Chapter Text
“Good afternoon, Las Vegans! We are coming at you with your two o’clock afternoon weather relay. It’s a scorching 106 degrees out there on this beautiful day, June 2nd, 1988. Reallyyyy makes you remember that Vegas ain’t just the city of sin, it’s also a literal desert. Now, don’t let the heat scare you just yet because it’s also bone dry out there. Remember, vodka isn’t water, so drink up folks! Next up on the docket is, very fittingly, the 1981 classic–Burnin’ For You by Blue Öyster Cul-”
Rio shot out her hand blindly, attempting to silence the damn clock radio. The thing clattered to the floor as the music started, causing her to groan as she peeled her damp face from the pillow. She kicked off the last of the sheets, waking up to her whole body saturated in sweat and salt. The sun spliced through the window of her trailer, the afternoon rays blinding her eyes as she tried to pry them open. She flopped onto her back, the piss poor excuse of an AC barely sputtering out lukewarm air. Fuck, she needed to replace that— maybe when she won the lottery.
Her feet wobbled as they met the ground, her head pounding with yet another hangover. She stumbled around her various house plants, almost twisting her ankle and simultaneously smacking her head on the hanging spider plant on the journey to the bathroom. After washing off yesterday’s makeup and brushing her teeth, she took a shower to shock her system. Cold, ice fucking cold, water trailed down her body while she tried to hold back her vomit. One’s late twenties are very different from one’s mid twenties. She hit twenty-seven, and suddenly liquor actually made her feel like shit. The fridge was predictably barren when she attempted to feed herself, she slammed the door shut. Fine, she’d wait until she went out later.
The mobile home might’ve been cramped, but considering she was only one person, it worked. She methodically did her makeup, having learned early on that the thicker her eyeliner, the easier men are to trick. Rio enjoyed her femininity but definitely used it to her advantage— specifically to swindle idiots. It wasn’t her weapon and by no means did she fit into the ‘maneater’ stereotype à la Hall & Oates, but men trusted a pretty girl— and that made them easier to trick. Her hair fell into perfect waves down her back, giving the allure that they were effortless even though teased her roots for about half an hour and used half a can of Aquanette for volume. Her lips were dusted a rich pink, matching with the blush on the high points of her cheeks. Her lashes were long and full, enhancing the amber and gold that swirled in her irises. It was all manicured for maximum impact, and to her credit, it usually worked.
Rio opted for a black sleeveless tank, forgoing a bra because it was another means of distraction. She finagled the matching black mini skirt over her hips before securing the garter belt beneath, shoving a few helpful playing cards in between the band and her thigh. Unless someone had their hands up her skirt, nobody would be the wiser of what she had stowed under. And since she was not going to a dyke bar tonight, she wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of that happening. Rio finished off the ensemble with some stilettos, grabbing her bag and hoops as she opened her front door.
“Rio,” her landlord greeted from the bottom step. “I was just looking for you.”
She pushed one hoop through her ear, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Tony.” Her smile was weak, but if she played dumb, maybe he’d fuck off. “Hot one today, huh?”
“Rent was due yesterday, and yet-” He held up his empty hands. “I have no rent from you.”
God, if he wasn’t staring right at her, she’d roll her eyes. “Really? Could’ve sworn I dropped it off. Weird.” She fastened her other hoop, locking the door behind her as she made her way down the steps past Tony. “Sure you didn’t lose my check?”
“I didn’t have a check to lose,” he said, staring her down. “I’m not running a charity. You want to keep your lot, you’ll have that $200 to me by tomorrow.”
“C’mon man.” She dug around in her purse, pulling out her lighter and pack. Rio perched the cigarette between her lips as the flame flickered. “We do this every month. I’m late with the rent, you threaten to tow my house-”
“I will-”
“I get you the money and the cycle starts all over.” Rio tossed her shit back into her bag, taking a drag. “You know I’m good for it.”
His eyes raked over her cautiously. “And yet I still don’t know what you do for work.”
Rio grinned, walking backwards as she gave him a small salute as a farewell. “It’s Vegas, I do what everyone does.”
“Prostitution?” He speculated, somewhere between hopeful and curious.
She whipped around, strutting down the dirt road on her way out of the trailer park. “Like you could afford me!”
