Chapter One

The Gulf Star Casino in Biloxi, Mississippi, pulsed with life as its general manager, James Harper, moved through the gaming floor with a swagger. Clad in a tailored black blazer that hugged his lean frame, dark pants accentuating his confident stride, and a crisp white shirt open at the collar to reveal a hint of his tanned chest, he shook hands with his regular punters as he kept an eye on his casino. His rusty-brown hair was tousled just right, and his green eyes gleamed with the arrogance of a man who owned every room he entered. He had bit and clawed his way to the top and was promoted to general manager last year at the tender age of 27. He pissed off a lot of people along the way, but it never slowed him down.

The man paused at a blackjack table, where a pit boss, a tall man with a nervous grin, leaned forward eagerly.

“Evening, boss,” the pit boss said, his voice tinged with deference. “Margins are running at twenty-five percent tonight, best we’ve seen all week.”

James flashed a smug grin, clapping the man’s shoulder. “Now, that’s much better,” he said confidently. “You best keep it that way, or else we’ll be having another chat in the office.”

The pit boss’s eyes widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, boss. I won’t disappoint you.” James moved on, encouraged that his ‘motivation’ tactics had worked.

The young GM moved on, his eyes catching a redheaded cocktail waitress looking rather uncomfortable as she weaved through the crowd. Her uniform, a plunging blue sequined minidress with a hem that only covered half of the curve of her asscheeks, shimmered under the lights. James had enforced a new uniform policy amongst his female waitresses a few months ago to “enhance the guest experience.” It had received some backlash from the women, but no one could deny that it created the intended results. Business was booming.

“Hey, sweetheart,” James called, his voice dripping with charm as he stepped closer, his hand brushing her waist as he leaned in for an inappropriate hug. “Looking good tonight. I bet you’re making a killing in tips.”

The waitress stiffened, her forced smile barely masking her discomfort, but she nodded, her voice a soft melody. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. Umm, yeah, tips have been good.”

James’s grin widened, his fingers lingering a moment on her waist before he let go and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. Opening it up, the GM pulled out a crisp $100 bill before slipping it into the nervous woman’s cleavage, pushing it deep and caressing her bare skin in the public domain, relishing the control he had over her. “A little extra for looking so damn good,” he said suggestively, giving the waitress a wink before turning away, leaving the gobsmacked woman to her duties.

The man strode toward the back of the casino. He headed for the meeting room where his executives awaited him to start the monthly P&L meeting. The sound of slot machines and angry gamblers faded behind him as he moved into the more serene back-of-house area, his mind turning to the night’s agenda. He had had a good month and was looking forward to showing it off.

The meeting room’s heavy doors swung open, revealing a majestic polished table surrounded by older men in well-presented suits, their murmurs quieting as James entered. A large window overlooked the casino floor below, allowing the men to keep an eye on the operations as they conducted the meeting. Randall “Randy” Thorpe, James’s Assistant General Manager, stood at the head, his stocky frame clad in a flashy gray suit with a loud red tie, his thinning sandy-blonde hair combed perfectly to hide the receding hairline. He was mid-sentence —having started the meeting without his boss and gesturing animatedly at a slide on the projector highlighting the effect of the new uniform on visit levels —when he spotted James and paused, a smile forming on his face.

Randy stepped back from the projector, his hands sweeping toward the empty chair at the head of the table. “Gentlemen, our fearless leader has arrived,” he said in an over-the-top deferential manner. “The stage is yours, boss.”

James grinned and stood beside the chair, waiting for Randy to sit down before he continued the meeting. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said confidently. “The new uniforms are driving traffic, and our table margins have risen two percent since we increased the edge on Blackjack. We’re up twelve percent year on year, and with the State cheerleading finals coming to Biloxi next month, there will be plenty of out-of-town lowlife pervs to swindle more cash from. Any ideas on how to capitalize?”

The room buzzed with suggestions, most of which were shot down. However, the new head of food and beverage piped up with a suggestion. “We could have our waitresses and dancers dress up as cheerleaders for the event, show how much we support the event.”

James chuckled and smiled widely. “Perfect suggestion, Frank,” he replied. “That’s exactly why I hired you. Any more suggestions?”

As the discussion gained momentum, the meeting room door swung open, and Leah, James’s personal assistant, stepped inside. Her dark hair was pulled tight into a bun as her light blue, low-cut blouse caught the attention of every man in the room. Her face was apologetic, but her voice held an urgent edge.

“Mr. Harper, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” she started.

“Why are you here, Leah?” James replied with dismissive annoyance. “This is an important meeting.”

Leah’s eyes darted nervously, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “It’s Victor Daniels on the phone in your office, sir. He insists it’s urgent and won’t wait.”

The GM groaned at the mention of the casino owner’s name. That old SOB interfered too much with James’s operations, and he often had to charm the man to keep him at a distance. “Fine,” he said abruptly. “Randy, take over until I get back.”

Randy nodded as James strode out, walking down the white-walled corridor until he reached his office, a spacious room with a glass desk and various monitors displaying CCTV footage of the casino floor below. He snatched the phone from its cradle as he took a seat on the comfortable leather office chair, his voice sharp with impatience. “Victor, what’s so urgent it can’t wait?”

Victor’s voice crackled through the receiver, heavy with suspicion and barely concealed anger. “Is it true, James? You son of a bitch!”

Confusion washed over the GM, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward. “Slow down. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I want to know if you’ve been dipping into my profits and manipulating the books.” The owner’s voice was laced with fury.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Victor,” James replied with genuine confusion. “I make enough money around here. There’s no need for me to commit a felony.”

“Turn on the damn TV,” Victor snapped. “You’ll see what I mean.”

