though her thoughts were still buffering and repeatedly failing to load.
The incense had burned itself down to glowing embers during our aquatic interlude, leaving a faint veil of smoke that lingered in the air like the ghosts of better decisions. It mingled with the last traces of steam from the shower and soft scent of sex no amount of washing could completely eliminate—an atmospheric reminder that some things, once done, insist on being remembered.
Soft jazz filtered through the walls from somewhere distant—engineered, no doubt, to keep gamblers relaxed, optimistic, and pleasantly irresponsible.
Except now I could hear it far more clearly than before—not just the melody but individual instruments, the scrape of fingers on bass strings, the breath of the saxophone player between phrases, the subtle imperfections in timing—my hearing sharpened to frequencies and details I’d never accessed before.
I realized then with slight fascination that I must’ve stolen one of Jazmin’s beastfolk traits during our encounter, those massive jackal ears apparently lending me their supernatural sensitivity whether I’d consciously intended to take it or not.
"You’ll want to meet him," Jazmin said suddenly, her voice carrying faint traces of the wreckage I’d caused.
"Who? I asked, keeping my tone light and conversational—curious, but not insistent—knowing that pressing too hard would make her defensive.
"A friend of mine." Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more a warning dressed as fondness. "He plays deep games. Dangerous ones. The kind that end careers or build fortunes depending on where you’re seated. But he’s generous. Double, triple, even tenfold returns if you’re brave enough."
I let the silence stretch between us, filling the space with nothing but the distant jazz, our mingled breathing, and the soft rustle of silk sheets against skin.
I used the pause to catalogue the micro-expressions crossing her face—the slight tension around her eyes, the way her jaw clenched briefly before relaxing, the tell-tale flutter of pulse at her throat that betrayed anxiety beneath the casual delivery.
Internally, I smirked with profound satisfaction because this was exactly what I’d been hoping for—the setup, the trap, the invitation into whatever secret operation was running in the casino. The one that would give me access to higher stakes, bigger players, and ultimately Oberen himself.
But I knew immediately this wouldn’t be enough, not nearly sufficient to actually accomplish what I needed. I had the invitation dangling before me like bait, but I needed details—who this mysterious friend was, what games he favored, how closely his table brushed Oberen’s interests, and whether this were being sanctioned by casino management or acting as some side venture operating in the shadows.
I needed to press a bit further, to extract information while she was still vulnerable. "This friend of yours," I began, letting my tone settle into casual curiosity, my fingers continuing slow, absent strokes along her cheek to maintain the illusion of post-coital intimacy, "he sounds remarkably well-connected. What makes his operation special enough that you’re recruiting for him? Is he offering something Oberen’s tables don’t provide, or is this more of a... complementary service?"
Jazmin’s eyes narrowed a fraction, the haze of pleasure thinning just enough to reveal the sharp glint beneath. "You ask a lot of questions."
"I’m naturally curious," I replied with a shrug. "Call it a personality flaw. I like understanding situations before committing to them, especially when those situations involve words like dangerous and deep games." I paused for a moment, letting my lips curl into a slight smirk. "I’d merely like to know which I’m budgeting for."
She studied me for another heartbeat, then exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. "Budgeting implies you have resources worth allocating. And from what I’ve seen, you’re operating on fumes and audacity, which doesn’t inspire much confidence in your risk assessment capabilities."
I let my hand trail down from her face, following the elegant line of her throat, then skimming along her collarbone with feather-light intent before sliding down to trace lazy patterns across her ribs.
"Mhm," I murmured, "and your relationship to this paragon of private gambling? Are you his recruiter, his partner, his property, or merely the discerning scout who earns a finder’s fee for bringing fresh meat to the slaughter?"
Her breath hitched slightly at the question, though whether from the teasing or the accuracy of my probing I couldn’t quite determine.
"I’m his friend. I already said that. We help each other. He provides protection and opportunities, I provide... screening services. To make sure anyone who gets invited to his games is actually worth his time."