For the record, she was not a prostitute, but that wasn’t an uncommon assumption for most young, beautiful women in this city. No, what Rio did was play to win, and sometimes that meant stacking the deck. Okay, it meant always stacking the deck. The problem with her job, however, was that income was…unreliable. She was smart, she never hit the same casino twice in one week, never used her real name, and most importantly–she kept moving. There were over 30 casino resorts on the strip alone, and if she ever really got desperate, she conned people at local bars with pool.
Vegas was a place that was easy to get lost in. The booze, the gambling, the drugs–every vice satiated to one’s hedonistic desires. It also meant that if she robbed a man blind, he most likely wouldn’t remember her face the next morning. It wasn’t her fault men are so incredibly dimwitted, she was an opportunist. Petty crime was not her first career choice, she had a degree, one that now collected dust. But, she had to get the fuck out of Florida. She was trying to originally reach California all those years ago, but beggars can’t be choosers. And a person on the run or in hiding didn’t get to be picky, at least here, she was a needle in a haystack. Plus, a bachelor’s degree in botany from the University of Miami wasn’t going to get her any richer than cheating at cards. Damn you, Ronald Reagan.
Rio exhaled the smoke as she trekked to the end of the path, her heels clacking against the hot asphalt of the road. The trailer park was just off of the strip, an easy fifteen minute walk to civilization. Outside of the city was a highway and sand until you got to the next city. She put on her sunglasses, grimacing as she smoked. That radio wasn’t lying, the tourists were all going to look like lobsters by sundown. Her cigarette burned down to the filter, though she waited until she reached the strip to flick the butt into the nearest garbage can. Global warming was absolutely real, NASA had said so, and Rio would not have that shit on her conscience.
The wafting scent of fried food hit her nose, reminding her that it was now 5PM and she had yet to eat. The north end of the strip always had some kind of food cart, she just had to watch and wait for someone to bait. She pushed her sunglasses to sit atop her head, locking her sights on a drunk guy in his twenties going for the pretzel stand. See? Dimwits.
Rio cut in front of him while he was digging in his wallet, bumping his shoulder to make him drop the cheap leather billfold to the ground. “Oh my god,” she gasped, feigning embarrassment. “I am so sorry!” Rio bent down, grabbing the wallet while he simply blinked. She quickly turned to the vendor, her hands out of sight as she fished out whatever cash he had stuffed in there. “Please, let me buy his too.”
Rio closed the wallet, tucking the majority of the bills in the waistband of her skirt. She handed it back, innocently smiling. “My bad, I’ve had a few.”
She was completely sober.
“No worries,” the guy slurred back, some faint white powder just below his right nostril.
Rio gave him a reluctant pat on the shoulder, “Okay, great,” and kept on fucking moving. She idly heard the vendor calling out, “Lady, did you want the pretzels or not?”
She did not, because if she did this a couple more times, she could buy a proper dinner. Sometimes she’d pull the old ‘glass in my food’ bit to get her meal comped, but after a while, it got stale and the casinos caught on. Rio had her pick night after night of which casino she’d linger in until the sun rose, but her favorite was The Belladonna. Not just out of appreciation for the plant, but because of the ambiance. Where a lot of joints on the strip went wrong was the aesthetic, Caesar's Palace was a gaudy crime with the way it was decorated. But The Belladonna had these rich textures of royal purples and deep greens, brushed gold accents, moon phases carved into the doors. The wall paper of the main casino floor was an endless sea of navy with almost invisible constellations patterned all over. It was intimate where other places were flashy.
Not to say it was any less popular, it was one of the higher end businesses, often catering to the ultra wealthy who had nothing but money and time to burn. Vegas was a wormhole for rich assholes, a city covered in glitter to attract morons while just below the surface was a pit of debauchery. And those types of one percenters liked that, they fucking loved it. The Belladonna’s slogan was literally: Games, Girls, and Booze–Pick Your Poison! Rio always found the double entendre of a place called The Belladonna telling its patrons to pick their poison kind of amusing, even if most people wouldn’t pick up on it. It was owned by the Harkness family, like an actual family, not a crime one. Well, there were whispers of it, but nothing concrete.
By 7PM, Rio had skimmed enough to earn herself a nice supper in the steakhouse located within The Belladonna resort and casino. She was a vegetarian, but fuck, if they didn’t make a delicious vodka penne. After pocketing a few dinner rolls and paying the bill, she gravitated towards the action. Switching into character, Rio timidly found an open poker table. The other participants were all middle aged men in suits who were already tipsy with a cigar or a cigarette dangling from their lips, a typical bunch. As their eyes landed on her, most of them snickered or shook their heads.