The reddish-brown haired man grabbed the remote from his desk and pointed it at the screen mounted on the office wall. The display flickered to life, revealing an image of the Gulf Star Casino’s neon-lit facade glowing on a national news network. A news anchor’s voice spoke over the top of the video, delivering a blow that made James feel nauseous.

“Breaking news from Biloxi, Mississippi,” the anchor declared. “Authorities have launched a criminal investigation into James Harper, general manager of the Gulf Star Casino, for embezzlement and tax fraud. This is the largest such investigation on a casino operative for over a decade. Sources say that evidence of illicit financial transactions has surfaced, implicating Harper in a scheme to siphon funds from the casino’s operations.”

James’s pulse quickened, his eyes locked on the screen as images of redacted financial documents flashed, his signature displayed over them. What was going on? He thought to himself. He wasn’t involved in any illegal scheme. “Victor, this is nonsense. I haven’t touched a dime that wasn’t mine. Someone must have set me up.”

“You’d better fix this, Harper,” the old man growled. “If you’ve been stealing from me, the cops will be the least of your problems.”

The line went dead, leaving a hollow silence that pressed against James’s chest. He slammed the receiver down, staring blankly at the news broadcast as he tried to reason why this had happened. As his mind raced, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to read an unknown number flashing on the screen. Who could that be? He answered the call.

“Who the hell is this?”

A cold, mocking laugh answered, one he recognized instantly. “Enjoy that news broadcast, James?” Clifford Moss said, his voice thick with triumph. “I’ve got you dead to rights now, you bastard. You’re done.”

Clifford was the general manager of the rival Royal Crest Casino down the street, and a man who always appeared to be outmaneuvered by the young, ambitious James. The pair had bad blood that stretched back further than their casino days.

James’s phone pinged with a new message. He opened it, holding his breath as a photo loaded, a ledger page filled with fake, fraudulent entries, dates, and sums that painted James as a thief. The man’s voice dropped, a mix of anger and disbelief. “You bastard. You fabricated this?”

“This is for Sarah,” Clifford spat, his voice raw with venom. “You thought you’d get away scot free after what you did to her? This is retribution?”

James raised an eyebrow. “Your sister? Fuck, that was almost a decade ago. Just let it go!”

Clifford’s voice turned bitter, chilling. “She took her life because of what you encouraged. I will bury you, you piece of shit. This is justice.”

The TV screen shifted, showing live footage of police cars swarming the Gulf Star’s entrance, their red and blue lights reflecting off the casino’s windows. James’s eyes widened, his heart pounding as the anchor’s voice confirmed the raid was underway. “We are watching live footage of the authorities moving in now, with a warrant out for James Harper’s arrest.”

The man was cornered, and everything he had built felt like it was crumbling around him. The ledger, the news, the cops—it was all too precise, too damning. He could wait to be taken, plead his innocence, and fight this out in court. However, the small amount of fabricated evidence he had seen was damning, and he may not have another opportunity to uncover the lies. He needed time to find proof of his innocence. His mind flashed to the only way out. He knew it would make him a fugitive, but once he found evidence of the truth, it would all be forgotten, he surmised.

Without a word, James bolted from his chair and sprinted to the back corridors of the casino. He shoved open a back service door, the humid Mississippi air hitting him like a ton of bricks as he stumbled into the alley behind the casino. He managed to sneak into his SUV, start the engine, and drive off, determined to clear his name before Clifford’s trap closed for good.

❖

Eight Years Ago

The Kappa Kai Sigma fraternity house on the University of Alabama campus throbbed with energy as James, the twenty-year-old fraternity leader, hosted the party to welcome students back to college. Dressed in a tight black polo shirt that hugged his toned body, he moved through the crowd of party-goers, a red plastic cup of beer in his hand. His green eyes sparkled with the arrogance of wealthy youth, reveling in the influence he held over the packed room of drunken coeds and frat brothers. Laughter and music pulsed around him, and James enjoyed the adulation. It was hard work becoming this popular, and even more challenging to keep it up.

The college student leaned against a wall, flirting with a giggling sorority girl, his hand grazing her hip as he whispered something that made her blush. Her tight dress wrapped around her curves, and James savored the control, his grin widening as she responded to his advances and leaned closer. A new fraternity pledge, Tommy, a short guy with a cocky smirk, pushed through a dancing crowd, two drinks in hand, pressing one of them against James’s cup.

“Man, this party’s insane,” Tommy said, his voice slurred with excitement. “I knew I picked the right frat. You got any more of that special punch?”

James chuckled, pulled the woman closer, and pointed to a table stacked with red cups and a punch bowl. “Over there. Go easy, man. That stuff is potent.”

Tommy laughed and bellowed out an incoherent grunt as he shoved his way past a group towards the drinks table. James grinned and shook his head, turning his attention back to the flirtatious woman, pinning her against the wall and kissing her neck.

Two hours later, the woman was long gone, and James scanned the thinning out room. He noticed Tommy and two other frat brothers sat on the couch, surrounding a shy-looking brunette woman who held a red cup in her hand, her eyes slightly glazed over.

The woman was Sarah Moss, a studious sophomore who had been guilted by her roommate to attend the party. She wasn’t the wild partying type and spent her entire freshman year focusing on her studies. Her friend had convinced her that she needed to let loose a little by attending the first party of the year. Despite dressing modestly, in a university-branded T-shirt and black leggings, Sarah proved to be popular at the party, with drink after drink being piled into her hand. After her seventh drink, the latter, including a little extra, she wasn’t feeling like herself.

Tommy leaned closer to Sarah, his smirk widening as he draped an arm around her shoulder and absently groped a modest breast. His frat brothers, Eddie and Nate, flanked her on the couch, their voices low and coaxing. Sarah’s posture slumped, her red cup tilting in her grip as Nate leaned in and nibbled her neck.

