Free The Devil of Whiskey Row by Renee Rose Page A

woman as far as she knew. Which sounded right, considering the uncontrollable need with which he'd taken her—he certainly had seemed like a man starved for a woman's touch.
    She was falling into a rhythm at the brothel. Gigi and Olive allowed her into their fun, gossiping and teasing her as if she were an old friend. They'd made an attempt to teach her their can-can dance, but when it became apparent dance was not her forte, they told her to keep up her practicing on the piano so she could play at Spank-a-loons if she decided to leave with them. Margaret was friendly too, but was simple-minded. Cora decided Margaret was lucky that Daddy Diggs had taken her and cared for her, since she obviously couldn't find her own way out of a potato sack if her life depended on it. The only sore spot was Marie, the other French girl, who seemed to resent Cora.
    Mr. Stryker hadn't returned since she'd insulted him, but she didn't care. There were plenty of customers, and she was starting to catch her stride with how to work them the way Olive and the rest of the girls did. She had already saved forty dollars. Soon she would have enough to leave Dorado Hills for good.
    When Stryker entered the hall that evening, she made her way to him with a smile pasted on her face, sitting down next to him without an invitation. He was at the faro table, an oval-shaped table with a cutout for Magdalena, a stout Mexican woman who acted as both banker and dealer. Stryker had his chips all over the table, placing multiple bets each hand. She watched as Magdalena pulled the banker's card and then the player's card.
    “Ah, tough break,” Stryker cajoled a player who'd bet on the losing card. At the same time he directed focus to that player, she saw his elbow deftly nudge his chips toward the winning card.
    Her jaw dropped. He was a cheater. She'd heard the innuendo from Jake the last time he was here, and now it was confirmed. She considered telling on him, but that could result in a scene, even gunfire, which Daddy Diggs’ saloon could do without.
    Instead, she reached a hand into his pocket, slipped out his wad of bills and stealthily withdrew several. Smoochy had taught her the trick. He used to require it—they were to palm anything they could and turn it over to him.
    Magdalena looked toward the bar, nodded, and then caught her eye. “Daddy Diggs wants a word with you at the bar.”
    “Wha—? Oh!” She exclaimed, whirling around, wondering how he'd communicated that to Magdalena.
    She stood up and walked to the bar where Diggory was leaning, face out. When she drew close enough, he reached out and wrapped his large hand around the nape of her neck, drawing her head close to speak evenly into her ear.
    “Put it back, the same way you took it. Then excuse yourself and wait for me in my room.”
    Without waiting for her to answer, he turned her around and sent her off with a sharp slap on her backside. She scowled a little, but it was only to cover her fear. Her whole body trembled. Was he angry? It certainly sounded that way. But she'd only been taking what Stryker had stolen from Daddy Diggs'. Maybe he thought she was keeping it for herself. She sat back down, weak-kneed, and waited for the right moment to slip the bills back in Stryker's pocket. It was a long, agonizing fifteen minutes before sufficient diversion occurred and she was able to complete the act. Then she nonchalantly stood up and excused herself. Walking toward the stairs, she stopped and looked toward the back door for a moment. She could just leave. She had the money she'd earned stuffed in her corset, not trusting enough to leave it lying in the bunk room. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to get her a start out of town.
    She looked around and saw Diggory staring at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Swallowing, she turned and slowly walked up the stairs to his room. She turned the handle and found it locked. Then, remembering where the key was kept for the