That was a good thing, being underestimated is what made the cheating easy. At this moment, being a dumb woman was all she needed to pay her fucking rent. She slung her bag over the back of her hair, twirling her hair as the cards were dealt. Men often didn’t perceive women as a threat, and at this moment, their misogyny worked in her favor. Honestly, it was quite startling, it was almost the nineties, at some point men would have to realize just how fucking insulting that was…right? Burgeoning new decade aside, Rio eyed her cards, quickly peeking at the men’s reactions to their own.
A man in a tan suit sighed— dead on arrival. The balding one two chairs down raised his brows— a playable hand. The salt n’ pepper guy next to her actually fucking smirked. Her own cards were fine, nothing she couldn’t fix. But Rio liked to hedge her bets, she liked some security. Rio peeked over at the man next to her, blushing. “Um, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, honey,” he condescended. “Never played before?”
She shook her head, giving a reserved laugh. “I’m not from around here, thought it could be fun.”
“Tourist?”
Nope.
“Yeah,” Rio said, batting her eyelashes. “What do those cards in the middle of the table mean?”
He chuckled, taking a puff off his cigar. “Just watch me, you’ll pick it up.”
“You’ll help me?” She gushed, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You’re an angel! I’m not even tipsy enough to try and act like I understand what’s happening.”
And right on cue-
“Well we should fix that, let me buy you a drink.”
Stupid, stupid man.
“You’re sweet.” Rio flagged down a cocktail waitress and gave her drink order. “Triple whiskey, neat, top shelf.”
The man pulled a credit card out of his inner jacket pocket. “You can start a tab.”
Near the end of the game, Rio laughed at the man’s dumb joke, her hand below the table deftly switching out the cards. She always marked them to know which one was which without having to look–the one marked with half a nail indention was the queen of hearts. Rio swapped it with her seven of spades, sipping her whiskey and biting her lower lip while pretending to listen. The mechanics of hustling men was smooth, seamless really. Rio threw down her cards, fawning as she said, “Royal straight?”
The man next to her cocked his head. “It’s a royal flush.”
“We have a winner.” The dealer pushed the stack of chips towards her.
Rio sucked in a breath through her teeth, widening her eyes as she collected her winnings. “Ain’t lady luck just a bitch…”
His eyes narrowed. “Wait-”
She knocked back the rest of the booze, slamming down the glass. “Thanks for the help.” Rio would’ve normally stayed to play a few more rounds, maybe even tried her luck at some roulette. But she’d won rent and then some, and couldn’t risk leaving empty handed, although that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun. She walked through the casino, swiftly ducking her hand into the pockets of suit jackets on the backs of chairs. The people who owned said jackets were too enthralled in whichever game they were playing to even notice. Several designer wallets now safely nestled in her purse along with the chips she still had to cash out.
“Hi,” Rio simpered as she approached the bar. “My husband started a tab, I’d like to order something else.”
The bartender, an obvious lesbian with a mullet and red streaks dyed throughout her hair, raised her brows. Her eyes fell onto the man that Rio was pointing to, then looked at Rio. “May/December thing, huh.”
“I like my men older...” Rio read her nametag. “Alice. What can I say?”
“Your husband know you’re a dyke?” Alice deadpanned.
Her face fell. “What?”
Alice pointed to the tattoo on Rio’s left bicep. “You have an armband barbed wire motif inked onto you, your middle and index fingers have shorter nails, and nothing about the way you ‘flirted’ with that man screamed heterosexuality.”
Rio’s pulse skyrocketed, and not because Alice had just read her to a tee. No, if Alice noticed the flirting, how much more did she notice? “You were watching me?”
“I was.” She tilted her head as she gave an impolite smile. “Which is how I know you were cheating.” Alice then signaled with her hand before fixing her vest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“Oh, sure you do.” A honeyed voice behind her whispered, followed by fingers coiling around her arm. “My office. Now.”
Rio didn’t get a chance to see the person dragging her away, it was all big, permed, hair coiled into bodied curls and a wrinkled half-suit. The button up had a couple undone at the very top to display a little collarbone, pinstripe slacks, loafers, and suspenders. Actually, the loafers were lifts which was fucking hilarious because the other woman was still a couple inches shorter than her.