James watched from across the room, his own cup half-empty, his lips curled in a careless grin. This was just how parties went, he reasoned, his arrogant loyalty to his new fraternity brothers smothering any flicker of concern.

“James, you sure this is cool?” Bobby, James’s frat vice-president, asked, his eyes flicking to Sarah and the trio on the couch. “She doesn’t look right.”

James shrugged, his grin remaining as he took a swig of beer. “Relax, Bobby. It’s a party. She’s having fun, just let it play out.”

Bobby’s frown deepened as Tommy helped Sarah to her feet, both he and Eddie flanking her, placing her arms over their shoulders to keep her upright. James could sense the concern in Bobby’s expression and sighed. “Fine. If it will make you feel any better, I’ll check on them.”

The fraternity leader strolled towards the three men and their drunken prize. “Hey, guys, everything alright over here. She looks a little out of it.” He glanced at the brunette woman, whose eyes were barely open.

Tommy chuckled and gave his new leader a high five. “Hey, man,” he said eagerly. “Yeah, Sarah here is all rosy. Tell James that you’re doing okay, babe,” he said to the woman in a commanding tone.

“I’m doing alright, babe,” Sarah said, her voice was monotonous and droning, as though she was following some type of script. Her response sparked a gentle chuckle from Eddie and Nate.

James studied her for a moment, as if he was deciding on his next course of action, before his expression softened. “That’s good enough for me,” he remarked.

Tommy smiled, pulling the woman in closer. “Hey, man, you got a room we could use? Sarah would like a lie down, if you know what I mean.”

James nodded. “My room’s just down the hall. You can use it, just don’t trash it,” he suggested. “Here, I’ll show you.”

The fraternity leader stepped out of the living room and walked down the hallway, the three men and their ‘date’ following closely behind. He opened the door to his blue-walled bedroom, a grand four-poster bed dominating the environment.

As they scuttled past, Tommy lifted Sarah’s T-shirt, revealing her bra-clad cleavage to the frat leader. “Thanks, man,” he said to the 20-year-old. The freshman glanced at Sarah. “Say thank you to James,” he commanded her.

“Thank you, James,” Sarah replied immediately, the same monotonous echo escaping her lips.

The fraternity leader chuckled and nodded, letting the four students enter his room. He watched as Tommy and Eddie pushed the brunette onto the bed before starting to undress her. “You guys have fun,” he told them before closing the door and heading back to the party.

Back to the present day, James sped through the streets of Biloxi. He knew the cops were likely searching for his vehicle by now, and he needed to drive out of State. He thought back to that college night. He hadn’t touched the woman, and so his hands were clean, he thought to himself. Shaking his head, James brought his attention back to his current predicament. He needed to lie low and plan his next course of action. Without a clear idea in mind, he sped out into the distance, as far away from the cops as he could manage.

❖

James turned into a quiet suburban neighborhood, figuring he needed to stay off the main roads to keep out of police sight. The Casino Strip had long faded, replaced by the bright street lights of residential streets. He was surrounded by well-trimmed lawns and two-story homes as he drove down the road. The image of that fake ledger burned in his mind as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he seethed with rage. He needed a plan, a place to hide while he unraveled Clifford’s frame-up before the cops closed in.

He heard an ominous beep as he glanced down at the dashboard, his eyes widening as the fuel gauge blinked red, a warning he’d failed to notice in his panic to escape. The car sputtered, lurching to a stop in the middle of a quiet street, its engine coughing into silence. James cursed under his breath, slamming his fist against the wheel. How had he been so damn stupid? The casino GM pulled out his phone, the screen glowing with a news alert confirming his fugitive status, his face plastered on the bulletin. Attempting to put that out of his mind, James searched for the nearest gas station, a groan escaping his lips as he discovered the closest station was over 8 miles away. He couldn’t summon a taxi with his face plastered all over the news, and it was an almost three-hour trek on foot. He needed to figure something out, and he was fast running out of time.

James glanced at the street sign ahead: Magnolia Lane. The name sparked a memory, faint but undeniable. Had he hooked up with someone here before? His thoughts churned, sorting through old flings, until it clicked—Matt Turner lived on this street. Matt used to be James’s F&B floor supervisor until the young GM fired him two years ago for refusing to implement the casino’s new cocktail waitress uniform policy. Matt stood his ground and argued against demeaning women for the ‘greater good’ of higher profits. James had publicly mocked Matt, humiliating him in front of his staff, until his former employee disappeared with his tail between his legs. Six months later, Matt had gotten a new job at the Royal Crest casino and was recently promoted to Head of Food and Beverage operations. James shook his head, despite the lingering hatred Matt likely had for him, and the fact that he worked for the man who set James up, the former employee was his only shot. The thought of begging a former subordinate stung James’s pride, but with the entire police force likely searching for him, he had no choice.

James stepped out of the black SUV, locking it with a quiet click, and scanned the street for any sign of pursuit. The neighborhood lay still, only a faint breeze stirring the leaves of nearby trees. The GM tucked his phone into his pocket and started walking. Each step felt heavier with his shaking legs as James couldn’t get Clifford Moss’s taunting voice out of his head.

A dog barked at him from a nearby yard, prompting the young manager to scuttle along the street faster, knowing the cops would be all over this street if anyone recognized him. Matt’s house was a small two-story building with an inviting porch and a proximity light above the door, which flicked on as James approached. The fugitive paused at the entrance, his fist hovering over the door as he weighed the risks of what he was about to do.

The brunette knocked lightly on the door, trying not to make a sound that would alert the neighbors, and the door swung open instantly. Matt Turner stood there, his skinny frame blocking the doorway, his hazel eyes blazing with shock and fury as he saw James before him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Matt demanded venomously, his hands gripping the doorframe as if to defend his territory.