"Protection from what, exactly?" I asked, "That’s an interesting word choice. Protection implies a threat, something specific you need shielding from. And if we’re being honest about screening—why me? I walked in here with pocket change and a crew that screams ’theater misfits playing at gambling.’ Unless..." I paused for a moment to read her expression. "Unless I’m being drawn into this operation for other reasons entirely. Unless someone higher up the chain already knows I’m here and decided I’d make an interesting addition to tonight’s entertainment."
A bead of sweat rolled down Jazmin’s temple despite the room’s comfortable temperature. I watched her throat work as she swallowed hard, her composure cracking just enough to confirm I’d struck closer to truth than she wanted to admit.
My hand continued its languid descent, gliding across the soft plane of her stomach to settle on her hip, fingertips already preparing to press deeper—both in seduction and interrogation—when they brushed the inside of her thigh and everything shifted.
Jazmin jolted with a sharp, involuntary gasp that had nothing to do with pleasure.
The sound was raw, edged with pain as opposed to the breathy sighs she’d been giving earlier. Her body tensed beneath my palm, muscles locking in a way that spoke of deep-rooted injury.
"What’s wrong?" I asked, my voice dropping to something low and immediate, all playfulness stripped away in an instant. My fingers lifted a fraction, hovering there as my mind raced to catalog the reaction.
Jazmin bit back what looked like tears, jaw clenching so fiercely the muscles stood out in sharp relief beneath her bronze skin. She turned her face away, as if ashamed of whatever emotion was threatening to escape.
I brushed my fingers together experimentally, feeling something coating them that hadn’t been there before—something thick and slightly tacky, the particular texture of makeup applied to cover imperfections. My stomach dropped as understanding began to dawn, cold and unwelcome, about what I’d just discovered.
I lifted the covers slowly, pulling them back to expose her thigh to the lamplight, then sighed before nodding my head once in grim confirmation.
The bruises were extensive, a vicious garden of purples deepening to black at the centers, fading outward to sickly greens and jaundiced yellows covering her upper thigh in patterns that were distinctly handprint-shaped, fingers clearly visible where someone had gripped hard enough to break blood vessels beneath the skin.
The makeup she’d been using to conceal them had transferred to my hand when I’d touched her, revealing the damage beneath like wiping fog from a mirror to expose an unpleasant reflection.
I turned back to face her, watching her eyes as her chest began heaving with increasingly rapid breaths, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation.
My expression shifted from calculating seduction into something softer—genuine concern bleeding through the performance because apparently my capacity for empathy hadn’t been completely murdered by years of survival and manipulation.
"Hey," I said quietly, bringing my hand up to cup her face again with deliberate gentleness. "It’s alright. Just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth, slow and steady."
I saw it all coming together in that moment with uncomfortable clarity—the pieces snapping into place with the neat, satisfying click of a puzzle being solved, only to reveal an image far less flattering than the box had promised.
Of course it was obvious, now that I’d bothered to look past the surface she so carefully maintained. The effortless confidence, the practiced seduction—it wasn’t personality so much as protocol. Armor, worn polished and pretty, designed to preserve the illusion of control in a situation where control was a luxury she’d long since been denied.
She was bait, yes. A honeypot, absolutely. But not a willing participant in this entrepreneurial side hustle—she was being forced into this role, threatened, coerced, owned outright by someone who saw her body as nothing more than a profit-generating asset to be loaned, leveraged, and discarded when the returns diminished.
Without warning, Jazmin pressed closer to my body, her arms coming around to clutch at me with desperate strength. Her face buried into the crook of my neck, breath hot and uneven against my skin, the seductive mask she’d been wearing shattered completely.
"I’m... I’m scared," she whispered, "I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back. If I don’t bring someone tonight, if I fail again, he’ll—"
The sentence broke apart into trembling fragments, fear finally spilling over the dam she’d built to contain it. Her body shook with silent, wrenching sobs she’d likely been swallowing for weeks, maybe months—violent tremors that vibrated through both of us.
I held her. Simply held her. One hand cradling the back of her head, the other steady at the small of her back, letting her cling until the worst of the storm passed.
