Bounty Hunter [REWRITTEN VERSION]

Chapter 18: Dancing With Repercussions

MAIZE

I can't believe I allowed her to talk me into this, Maize thought with a mental huff of reluctance as she walking through the main hall of the casino.

Soon after she and Cassandra had finished with their little 'chat', the manipulative casino owner had left Maize to herself after being made aware from one of her employees that she was needed elsewhere. But Maize knew it was more or less just an excuse to get out of the way so that Maize would 'feel free' to begin working on the new task she was set out to do.

Apparently—according to Cassandra's lookouts that was—the person she wanted Maize to snuff out was a gentleman, in his mid-thirties or so, with a taste for Italian blue suits, who had been winning a 'little too much' for Cassandra's liking. Accordingly, managing to walk away with nearly 100 000 dollars a night, each night, for the past week.

It didn't matter how much skill you had at the poker table. No one was that lucky.

All Maize had to do was find him, get a little information out of him about who he was, and possibly ruin his night. No big deal.

But it didn't mean she was happy about it.

Maize scoured the hall of poker tables in front of her. If the man was said to be cheating the cards, this was the best place to start looking.

She strode along, trailing her eyes over each of the tables like she was just any other woman, looking for a 'lucky' table to join. Guessing, there were about fifty different tables in the grand hall total, ones that differed from poker, roulette, and a variety of other games that the suit uniformed employees of the casino, of Cassandra, operated. A lot of them were occupied, more than Maize would have thought. Briefly, she wondered how difficult it was going to be to find one man—given just an estimation of his age and the fact that this was where he was most likely to be. Until something particular caught her eye from across the direction she was standing, and she remembered one more little detail she had been told.

A taste for Italian blue suits.

Maize felt a smile slip across her lips as she subtly rerouted her direction, making her way over with soundless steps. Heels were uncomfortable and could be a bitch to fight in—in Maize's experience. But, with enough practice, one could adapt to the light footwear to detract from making a sound until they were right upon their intended target. Take her for example.

His back faced her and he remained oblivious to her approach behind him. And from there, Maize watched, like a curious observer looking to play, and watched his game.

The estimate of his age seemed accurate enough from what Maize could tell. His hair was black and styled back so that the longer ends touched up around the height of his neck. His skin was dark almond, tanned, but not withered in a way that said he was the kind of guy who spent his days sitting by the beach. The suit was made to flatter him, but it was clear he was made of a more slender build.

When Maize watched him play his cards, over and over, she realized that her previous deduction was correct—no one was that lucky. And from the way he wore his sly grin, showing pearly white teeth, he knew it too.

Maize decided it was time to make her presence known as she walked up and slipped into the seat beside him, crossing one leg over the other casually as she folded her elbows over the edge of the table.

"You seem to have quite the winning streak," she flattered, startling him at the sudden sound of her voice.

The man blinked in surprise she sat down, not having realized he had been being watched these past few minutes. But, as soon as he caught sight of her, his surprise was forgotten as his gaze studying her up and down. He took his time. And Maize had to resist the urge to show how disgusted she felt as a slow smirking grin made its way onto his face, his gaze following her curves as his eyes rested on the exposed side of her leg through the open slit in her dress.