James took a step forward, his voice urgent as he forced the words out, “Matt, I need your help. I’m in serious trouble, and you’re the only one I can turn to right now.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. Why would the man who humiliated him in front of his former peers be coming to him for help? Did he have no friends? A bitter smirk crossed the man’s lips as the thought crossed his mind. “Help you? After you destroyed me in front of everyone at Gulf Star? You fired me for standing up to your disgusting policies, and now you’re at my doorstep? What kind of trouble are you in to lead you here?”

The distant sound of sirens startled James. “Please, I’ll explain everything once I’m inside, but it’s not safe for me out here. Let me in, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

The homeowner glanced to the left and then to the right, checking whether any neighbors were peering through their windows. He sighed, unsure of what he was getting himself into. “Fine, come inside. This had better be good.”

As Matt moved to the side, James scurried indoors, determined to hide himself from the dangers of the outside world. He knew coming to Matt was a considerable risk, especially after the way their business relationship ended. Still, the man always fought for what was morally right. Perhaps after James explained the truth, his former subordinate would do the right thing.

The lanky man shut the door and clicked the lock shut, leading James into the living room before folding his arms expectantly. “Right, you got some explaining to do. I want the truth, now!”

❖

James put the TV on mute after he showed Matt the news broadcast, the screen displaying an image of police cars swarming his casino. The living room of Matt Turner’s home felt claustrophobic compared to James’s own as he stood in the center, his fists clenched. Matt leaned tensely against the wall, his eyes glinting with shock as he took in the broadcast.

“I don’t want to be harboring a fugitive,” the F&B head said, his arms crossing as he fixed James with a hard stare. “You’re all over the news, and I’m not about to risk my job and my freedom for the asshole who screwed me over.”

The casino GM paced the small living room. “Your fucking boss set me up, Matt,” he said with urgency, almost pleading. “That ledger he handed in to the cops, it’s a total fake. He’s got some vendetta against me because of something that happened years ago, and he wants to drag his biggest competitor through the mud at the same time. I didn’t steal anything, I swear.”

Matt’s face was blank, an unknowing stare as he tried to decipher what was real and what wasn’t. “A vendetta? You expect me to believe Clifford Moss, one of the most influential managers in the city, cooked up a whole scheme just to get back at you for some bad blood? That’s a hell of a story, James, but one I don’t quite believe.”

James stopped pacing, his mouth gaping as he faced Matt. “Trust me. You don’t know your boss like you think you do,” the brunette said. “He’s ruthless, and he’s sadistic. I need to figure out how to prove my innocence before the cops catch up to me.”

The lanky man couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at the irony of the man he hated more than anything coming to him for help. “Hmm? So what? How are you going to prove your innocence?”

“I’m going to,” James started before pausing, his mind going blank as he tried to plan his next move. “Well, I’m not sure yet. I need to prove Clifford was behind the fabricated evidence. Once I’ve done that, everything will fall into place.”

Matt casually walked from the edge of his room and slumped onto the couch, looking up at the terrified manager. “It seems to me like you need to figure out a way to get into the Royal Crest casino. If you manage to sneak into his office or the Royal Crest network, I’m sure you’ll find what you need.”

The 28-year-old placed his hands on his hips, looking down at the relaxed F&B manager like he was stupid. “And how exactly do you propose I do that?” he asked with a raised voice. “I can’t exactly stroll in when everyone knows who I am.”

The seated man lazily stretched out, as if he were enjoying his former boss’s anguish. “Hmm, you’re right,” he said comically. “I guess you can’t walk right in. I do have an idea, though.” Matt paused, looking up at the man to build suspense. “It’s a little crazy, but it just might work if you’re man enough to go through with it.”

James clenched his fists, getting irritated with his former subordinate’s elusive language. “Just spit it out, Matt!”

Matt’s smirk widened, his hazel eyes glinting with predatory intent as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Well, you’re only what? 5’6”? You may be somewhat of a ladies’ man, but in a boyish way. Your lack of a musclebound physique might work to your advantage.”

The casino GM narrowed his eyes, not prepared to put up with the insults. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“You’re going to pose as my sister,” he said as though the statement was the most natural thing in the world. “Some of the executives from work kept bugging me to come out for drinks, something I had no intention of doing,” Matt explained. “Eventually, one of them refused to take no for an answer, and I’m terrible at thinking on my feet, so I told him my sister was visiting for a few weeks and I needed to help her settle in.”

“Have you lost your mind?…” James started before he was cut off.

“Anyhow, it kinda backfired when the execs asked me to bring her in to work one day so they could meet her. The problem is, I don’t even have a sister.” Matt paused before looking up at the fugitive. “If you posed as her, I could save face, and you could disguise yourself well enough to gain access to the casino. It’s a win-win.”

James’s laugh was sharp and incredulous, his fists unclenching as he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think I should pose as your sister? Have you gone insane? I’m not some damn faggot, and I won’t prance around like some fairy!”

Matt gently rose to his feet, keeping his tone steady as his old boss looked at him with fury. “I’m not even sure it will work, but it’s got to be your best shot at getting close to Clifford without him recognizing you,” he tried to reason. “You’ll get a roof over your head, the cops off your tail, and an opportunity to clear your name. I could even hire you as a waitress to give you a reason to visit.”

James’s face flushed with anger as he realized just how serious the man was. “I’m not doing it. I’m not humiliating myself because you want some kind of sick revenge. I’m out of here.”

The casino GM turned and headed toward the door as Matt called back out. “If you walk out that door, you’ll likely be in cuffs by morning. It was good knowing you, Mr Harper.”