Then, in the fragile quiet that followed, I spotted an opportunity—not to exploit her suffering, exactly, but to use this moment of vulnerability to offer something that might benefit us both if I played it correctly.
"Can I tell you a secret?" I whispered.
Jazmin’s face lifted slightly, confusion breaking through the tears, her expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and fragile hope at the sudden shift.
I didn’t wait for permission. I simply leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice dropping to the barest thread of sound, and began to whisper.
Jazmin jolted upright so fast the sheets snapped taut, nearly knocking me sideways in the process. Her eyes—wide, wet, searching—locked onto mine, pupils blown as I maintained my smirk, letting her quietly process what I’d just revealed.
She gazed down at me with an expression that cycled through shock, disbelief, hope, and terror in rapid succession, her mouth working silently before she began to laugh—slightly hysterical, edged with emotions too complex to parse individually.
"You don’t understand," she finally managed, her voice cracking slightly. "He’ll destroy you. Completely. Utterly. You think you’re clever, think you’ve got some edge, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s been doing this for years, has connections throughout the casino, owns people at every level including some of Oberen’s inner circle. You’re just—you’re nobody. Nothing. Another desperate hopeful who thinks they’re special."
"What, you don’t believe me?" I asked, injecting just enough challenge into my tone to make it provocative without being aggressive.
Jazmin began going off then, her voice climbing as fear and frustration finally snapped their leash. "You’re delusional! You walked in here an hour ago with seventy-five crowns in pocket change and think that qualifies you to take on someone who moves tens of thousands through his private games every single night! You’re just like all the rest of them."
She paused then, something in her eyes going soft and vulnerable despite the anger. "Leave. Please. Just... leave this instant. Forget I said anything. Forget this room exists. Go back downstairs with your crew and lose your seventy-five crowns at the public tables like a normal person and walk away with your dignity mostly intact."
"Would that be a wise decision for you?" I asked mildly. "Me leaving, I mean. What happens when you go back to your owner empty-handed again? Do those bruises get company? Do they escalate from hands to implements? Or does he decide you’re not worth the investment anymore and sell your contract to someone who’ll make you wish the beatings were all you had to worry about?"
Jazmin froze completely then, her body going rigid as the reality of her situation reasserted itself. She flopped back into bed with quiet defeat, the sheets sighing beneath her as she took a breath to compose herself.
"You’re insane," she said flatly.
"Insanity is just intelligence operating outside socially acceptable parameters," I replied cheerfully.
"Did you know?" she asked suddenly, turning to face me again."This whole time? That I was bait, that this was a trap, that everything I did was designed to assess and deliver you?"
I nodded without shame. "Of course I knew. In fact, this is what I’d been hoping for. The invitation, the connection, the opportunity to get deeper into whatever power structure exists in the shadows of this casino. The sex was admittedly more extensive than I’d planned, but I’m adaptable." I paused, letting the moment stretch between us. "So, do we have a deal?"
Jazmin ignored the question entirely, her jaw setting into stubborn lines. "If you insist on staying, if you’re really stupid enough to go through with this, then we’re enemies from now on. You understand that, right? I wouldn’t dare put myself at risk."
"Suit yourself," I said with a shrug. "Though I think you’ll find that position harder to maintain than you expect once things start moving."
I settled back into the pillows, letting my eyes drift shut as the slow descent into sleep began. Jazmin’s look of concern lingered—I could feel her eyes on me even through my closed lids, could sense her trying to reconcile my apparent confidence with the reality of what I was walking into.
Eventually her breathing slowed and deepened as her body softened against the sheets, tension bleeding away until she lay quietly beside me, vulnerable in a way she probably hadn’t allowed herself to be in years.
I kept my own breathing steady, soft, letting the room believe I’d joined her in oblivion.
Internally I nodded, satisfaction warm in my chest, knowing that the setup was complete. All I had to do now was wait for the trap to spring, for me to walk straight into its teeth with both eyes open, and somehow—against every reasonable probability—to twist those jaws around until they bit the hand that fed them.