Free The Devil of Whiskey Row by Renee Rose

man at his table, accepted a drink, and waved a black fan, watching the bets with feigned interest. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, letting his fingers dance over the keys to help him slip away from the stink hole that had become his life.
    “She's settling in nicely, isn't she?” Olive's chipper voice pulled him out of his reverie. She was leaning on his piano, her lifted breasts spilling out of her corset.
    He scowled and didn't answer.
    “Something going on between you two?”
    “No,” he growled.
    “Really?”
    “Shut it, Olive.”
    She smiled a slow, knowing smile. “That's what I thought,” she said smugly, drifting away.
    To complete his misery, Sam Stryker walked in, looked around, and made a beeline for Cora. Feeling sick, Jake stopped playing abruptly and stood, stalking to the bar to toss back another shot of whiskey. The burn had barely cleared his throat before Stryker paid Hank and escorted Cora upstairs.
    Well, good. She had a regular. He swallowed the overwhelming urge to punch Stryker in the gut and walked outside, standing on the wooden porch and gazing down Whiskey Row. He had to get out of this life. He didn't belong here, no matter how successful the business may be.
    An hour later, when Cora and Stryker descended the stairs together, he was downing another shot of whiskey and had turned downright surly. He expected Stryker to leave but instead he pulled Cora down to sit with him at the faro table. Cursing under his breath, he stood and strode over, sitting down on the other side of her.
    “You punting, Diggory?”
    Jake shook his head. “No. Just watching.”
    “Watching who? Do you think I'm cheating?” Stryker demanded with a vehemence that wasn't called for.
    Jake raised one eyebrow. That sort of defensiveness didn’t come out of nowhere. He crossed his legs and interlaced his fingers over one knee. “Actually, the thought hadn't occurred to me.” He paused long enough to watch that sink in. “Should it have?”
    Stryker chose to ignore him, turning his attention back to Cora. “I have a proposition for you, little girl. How'd you like to be my regular mistress? I'll keep you in fancy clothes, you'll live over at my manor.”
    Only a pompous ass would call his ranch house a manor. Jake's lips pressed into a thin line and his gut clenched, waiting to hear her answer.
    She smiled prettily. “That's a very nice offer, Mr. Stryker, but I can't accept it.”
    The pinching grip he had on his knee loosened slightly.
    “Why not?” Stryker demanded, clearly offended.
    “Being a man's mistress is like being a slave—all the duties of a wife, but none of the benefits.”
    “What benefits are there to being a wife?” Stryker scoffed.
    Cora looked coolly around the room, not deigning to answer.
    “How is it any different from what you do here? You're Diggory's slave now, aren't you?”
    Cora stiffened and Jake's hands left his knee, a fist clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he waited, needing to hear Cora's answer.
    Her eyes flicked to him, her expression still cool from their earlier encounter. She turned back to Stryker and said with perfect confidence, “I'm not Diggory's slave. He doesn't keep slaves. Do you, Mr. Stryker?”
    Stryker's face flushed. “Of course I don't,” he snapped, though the silence that followed seemed to contradict his statement. Everyone knew Stryker's miners ended up in more debt for their living expenses than they earned from him.
    Stryker pushed his chips toward Magdalena with a curt, “Cash me out,” and receiving his money, stalked out without another word.
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    Jake had avoided her all week. Which was perfectly fine, since she'd been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he'd reduced what happened between them to a cheap monetary transaction. She knew it meant more than he'd made it seem. She'd pressed Olive for every detail of Diggory's love life, and Olive had sworn Daddy Diggs had never been with any