James ignored his former employee and headed to the door, but as he placed his hand on the door handle, a flash of headlights caught his eye. Looking through the small door window, James’s heart lurched at the sight before him. A tall figure was walking towards the porch, a serious expression on his face and a police badge on his hip. The cops were here; he was screwed.

Matt’s smirk vanished as he deciphered James’s expression. “Is that the cops? Quick, get in the cupboard, now!” He called out, racing to the tall cupboard under the stairs. With no other option, James followed him and stepped inside the cramped space, allowing Matt to close and lock the door behind him, leaving the runaway trapped in darkness.

James pressed his face against the cupboard door and peered through a narrow keyhole with bated breath. His heart pounded as he watched Matt compose himself, smoothing his shirt before striding to the front door. Come here was a bad idea, the fugitive thought to himself. Matt hadn’t forgotten about the way James had treated him, and now he held James’s freedom in his hands. There was a knock, and the brunette’s stomach twisted.

The homeowner opened the door, revealing Detective Keith Sanders, a broad-shouldered African American man with a stern gaze. “Good evening, Mr. Turner,” the Detective started. “My name is Detective Keith Sanders. I’m sorry to bother you this evening. Can I come in?”

Matt wasn’t sure how to answer, but with James safely locked in the cupboard, he thought it best to comply with the request. “Of course, detective.” He said as he moved aside, allowing the large man inside.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Keith said gratefully as he pulled out a photo and showed it to Matt. “We are looking for this man. Do you recognize him?”

Matt glanced at the photo, his expression carefully neutral. “That’s James Harper, my old boss at the Gulf Star Casino. I haven’t seen him in months.”

Sanders’s eyes narrowed, his voice steady but probing as he held the photo closer. “His SUB was found abandoned a few doors down, Mr. Turner. Are you certain he hasn’t come by tonight? We anticipate that he may be desperate and dangerous.”

Matt shook his head, relaxed, despite the tension coiling in his gut. “I’m certain, Detective. James and I didn’t part on good terms. He fired me, and I haven’t spoken to him since. I’d rather keep it that way.”

Through the keyhole, James held his breath, his heart pounding so loudly he feared the cop might hear it. The Detective’s gaze swept the living room, lingering on the muted TV still showing the Gulf Star raid, before settling his eyes on the cupboard door. James gasped silently as Sanders stepped closer, his hand brushing the handle, testing it with a gentle tug. The lock held, but the rattle sent a jolt of panic through the terrified man.

“Do you have a key for this cupboard, Mr. Turner?” Keith asked, his tone casual but laced with suspicion, his eyes locked on Matt’s face.

The homeowner forced a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed. “Uhmm, I lost that key ages ago, Detective. It’s probably buried in a drawer somewhere, but lord knows where it could be.”

Sanders paused, his stern gaze searching Matt’s expression for any hint of deception. The silence stretched with tension as James pressed himself against the cupboard’s back wall, willing his breath to slow. After a long moment, Keith nodded, pulling a business card from his jacket pocket and handing it to Matt.

“If you hear from Harper, give me a call,” the Detective said. “He’s in serious trouble. You really don’t want to be caught helping a fugitive.”

Matt took the card and nodded enthusiastically. “Underwood, Detective. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Nobody wants to see that bastard get what he deserves more than me.”

Detective Sanders gave the cupboard one last glance, then turned and walked to the door, Matt following close behind to see him out. The door closed with a soft thud, and James exhaled, his body trembling in the cramped darkness. Once Matt was sure the coast was clear, he pulled the curtains closed and unlocked the door, pulling the cupboard door open, his smirk returning as he leaned against the frame, his eyes staring at the terrified man.

“Wow, that was close,” he said mockingly, awaiting the man’s next move.

James stumbled out of the cupboard, his legs shaky from the close call. “Alright, Matt,” the man said in resignation, horrified at what he was about to say. “I’ll do it. I’ll follow along with your plan.”

Matt’s grin widened, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Great choice, James,” he said, stepping back to allow James to step back inside the living room. “There are some things I forgot to mention. When the execs asked about my sister, I panicked and painted a vivid picture of the kind of woman she was. We need to recreate that.”

The casino GM gulped in fear, not liking where this was going. “What did you tell them?”

Matt stayed silent, the grin remaining on his face as James already began to regret what he had gotten himself into.

❖

“Is this seriously necessary?” James called out to his host across the landing, his voice filled with irritation as he stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist. The depilatory cream Matt had insisted he use had stripped every hair from the man’s body, leaving his skin unnaturally smooth as he padded barefoot down the carpeted hallway.

Matt walked out of his bedroom and leaned against the doorway, his skinny silhouette relaxed as he watched James approach. “Have you ever employed a cocktail waitress with that much body hair? As sexist as it is, there are standards we have to comply with,” he chuckled in amusement, not hiding his joy in his former boss’s discomfort. “If you’re going to pass as my sister, we need you to look as unmasculine as possible, starting with that.”

James gripped his towel to stop it slipping, entering Matt’s bedroom as he hid his naked body beneath. “This is madness,” he groaned. “It’ll never work!”

Matt’s chuckle deepened, his eyes filled with glee as he gestured toward the bed, where a small pile of clothes waited. “Stop complaining, James. You can opt out and leave at any point,” he grinned, knowing how stuck the wanted man was. “Now, if you’re going to stay, drop the towel and get dressed.”

The hairless man shuddered. With a muttered curse, he let the towel fall, the cool air of the bedroom hitting his bare, smooth skin, making him flinch as he stood exposed. Matt’s grin widened, moving from the wardrobe and approaching the bed. He picked up a pair of lacy pink panties and tossed them to James.

