by Hayden Ash
Revenge in Vegas
Sequel to Revenge in Daytona
Hayden Ash
Copyright © 2019 by Hayden Ash
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Lindsey I
Rob I
Lindsey II
Rob II
Lindsey III
Rob III
Lindsey IV
Rob IV
Epilogue
THE END! FOR NOW…
Also by Hayden Ash
About the Author
Lindsey I
I look up at the MGM GRAND sign, and it looks like its melting and is going to pour gold lava on top of me. Holy shit, I’m really fucked out of my fucking mind right now.
I lie back on this clear inner tube I rented and allow the beating sun to drip its light onto my pale skin. I don’t want to tan, I want to burn.
Summer is talking with a couple of blonde guys over in one of the cabanas. One is touching her shoulder, and the other is rubbing her back, and it’s all a little too aggressive, or maybe I’m just paranoid because of the edibles I’ve been gobbling up like candies. Either way she seems happy about it so fuck it.
A random guy wades over to my inner tube and taps on my shoulder over and over until I finally decide to look at him.
“What’s up, I…”
“Fuck off,” I say, turning away from him before he can finish his sentence.
“I was just going to invite you to my penthouse tonight,” he says.
“Not interested,” I tell him. “Plus, I can tell by your L.L.Bean swimming trunks that you definitely don’t have a penthouse, so I probably wouldn’t try to use that as a pickup line.”
“Fucking bitch…” he says weakly, so embarrassed he’s almost in tears.
I know it’s hard on guys—they constantly have to put themselves out there. But, I’m a bitch and thems just the breaks.
I look down at my arm and notice that the concealer that Summer gave me to cover up my cuts is soaking off into the water. Dumb bitch, I should have known this would happen. Now, nosy idiots are going to be coming up to me all god damn day, asking me if I’m ok, and if I made these cuts myself, and if I need someone to talk to. It probably won’t matter, though, because I can barely form sentences right now. Shit, I need another drink.
I swim over to me and Summer’s cabana, flip on my back, and take off my bikini top so I can get rid of these damn tan lines and stop looking so much like a Florida whore.
“Ma’am, would you like to order another drink?” A waiter asks me.
“Abso…um, abso…shit…abso...absolutely!”
Rob I
“You’re a good boy, Robbie, you just don’t know it!” My uncle tells me as an effing hot waitress puts our glasses of Sauvignon Blanc on the table. She’s exotic—some kind of mix with tan skin and blue eyes, not really my type but absolutely stunning.
“Don’t call me Robbie, Uncle Jerry,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not five,” I say. “I’m twenty-one or don’t you remember that’s why you invited me on this little trip?”
“Ah, yes, well, I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve been to Vegas…”
“Sure isn’t!” I say exuberantly, ignoring my uncle’s attempt to making me feel guilty about my reckless life choices.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt you all!” The waitress says. “But, has anyone told you that you look just like Ed Westwick?”
“All the time,” I tell her. “I still don’t know who the fuckin’ guy is…probably should look that up to see if it’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Oh, definitely a compliment,” she says, putting emphasis on the word “compliment.”
“I’m honored you think so, then,” I smile. “You’re quite fetching yourself!”
“Don’t buy into the ‘nice guy act,’ sweetheart,” Uncle Jerry cuts in and tells the waitress.
“Why?” She asks.
“My dear, sweet uncle seems to believe that I lack the ability to be nice to other people,” I inform her.
“Why does the word ‘sweet’ sound like such an insult coming out of your mouth?” My uncle asks me.
I simply smirk at him and raise my glass for a toast.
“To my twenty-first birthday!” I yell triumphantly.
“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to say that?”
“Just shut up and raise your glass,” I tell him.
“Well, I’ll leave you all to it!” The waitress says, staring at me intensely, even turning back again to look at me as she walks away.
“Excuse me, Uncle,” I say and get up from the table.
“Rob, c’mon, they’re about to bring our food out!”
“I don’t get hungry. Or, don’t you remember, cocaine kills the appetite,” I say, intentionally antagonizing him.
“Please, Rob…” my uncle pleads with me.
Reluctantly, I sit back down, roll my eyes, and down the glass of wine in one gulp. It’s going to be a long trip...
Lindsey II
“Jesus, Summer,” I say as I watch my best friend almost burn her scalp with a straightening iron.
“Fuck, I’ve never done this so drunk…” She stutters.
“Yeah, well, it’s Vegas. Can’t be rolling up looking like crap like you do back in Columbus,” I remind her.