She was shoved into an office, hideous laminate flooring, dark wood desk, a singular green desk lamp illuminating the space, and a strangely plush couch against the far wall. For how upscale the joint was, this room felt oddly seedy. The woman slammed the door, rounding Rio as she finally let go of her arm. As she stepped in front of Rio, she actually got a better look at the woman accosting her. Blue eyes that swirled with pale green in the iris, a nose that looked like it was carved by the goddesses, sharp jawline, chiseled cheek bones, thick brows. For all the planes and angles, there was something soft about her face all put together, and a heaviness behind the orbs currently staring into her soul. There was a delicacy there, soaked and saturated in a curated front, but a delicacy nonetheless.
The woman licked her bottom lip, tilting her head in annoyance. “You wanna tell me what you were doing in my casino?”
Her casino?
Rio smirked, coyly answering, “My job…?”
The other woman’s voice was gruff, an almost soothing timber accentuating her words. “Cheating and stealing your regular gig?”
Rio leaned against the door since she was being cornered in anyway. “Have you been watching me?” She purred, flattered at the insinuation. “What part of casino ownership constitutes voyeurism?"
“Listen, I can appreciate conning men. Respect it, even.” The woman leaned in. “But not in my establishment. You think people are gonna come back and spend more money if they’ve already lost all their money?”
“Seems like a really fragile business model…” Rio frowned in faux sympathy.
The other woman’s hand shot out, landing on the door, right next to Rio’s head with a sharp smack. “I’ve been tracking you for six months, you know? The cameras in every corner of the casino floor are real, by the way.”
Rio raised her chin, her face relaxing in disinterest. “So why are you only pinching me now?”
“I needed an eye witness actually seeing you in action.” She titled her head, her gaze curious roaming over Rio’s body. “I’ll give it to you, your sleight of hand isn’t half bad.” Her free hand came to Rio’s thigh, slowly trailing upwards. “And you can’t necessarily swap cards without doing a little counting too, right? That takes some skill, hon.”
Rio’s tongue felt heavy, the warmth of this woman’s touch was spreading across her skin like delicious pin pricks. “I don’t know what you mean,” Rio sweetly lied.
“Mmmh,” she hummed, her fingertips skating underneath the hem of Rio’s skirt. There was a rough tug followed by the sharp snap of her garter. The owner held up the cards in show. “You’re a terrible liar for your line of work, baby.”
“Men are easier fools,” Rio grumbled back, ignoring her hammering pulse. And no, her heart wasn’t racing because she was intimidated, it was more than that.
“You buy these at the gift shop?”
“Stole.” Not her fault that they sold decks with the hotel’s emblem that were identical to the ones used by the staff dealers.
“Right.” The cards were carelessly thrown to the floor. “What’s your name?”
“You wanna guess?” Rio wiggled her brows, biting her lower lip.
The woman reached behind her, her lithe fingers wrapping around the handle of her gun tucked in her waistband. From what Rio could see, it was a revolver, a custom piece with vines and florals engraved throughout, with what looked to be an ivory grip. Hurting an innocent animal for the sake of a firearm might’ve been the most gauche thing Rio had ever witnessed. “No, frankly, you’re starting to piss me off.”
Shocker, someone in Nevada had a gun, big fucking whoop.
“Pretty toy you got there, big guy. Too bad your need to overcompensate resulted in poaching.” Rio held up her own hand, two fingers extended with her thumb sticking up. She closed one eye as if she were aiming her finger gun, flicking her wrist as she mocked, “Pew.”
“It’s pearl.” She stated, holding up the gun for proof. Oh, okay, that was surprisingly very ethical of a possible mob boss. The woman rolled her eyes, quickly snatching Rio’s bag and dumping out the contents on her desk. A bunch of poker chips, wallets, keys, cigarettes, lighter, lipstick, sunglasses, dagger, mace, a few tampons, some loose change, and the godforsaken dinner rolls. She snickered as she tucked her gun away. “Woah, quite the fucking loot.”
“Hey!” Rio rushed over, the other woman lightly pushing her back.
Her eyes flicked back and forth between Rio and the shit sprawled atop the table. “Klepto.”
“I paid for the rolls!”
“You wanna tell me your name now, or would you rather wait til’ the police get here?”