“Put these on first,” the host said, enjoying the moment. “All of these are from an ex. They might be a tight fit, but they’ll show us what we’re working with.”

James caught the panties, his face flushing with anger as he held the delicate fabric. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he snapped bitterly as he began to step into the panties, the lace clinging unfamiliarly to his hips, the sensation constricting and foreign. As it pushed against his 7-inch cock, he felt his manhood stir, his member clearly confused about the alien sensation.

Crossing his arms, Matt leaned against the bedpost. “Maybe a little,” he replied. “After what you put me through, you gotta let me have a little bit of fun.”

James ignored him, his movements jerky as he grabbed the matching C-cup bra, eyebrow raising. “Why do I need to wear this? I don’t have tits.”

Matt chuckled to himself and casually walked over to his dresser, pulling out two bunched-up black socks and throwing them in his fugitive visitor’s direction. “Fill them with these. We can’t have you walking around flat-chested, especially after what I told my colleagues.”

James caught the socks, his scowl deepening as he reluctantly fumbled with the bra, the straps slipping awkwardly over his shoulders. He stuffed the socks into the cups, the makeshift padding creating an uneven bulge that felt absurd against his chest. Matt watched before gesturing to a floral sundress on the bed. “Now the dress.”

With a grunt, the helpless manager grabbed the dress and pulled it over his head, the material clinging to his smooth, sensitive skin. The hem dropped to his knees as the socks in his bra created a weird protrusion from his chest. The hairless man struggled into a pair of black, low-heeled shoes next, his balance faltering despite the slight one-inch incline. Matt’s grin widened, but he said nothing, pointing instead to a chair in front of a dresser mirror.

“Sit down,” Matt commanded as he pulled the chair closer. “We’re not done yet. You need a face to match.”

James sank into the chair with stiff movements, the dress pulling tight across his sock-filled chest as he faced the mirror. Matt stood beside him, picking up a makeup brush before dipping it into a palette of soft pink coloring. “Hold still,” the homeowner said, his fingers brushing James’s eyelids as the feminized man closed his eyes. The brush swept across his lids, leaving a faint shimmer, followed by mascara that thickened his lashes. Matt swiped across his subject’s cheek, giving him a rosy complexion, then moved to his lips, finishing with glossy pink lipstick, spreading it generously.

Matt stepped back and studied his work before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a cheap, wiry blonde wig, its curls tangled and stuff. He slipped it onto James’s head, adjusting it until the synthetic strands hid his reddish-brown mane. “There,” the host said, stepping aside to let James see his reflection. “It needs a little work, maybe.”

James’s eyes widened as he leaned forward and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The blonde wig hung unevenly, its strands sticking out from his scalp. The pink makeup looked like it was prepared by a five-year-old experimenting for the first time, clashing with his natural complexion, and the dress looked wrong, clinging awkwardly to his frame, the stock-stuffed bra totally unconvincing. “I look like a fucking freak!” the feminized man exclaimed, his voice sharp with disgust.

Matt nodded, his smirk turning neutral as he crossed his arms. “You’re right, James. This hasn’t worked out how I planned.” The F&B head brushed his chin with his hand, thinking deeply. “We need professional help, and I know just the person to help.”

James stood, raising an eyebrow as the heavy blush hid the humiliation in his cheeks. “Professional help? What are you talking about?”

Matt grinned knowingly, walking over to his bedroom door, pulling a long black leather coat from the hook on the back, and tossing it towards James. “You’ll see. Put that on, we’re heading out.”

The casino manager parted his glossy lips to protest, but Matt gave no room for dissent, walking out of the bedroom, giving James space to get ready.

❖

Matt knocked on his next-door neighbor’s door, the sound sharp against the quiet of the night. The porch light flickered on, casting a warm glow over the two-story house, its front door painted a bold red. The man beside Matt shifted uncomfortably, the flowery dress rustling against his thighs, the low heels unsteady on the gravel path. Matt’s eyes flickered with amusement as he waited for the door to open.

The door swung wide, revealing a figure draped in a shimmering, risqué gold- and rhinestone-embellished gown. The figure’s face was covered in dramatic makeup: bright red lipstick covering their extremely plump lips, smoky eyeshadow giving them a sultry expression, with bold blue eyeshadow reaching up to their thinly arched eyebrows. Six-inch platform heels elevated the figure as a feather boa trailed playfully over one shoulder, the epitome of an over-the-top drag queen. A sultry grin spread across their painted lips, and a voice, rich with feminine, theatrical flair, purred. “Well, darlin’, what brings you to my fabulous doorstep this evening?”

Matt chuckled, stepping forward to embrace the drag queen, his arms wrapping around the sequined figure in a warm hug. “You’re always a showstopper, Dixie,” he said warmly. “I need your help with something urgent,” he said, moving to the side. “This is James, my old boss from Gulf Star. He’s in some big trouble and needs to pass as a woman for a few weeks.”

The drag queen’s eyes sparkled with mischief, her boa twirling dramatically as she sashayed forward, sizing up James with a gasp. “Oh, honey, this is a travesty of style!” she exclaimed, her voice soaring with campy delight, a manicured hand fluttering to her oversized chest. “But fear not, darlin’, Dixie Normous is here for you. Come inside, let’s turn this caterpillar into a butterfly!”

James’s eyes widened at the scene unfolding before him as he was being led inside the home. “Dixie Normous?” he asked incredulously.

Matt chuckled lightly. “Dixie works down at the Siren’s Call gay club downtown. She’s the best drag queen performer in the city,” he explained proudly as the pair walked inside the home. “When she’s not dolled up, she’s Dixon. Dixon lives here with his husband, Paul.”

