House Rules

By Chris Lowry

House Rules Blurb

In the heart of the neon-soaked streets of Las Vegas, three unlikely allies find themselves ensnared in a web of deceit, greed, and danger.

Rick, Melody, and Alfonso, each driven by their own motivations, execute a daring heist that promises them a life of luxury. But when the Italian and Russian mafia close in, and the police turn a blind eye, they must make a harrowing choice—surrender or fight to survive.

Mercedes, once a femme fatale with a secret agenda, undergoes a transformation that takes her from bimbo to class act, carrying more than just designer bags. Her path crosses with the trio, setting in motion a series of events that will test their resolve and leave no room for error.

As bullets fly and alliances shift, the line between heroes and villains blurs. With riches at stake and their lives on the line, who will emerge unscathed, and who will be left in the shadows of Sin City?

In this high-stakes thriller, the dazzling lights of the Las Vegas Strip conceal a world of secrets, danger, and double-crosses. "The Sin City Caper" is a rollercoaster ride of suspense, where the odds are stacked against our unlikely heroes. Will they beat the house, or will they become just another cautionary tale in the city of illusions?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Lowry
• Release date: Oct 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223786146

Chris Lowry

Chris Lowry is an author and adventure seeker who has traveled the globe exploring new worlds and writing about his thrilling experiences. With over one hundred thrillers, science fiction, and urban fantasy novels to his name, as well as more than a thousand articles published across various publications, Chris has established himself as a master storyteller and a leading voice in the world of action and adventure. Whether he's fighting off hordes of undead in a post-apocalyptic wasteland or braving the depths of outer space, Chris is always ready for his next thrilling adventure. Follow his journey as he battles against impossible odds and becomes the hero that the world needs.

Book preview

Chris Lowry

Hosue Rules

Copyright © 2023 by Chris Lowry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Contents

1. HOUSE RULES

2. CHAPTER TWO

3. CHAPTER THREE

4. CHAPTER FOUR

5. CHAPTER FIVE

6. CHAPTER SIX

7. CHAPTER SEVEN

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

9. CHAPTER NINE

10. CHAPTER TEN

11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

12. CHAPTER TWELVE

13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

20. CHAPTER TWENTY

21. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

22. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

23. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

24. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

25. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

26. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

27. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

28. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

29. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

30. CHAPTER THIRTY

31. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

32. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

33. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

1

HOUSE RULES

The beating heart of the desert city pulsed with an electric energy that coursed through the neon-soaked avenue known as the Strip.

Towering mega-resort casinos, their facades glinting like jewels in the desert night, stood sentinel to the dreams and desires of all who walked beneath their grand marquees.

As one strolled along the iconic boulevard, the names of these towering citadels of indulgence were whispered in reverent tones.

There was the NEW YORK, NEW YORK, its façade a replica of the city that never slept, beckoning visitors to try their luck in the shadows of the Statue of Liberty.

CAESARS’, the palace of excess, where opulence reigned and fortunes were both won and lost with a roll of the dice.

TREASURE ISLAND, where buccaneers clashed and cannons roared in a nightly battle of swashbuckling proportions.

Paris, the city of lights, had been plucked from the banks of the Seine and nestled here in the heart of the Nevada desert.

Its Eiffel Tower replica gleamed with a romantic allure, promising lovers a night to remember, as the neon lights danced and reflected in the nearby fountains.

And then there was THE BELLAGIO, a name synonymous with luxury and elegance. Its dancing fountains, choreographed to music, mesmerized onlookers, and its marble-clad halls echoed with the laughter of the fortunate few.

But the Strip was more than just these majestic giants of entertainment. Farther down, there stood the SAHARA, its name conjuring images of desert dunes and Arabian nights. It was a tribute to nostalgia, an oasis of vintage charm amidst the modern excess. And looming even farther, the TOWER, a tribute to the futuristic dreams of the Space Age, its towering structure illuminated in hues that spoke of the cosmos beyond.