Fuck, Rio could not get arrested, she had nobody to pay her bail and her plants would die a sweltering death in her home which would be towed off into an abandoned lot god knows where. Plus, if there was record of her arrest, it could make her easy to find, even easier to kill. “You don’t strike me as the type to like cops.”
“I don’t, but it’s different when they work for me.”
She groaned, accepting she’d brought a literal knife to this gunfight. “Fine. It’s Rio.”
The woman snort-laughed in an oddly endearing manner. “You a big Duran Duran fan?”
“What?”
“Duran Duran.”
“Uh huh…”
“Her name is Rio and she dances in the sand,” she sing-songed, pausing a beat for recognition from Rio. “Like the song.”
Rio furrowed her brows. “It’s short for Rosario.”
“Pretty,” she murmured. “Still doesn’t change the fact that you stole from me. So, I’m gonna have to call the cops and if you try to bolt before they get here, I’ll shoot you.”
Rio was momentarily stunned by the bluntness with which the woman had delivered the news. “At least offer to buy a gal a drink first…?”
She rounded the desk, flopping into the chair and picking up the phone. “I’ve apparently been buying you a lotta things over the course of however fucking long.”
“Okay.” Rio rested her palms on the desk, leaning over to look down at this woman who was confusing her in more ways than one. “Please do not call the police, please. I’ll never come back again, just let me leave.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She punched in the first number.
Rio’s resolve and chill was cracking as she bent down and found the phone cord and yanked it out the wall, forcing the line to go dead. “Are you a dick for a reason or just the love of the game?!”
She tossed the phone back into the cradle, swaying back in her chair. “Little of both.”
Rio stood up, letting out a deep breath. “What if I- what if I paid whatever I owe you?”
She cackled, loud and unabashed in her judgment. “Sweetheart, you barely have two pennies to rub together.”
Rio’s eyes fell to the pitiful pile of her stuff on the desk. “I can work it off.”
“Yeah?” Blue eyes lingered over her body as she smirked. “Doing what?”
The remark hung in the air with Rio immediately shutting down that fantasy. “I’m not letting you pimp me out!”
The woman’s face twisted like someone had just smacked her. “Hey now, I may be a lot of things, but do I really look like a pimp?” She pinched the collar of her button up in reference as she exclaimed, “This is Armani!”
“That a trick question?” Rio deadpanned, motioning around the room and then pointing to the woman’s general appearance and demeanor. “Yes!”
“One, when it’s a woman, the proper term is ‘madam.’ Two, I’ve done a lotta shady shit, but forcing women into sexually violent and unsafe situations isn’t really my schtick.”
“Then, what is?” Rio threw her arms up. “Huh?”
She sighed, pursing her lips. “I suppose labor exploitation isn’t a terrible way to cut costs.”
“What are you gonna make me do?” Rio nearly whined, her brain conjuring the worst images possible. “Do I have to kill a guy? Dismember a body? Do you do the thing where you put the dead people in acid?”
“Um, I was gonna give you pick of showgirl or cocktail waitress…”
“Oh.” Rio relaxed. “Cocktail waitress, then, I guess.”
“Shame,” she muttered. “Bet you would've looked good in the rhinestone bra and matching thong.”
Rio didn’t doubt she’d look good, but when it involved being on stage for a bunch of men to holler at, the allure quickly faded. “So we have a deal?”
The woman rolled her eyes again, slumping in her seat. “Fine, whatever.”
“Does that mean I get your name?” Rio sauntered over, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Or will you have to kill me if you tell me?” She dramatically widened her eyes. “Since you’re so scary and dangerous.”
She began plucking the chips off the desk. “I’ll be confiscating these-”
Rio lurched forward, slapping her hands over the woman's. “No.”
The owner looked up, baring her teeth as a warning. “I suggest you consider your next move very, very carefully.”
Rio let go, holding up her arms in surrender. “Just, let me keep what I got tonight. I’m about to be homeless otherwise, and you can’t exploit me if I’m dead from the heatstroke of living on the side of the road in Vegas in June.”
“Don't be so cynical,” she tutted. “A coyote would probably maul you before then.”
“Coyotes rarely attack humans,” Rio corrected absentmindedly. “They’re naturally timid and afraid of people. Actually, I’d have a higher chance of getting taken out by a snake or scorpion.”