Dixie giggled, wrapping her arms around James. “But please, call me Dixie, sugar.” She led him upstairs, and they walked into an extensive walk-in closet. “I gotta be at the club in a couple hours, but that’s more than enough time to create a new you, babe.”

Dixie’s platform heels clicked as she ushered James into the closet, which had been transformed into a dazzling style haven. Mirrors lined one wall, reflecting racks of glittering costumes, while a vanity overflowed with makeup instruments, illuminated by a bright ring light. “Sir, doll,” Dixie commanded, her voice a melodious trill, pointing to a velvet-cushioned chair in the center.

As James sank into the chair, not knowing what he was getting into, Dixie turned to Matt, whispering to keep her voice out of James’s earshot. “So, what do you have in mind for our budding princess?”

Matt laughed lightly, reaching into his pocket and handing Dixie a scrap piece of paper with several attributes jotted down. “I need her just like this. Think you can make it happen?”

Dixie’s bright red talons took the paper as she stared at the roughly written contents. Her big lips curved into a wide smile as she read on. “Ohh, I love a challenge, babe,” she cooed. “Consider it done.” Dixie folded the paper up, slipping it into her heaving cleavage before turning and facing the poorly feminized man. “Let the magic begin.”

Dixie sashayed to the chair, her ass swishing as she circled the seated man. She pulled off his wig and began removing the poorly applied makeup, creating a fresh canvas to work with.

The drag queen’s fingers, tipped with glossy red acrylic nails, tossed the cloth aside and reached for a palette of creamy foundation, blending it over James’s face to smooth his features into an even canvas. “You can’t just start with the top stuff, darlin’. We need a nice, even, light-colored canvas to work with.”

Matt leaned against the doorframe, his smile widening as he internally congratulated himself on picking the best person for the job. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the arrogant James became unrecognizable.

The drag queen pulled out a pair of tweezers. She leaned in close to the seated man, carefully picking off several errant strands of his eyebrows and plucking them away. “Ouch, fuck!” James squealed, but Dixie continued with her work, carefully contouring the feminized man’s eyebrows until they formed thin, dark lines in an exaggerated feminine curve.

Dixie winked at her next-door neighbor, her painted lips curling as she applied rosy blush to James’s cheeks, carefully contouring it to present a high cheekbone appearance, giving him more defined, feminine features. “Perfection takes practice, honey,” the feminine drag queen said, working expertly on her subject’s face. “I’ll send you some videos to help you learn.” She used a black pencil to outline James’s eyelids before applying long-lasting glue to his lashes, pressing them against dark, curly lashes, transforming the casino manager’s alluring appearance.

“Do we need to do this? What did you put on my lashes?” James complained, nervous about being surrounded by such overt femininity.

“Shhhh,” Dixie said abruptly, placing a finger against the man’s lips. “When I’m done, you’ll see that it was worth it.” She layered pink glittery eyeshadow, then finished the presentation with a winged liner.

“Now, for the lips,” Dixie cooed, picking up a tube of transparent liquid and cupping James’s chin to force him to purse his lips. The drag queen liberally slathered the unknown substance over his kissers. After using half the tube, Dixie let go and stepped back. At first, James looked back in confusion before his lips exploded in an intense pins-and-needles sensation as they swelled. The feminized man was unable to see for himself, but his lips had doubled in size, giving his face a soft, effeminate appearance. “This is a non-invasive plumper, doll. You’ll need a touch-up after a few weeks, but it’s better than needles.”

James parted his lips to complain, the size feeling foreign, but Dixie shushed him again before he had the opportunity. She knelt down and traced the outline of his new lips with a dark pink lipliner before carefully painting the center with a bright pink shade. Once she had finished, she sealed the paint with a glossy finish, ensuring the color wouldn’t fade until the removal wipes were used. Dixie took a step back and smiled widely at her efforts.

Dixie clapped her hands, her boa twirling with a flourish as she gestured for James to stand. “Up, up, sugar,” she commanded. “We need to strip you of that awful getup.”

James rose from the chair. Dixie’s fingers moved, tugging the dress over the feminized man’s head, revealing the sock-stuffed bra and lacy panties. She unhooked the bra, letting it and the socks fall on the floor, chuckling exaggeratedly as they did. “Oh, honey, this won’t do if you want to be convincing,” she purred with a campy tone. “Wait here.”

Dixie brushed her bright red hair to one side as she turned to a drawer, pulling out a pair of large silicone breast forms. “Hold still, darlin’,” the drag queen said, her fingers brushing James’s smooth chest as she applied an adhesive, pressing the forms firmly against his skin before the man could complain. The weight was immediate, heavy, and ridiculous, pulling his posture slightly forward as Dixie used a brush to blend the seams with makeup. Once she had finished, the large D-cup breast forms created a realistic illusion. “There we go, a proper bosom,” she cooed as she stepped back appreciatively.

Next, Dixie produced a hairnet, her nails deftly tucking the feminized man’s light brunette hair beneath it. “We can’t have that ugly mane peeking out,” she said, her voice a playful scold as she applied a fixing solution, ensuring the net stayed secure. She reached for a luscious, wavy platinum blonde wig, with the quality of real hair, and fitted it over the hairnet, pulling it tightly until the adhesive held. After a few moments, the wig was locked in place, its soft strands framing James’s heavily made-up face, transforming his silhouette into something undeniably feminine.

The drag queen swayed over to a locked cabinet, searching intently through its contents until her heavily made-up eyes widened with glee. She pulled out a sleek, flesh-colored chastity device with the external facade giving the appearance of a realistic pussy, its design startling James. “Oh, honey, that unsightly bulge will have you found out immediately. We need to take care of that,” she purred, her voice dripping with mischief. She knelt before the man and placed his feet into the entrance holes. James resisted slightly, but he had come so far already; he knew there was no point in saying anything. The man tensed as Dixie secured the chastity cage, trapping his cock tightly within its confines, the faux pussy concealing it entirely, creating a smooth, convincing front. The sensation was constricting, invasive, his manhood rendered invisible. James felt his cock stir in its rubbery prison, but it had nowhere to go and soon gave up the attempt.