As one ventured further, past the glittering facade of modernity, they would find themselves in the shadow of the remnants of Old Vegas. Here, the neon lost its luster, and the glitter turned to grime. The spirit of a time when the city was younger and more innocent could still be felt, lurking in the corners of this dilapidated district, like a ghost of sin city’s past.

The air was thick with a sense of nostalgia, as if the very soul of this city had been split between two worlds, one all about the glitz and glamour, and the other a memory of rougher, grittier times. It was a place where those who had grown weary of the sterile glamour sought refuge, where forgotten dreams and faded neon signs told stories of a time when Las Vegas was but a small, desert oasis with dreams far bigger than the landscape it was built upon.

Here, the forgotten remnants of Old Vegas held secrets, each crack in the pavement and every weathered building telling tales of grit and resilience. The lights here were dim, flickering like the memories of a bygone era, and the streets were lined with relics of a time when Las Vegas was less concerned with extravagance and more with survival.

As the night wore on, the Strip’s cacophony slowly gave way to the eerie quietude of this forgotten landscape. The roar of the crowd became a distant murmur, replaced by the hum of neon and the occasional whisper of the wind, carrying with it the hopes and regrets of those who had once tried their luck here.

In the heart of the Old Vegas district, a small, dimly lit bar stood as a beacon of life among the decay. The Rusty Spur it was called, its weathered sign swinging gently in the night breeze. The interior, bathed in a dim, amber glow, was a throwback to another era, with vintage photographs and dusty bottles lining the walls. The patrons, a mix of locals and wanderers, found solace in the old-fashioned charm of the place, escaping the relentless glitz of the modern Strip.

As one entered the Rusty Spur, they were greeted by the nostalgic melodies of a live jazz band. The saxophone cried out like a wounded lover, while the piano keys danced in harmony. The audience swayed to the rhythm, lost in the music’s embrace, their cares and worries temporarily forgotten.

Behind the bar, a weathered bartender, sporting a white shirt and suspenders, polished a glass with practiced precision. His eyes held the wisdom of years spent tending to the souls who sought refuge in the dimly lit sanctuary of the Rusty Spur. He had seen it all, the fortunes won and lost, the love affairs kindled and extinguished, and he poured the spirits that nurtured both hope and despair.

As the night deepened, the Rusty Spur became a sanctuary for the weary, a place where time seemed to slow, and the boundary between the past and the present blurred. In the heart of Old Vegas, amid the faded neon and dusty memories, the spirit of this city remained alive, reminding all who ventured here that, beneath the facade of glamour, Las Vegas had a story to tell—one that unfolded with every flickering neon sign and every note played by the jazz band, one that whispered of a city that had evolved but had never truly forgotten its roots.

In this forgotten corner of sin city, amidst the dusty relics of an era long gone, the Rusty Spur stood as a testament to the enduring spirit of Las Vegas, where past and present converged, and the dreams of the lost and the hopeful danced together in the neon-soaked night.

2

CHAPTER TWO

The casino was a swirling vortex of noise and neon, a sensory overload that could make or break a person’s fortune in the blink of an eye.

The clangs of slot machines, the shrill ringing of winning bells, and the joyous shouts of victorious gamblers mixed with the audible groans of those whose hearts had just been shattered. All around, the dice tumbled on the green felt, seeking to change the fates of those who dared to play.

At the heart of this chaotic symphony of chance stood Roger Rog Wilson. His disheveled appearance spoke of a man who had seen better days, a man whose youth had long since given way to a receding hairline and an extra few pounds.

He was far from the suave GQ type, but none of that seemed to matter to the two Trailer Park Bimbos who clung to his arms.

Jasmine and Mercedes, their names as flashy as their attire, clung to Rog as if he were the last lifeboat on the Titanic. They were a dazzling pair, with glittering outfits that seemed to have been picked out by a blindfolded costume designer. Their enthusiasm knew no bounds as they reveled in Rog’s luck and charisma.

A mesmerized crowd surrounded them, drawn like moths to a flame, as Rog stood at the edge of a craps table. His hand, glistening with the promise of fortune, hovered over the dice. The onlookers held their breath, anticipating the magic about to happen.

With a raucous cheer, Rog raised his fist high into the air, and then, with a determined