She blinked, scowling as she responded, “Gee, thanks for that tantalizing tidbit about Nevada wildlife.”
“Either way, I’m of no use to you if I’m a goner.”
The chips were thoughtlessly flung onto the desk again. “Fine, it’s only, like, $300. What do I care, I’ll add it to your tab.”
Rio picked up everything in fistfuls and threw it back into her bag. “Is there really a tab?”
“No,” she grinned. “I’ll just work you until I get bored.”
“Great,” Rio hissed, rising to her feet. “Well, this has been a super duper fun time, but I should probably get the hell outta here before you get trigger happy.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, come in around noon and we’ll train you.” She then added, “And just as a heads up, you get more tips if you wear something low cut.”
“Turtleneck, got it. Thanks.” Rio marched across the room, pausing at the door. “Wait, what the fuck is your name?”
She leaned forward on her forearms, staring at Rio through her brows. “It’s Agatha.”
“Agatha,” she echoed. “Suits you.”
“Get the fuck out, Rosario.” Agatha waved a dismissive hand as she put on a pair of glasses and pulled out a leather folder. “Before I change my mind.”
She didn’t need to be told twice, leaving the casino after cashing out. Her legs worked overtime as they carried her home, storming into the trailer park and banging on Tony’s door. It creaked open, the man appearing in the doorway naked in an untied robe, what looked to be coke still coating his nostrils.
“Jesus fuck, put your penis away.” She swallowed a gag, shoving the money to his chest. “See you next month.”
As she turned on her heel, she heard him shout, “You wanna come in?”
“No, Tony!”
“I got party favors!”
Rio glared over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know! It’s why our sewage line backs up four times a month! Never have the money to fix it ‘cause of your fucking party favors!”
“More for me,” he muttered, closing the door to his trailer.
Once back at her own home, Rio grabbed the mail before walking in and locking the door behind her. The night always cooled the place some, but still not enough to be considered comfortable. She kicked off her heels and undid her garter as she waltzed into the kitchenette and fell into the nearest chair at the dining table. Rio sorted through the various envelopes, all bills, all stamped with bright red OVERDUE.
After briefly getting up to snag a bottle of whatever liquor she still had, Rio sorted the bills while taking a shot every time she was told her water or power was about to be shut off. So to recap, she was indebted to a madwoman who seemed to run an organized crime ring and she couldn’t make any actual money elsewhere unless she had the night off. Even with the extra $100 left over, and the $92 from the wallets, she was still smited by whatever cruel god had dealt her life’s hand. There were credit cards, but didn’t feel like risking credit card fraud and ending up in prison before thirty. Fuck, she was dead in the water. Rio found her bag, grabbing a dinner roll and stuffing it into her mouth as she unzipped her skirt, letting the fabric hit the ground.
Her body collapsed on the bed, eating the semi-stale bread and staring at the ceiling. She could sell her blood…or a kidney. Ah, but even using her body for spare parts probably wouldn’t cover the backlog of bills and student debt she had on her back. Maybe she could just skip town…but she didn’t own a fucking car. And Agatha seemed like the type to be a very special breed of scorned woman, the type that actually kept her word about collecting a bounty. That woman needed psychological help, that deranged and manic, kinda hot woman.
“Gooooood evening, Las Vegans!”” The clock radio still limp on the floor announced. “Or should I say morning? After all, it is 2AM, but that’s early in the night for the real degenerates. The sunset has dropped the temps down to a chilling 77 degrees, so enjoy it while you can! And just in case you need some encouragement, here’s Joan Jett’s Crimson&Clover-”
The lights cut out unceremoniously, the clock going silent as the outlet it was plugged into no longer produced electricity. The wheezing of the AC stopped, as did the humming of the fridge.
That checked out.
Was it wrong that she had a mild curiosity as to what ‘shady shit’ Agatha was doing, or that she was still replaying Agatha’s fingers lingering on her thigh? It was probably wrong, yeah. But then again, who was she to judge. Everyone was just trying to survive, or in Agatha’s case– thrive. Rio lied, stole, and cheated on a daily basis. She really didn’t have a leg to stand on, or if the state of Nevada had anything to say about it soon, a pot to piss in. It was fine, she’d do her job and if it didn’t make ends meet, she’d run another job elsewhere. There was always hustling guys at sports bars if she really got desperate.
Oh, fuck this fucking city.