“Much better, doll,” the redhead cooed, her red nails trailing the pussy’s surface, sending a shiver through James. “Now you’re starting to look the part.”

The effeminate performer moved over to a rack as she hummed a show tune. “We need to take care of that waist, honey,” she declared, pulling out a flesh-colored waist-cinching rubber corset. She wrapped it around James’s bare midsection, her fingers firmly tightening the laces with a strength that belied her feminine appearance. Each pull constricted James’s waist until his breathing shortened, the corset sculpting a tiny, 26-inch hourglass silhouette. “Breathe shallow from now on, darlin’,” the campy drag queen teased as she locked it with a tiny padlock that hid on the underside of the corset. Dixie then blended the corset’s seams with makeup, creating a lifelike, feminine curve.

Dixie examined her work before stepping back to her inventory, her platform heels clicking as she moved to a drawer and selected a pair of semi-sheer black stockings. “Step into these, sugar,” she told him. James complied and rolled the stockings up his smooth legs, the fabric clinging tightly, prompting a shudder down the new blonde’s spine. Dixie handed him a pair of lacy black panties, their semi-transparent design provocative and slutty, and he reluctantly pulled them on, the lace hugging his new fake pussy, a complete void down his front.

Next, the drag queen produced a black half-cup bra, its 34D band size matching his breast forms. “Let’s give those girls a proper home,” she said, helping James slip the straps over his shoulders, adjusting the bra to enhance the illusion of a full, curvaceous chest. She stepped back and enjoyed the view. This may be her best work yet, she thought to herself.

Returning to the rack, Dixie pulled out a silver crop top, its shimmering fabric barely long enough to cover his slimmer midriff. “Put this on, doll,” she ordered the blonde, tossing it to him, followed by a pair of tight black booty shorts. The clothes were tight and unnatural, but James complied with the request.

Dixie pushed James back onto the chair. “Let me help you into these,” she said, bending down and slipping on a pair of four-inch silver stilettos, their pointed heels shining. There was no platform, and the heel height felt extreme to the ungraceful man. Dixie slipped on the left shoe, buckling it into place, before moving over to the right. The drag queen clapped her hands, her laugh a theatrical cackle. “Oh, honey, you should see yourself. Just one final touch.” Without warning, she carefully affixed sparkling pink acrylic nails to James’s fingers, using a ceramic glue to ensure their longevity, their tips at least one and a half inches past his fingertips.

Dixie stood up and watched the transformed man with excitement, although a look of confusion crossed her face. “Hmm, something’s missing,” she said before a light bulb turned on in her mind. “Ohh, I know.” She sashayed over to the vanity table and picked up a vial of eye drops. “Hold still, this’ll sting,” she said before dropping two drops of the solution into each of James’s eyes. She was right —they did sting; they stung like mad. Fortunately, the painful sensation was fleeting, and within moments, the fugitive’s eyesight cleared. Dixie smiled widely as she saw the effect. The eyedrops had altered the color frequency of his irises, turning them a striking, innocent blue.

The drag queen clapped her hands again, her boa fluttering as she gestured toward a full-length mirror on the closet wall. “Step up, sugar, and feast your eyes on Dixie’s masterpiece,” she purred. “You’re about to meet the new you, darling!”

James rose from the chair, his movements unsteady as the stilettos forced him to balance on his tiptoes, the tight corset constricting his breath. The feminized blonde gasped as he stepped toward the mirror, the click of his heels sounding unfamiliar to his ears as he walked on the hardwood floor. James froze as he faced his reflection, shock holding him in place. Staring back at him was a stunning blonde woman, her appearance a complete reversal of his former self. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded in soft, wavy curls past her bare shoulders, framing a face transformed by Dixie’s artistry. Striking blue eyes, wide and innocent, sparkled under long, curled lashes, their color intensified by the glittery pink eyeshadow and thin, curved eyebrows. High, contoured cheekbones glowed with rosy blush, and her lips, extremely plump and glossy pink, curved in a naturally alluring pout. The black half-cup bra lifted her impressive breasts, creating a full, inviting cleavage, while the semi-sheer stockings and booty shorts accentuated her smooth, feminine front, with no sign of an unsightly bulge beneath her fake pussy. The silver crop top barely covered her midriff, showing off the corset’s hourglass curve, blending in to give the appearance of a slim waist. Sparkling pink acrylic nails glinted as they caught the light, completing the image of a glamorous, hyper-feminine bimbo.

Matt approached, his smirk widening as he stood before the transformed figure, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he studied the reflection. “I have a confession to make. I kinda told the executive team my sister was a beauty school dropout,” he said in a taunting tone, “a total dumb girly girl who loves pink and sparkles. You turned out better than I could have ever imagined, James.”

The feminized man’s eyes remained locked on the mirror, his shock rendering him speechless as his mind reeled at the unrecognizable woman staring back. The transformation was overwhelming, each detail a stark contrast to his Playboy identity, leaving him dumbfounded.

Matt leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Say goodbye to James Harper, and hello to Jessica Turner,” he said, his words sealing the moment with finality. “No one will suspect you like this, and we can work on clearing your name.”

James continued to stand frozen, the mirror’s image burning into his consciousness. Dixie giggled as she clapped again, a theatrical laugh that filled the space. Still, the new blonde didn’t move, his gaze fixed on Jessica Turner, the young blonde he had become, his entire world upended in a single night.

End of Chapter One