He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 66

The place was much larger than she had imagined, easily ten times the size of the storefront upstairs.

The lighting was kept low and oppressively dim, casting an amber glow over dozens of sprawling gambling tables. There was a bar in the corner, a lounge area, and private VIP rooms partitioned off by ornate screens.

The crowd was thick—men and women mingling through the heavy cigar smoke, each hiding their own agendas.

When Sienna walked in, several players at the nearest tables turned to stare at her.

Having escorted her inside, the buzz-cut thug turned and left without a word.

A man in a floral shirt blocked her path, a half-smoked cigar wedged between his fingers as he tilted his head to sneer at her.

"Little girl, think you stumbled into the wrong place?"

But when he got a clearer look at Sienna's face, he involuntarily took two steps back.

Initially, from a distance, the man had noticed her silhouette and assumed a woman with such a great figure had to be gorgeous, intending to come over and cop a feel.

But upon closer inspection, he realized she wasn't just thin; she was gaunt, stripped of her vitality.

She possessed a sickly, almost morbid pallor.

If he made a move on someone looking like that, his buddies would never let him live it down.

Sienna answered smoothly, "I'm in the right place. I'm here to see Laird."

The man snapped back in annoyance, "You think you can just demand to see Laird? Get the hell out of here, stop being an eyesore!"

"Whether I leave or not isn't up to you."

"You!" Getting talked down to by such an ugly woman made the man feel instantly humiliated.

"You bitch, I'm giving you an inch and you're taking a mile!" He snarled, rolling up his sleeves and preparing to throw a punch.

Just then, a VIP room door clicked open, and Laird walked out, leading Samuel and the rest of his family.

Before the floral-shirted man's fist could land, Laird's voice boomed across the floor.

"What the hell is going on?"

The thug in the floral shirt turned to see Laird emerging from the private room. Laird was holding a teacup, his fleshy face bunched together in a naturally intimidating scowl.

He was trailed by the three Sawyers, all of whom looked completely disheveled, wilting like frost-bitten eggplants.

The floral-shirted man immediately dropped his fist, retreating to the side with a sheepish chuckle.

Laird's smile vanished.

"Then what the hell are you doing here? Watching a show?"

Sienna's gaze swept over the surrounding gambling tables, noting the mountains of chips and the dice cups flipping expertly in the dealers' hands.

"Isn't this a casino? I'll gamble for it."

Laird's expression shifted. He gave her a long, hard assessment, and then let out a laugh.

Sienna stood there, her face devoid of any unnecessary emotion.

"Fine."

Laird walked over to a table. "We'll play high or low with the dice. Six rounds total. The first round is a hundred thousand dollars, and the stakes multiply by ten every round after."

"If you win back the amount he owes, I'll let them go." He paused, his tone turning sinister. "But if you lose..."

Sienna answered without a second of hesitation.

"If I lose, you can take my life."