“Fuck you,” she says casually. “Speaking of Columbus, when is Zac getting here?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” I tell her.
“Spoken like a truly loving wife!”
“We’re not married yet,” I say.
“Oh, wow, one whole day!” Summer laughs as she comes within a fourth inch of burning herself again.
“A lot can happen in a day…”
“Lindsey…” Summer says, managing to be serious somehow despite her inebriation.
“What?”
“Don’t be a bitch, ok? I want this for you, and I know you want it. Don’t ruin this for yourself…”
“I know, Summer,” I sigh. “I know.”
A couple of hours later, we’re head down the elevator and hop into a cab to take us to the SLS—to eat at a restaurant that specializes in cooking with black truffles, which happens to be my favorite. I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of this meal because when it’s over then I’m probably going to have to see my fiancé and I’m dreading it.
I stare out at the window of the taxicab, getting lost in the lights and lamenting that I’m not twenty-one yet and so can’t blow all my money gambling. There’s something about this city that resonates with me. Maybe, it’s the way that it seems smaller every time you visit, and, yet, it doesn’t mind this fact: it embraces it. Vegas is just Vegas. It isn’t trying to be anything it’s not. It’s a place to sin and be sinned against. It’s a city where people go to throw away all the goodness in them.
The taxi pulls up to the restaurant’s entrance to the SLS, and as we get out, Summer drunkenly stumbles and falls to the ground. I speed past her as quickly as I can, embarrassed as all hell of her, and, simultaneously, try not to fall myself because I’m pretty fucked up already too and I really want those fucking truffles.
Rob II
I walk into the bathroom of the penthouse suite that my uncle got for us and spread a line of cocaine on
the marble counter. From the other side of the door, I can hear my uncle on the phone, arguing with a hostess at a restaurant at Bazaar Meat by José Andrés over at the SLS. Apparently, they’re booked solid for the entire week and my uncle, infuriated, is threatening to get her fired, throwing in her face the fact that he knows José Andrés personally.
I snort the line of coke and then look up at myself in the mirror, which is always the worst part of doing drugs—when you have to look at yourself. Then, I sit on the floor and turn on the shower because I like the feel of the water suffocating me with its steam.
“You alright in there, good buddy?” Uncle Jerry asks.
“Peachy!” I yell over to him.
“Ok, good. I got us a reservation, but we need to leave now.”
“Uh, I need a few minutes,” I say.
I took some things before taking the cocaine, and I can already tell they’re not going to mix well.
“Fuck you—we don’t have time for your shenanigans. I’ve been dying to take you this restaurant for ages!”
“Fuck me? I guess, maybe, we are related after all!” I laugh.
We take the elevator all the way down to the main floor of the hotel and then hop into the limousine waiting for us just outside the main entrance.
“You’re high, aren’t you?” My uncle asks about a minute into the ride over to the SLS.
“I was high when you took me to Disneyworld when I was thirteen, and now I’m twenty-one, and it’s Vegas so yes, my dear, sweet uncle. I am very high.”
“It’s crazy, boy, how little you are like your dad. How a timid sap like him had a son like you, I’ll never know.”
“I told you, Jerry, I only have one fucking rule, and that’s not to fucking talk about my father!” I growl at him.
We pull up to the restaurant’s entrance at the SLS, and as I step out, I see one of the most gorgeous creatures I’ve ever seen. She’s got jet black hair and some other color that I don’t know the name of and has huge doe-eyed blue eyes. There’s something about her that’s so…wild. I’m stunned by her. I can’t move.
“Hurry up, boy!” My uncle says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the restaurant.
“Hold on…”
“No!”
“Hold the fuck on!” I bark at him under my breath. “Go inside, Uncle Jerry. I’ll join you. I promise.”
“Ok,” he says, understanding, perhaps in my eyes, that I really do need a second.
After he leaves, I just continue to stand in the middle of the walkway leading into the restaurant. I’m watching her, this raven-haired girl, as she stands around, clutching her purse, and holding her drunk friend up from falling over. I want to talk to her, but I can’t find the words. I’m actually nervous. I’m so unfamiliar with the feeling that it scares the hell out of me and so as I see her and her friend walk into the restaurant, I get back into the limousine so I can go home and take more drugs to make this feeling go away.
Lindsey III
After dinner with Summer, I walk into Skybar at the top of the Waldorf Astoria to meet my fiancé for a drink.
I sit at one of the open chairs at the bar and order a beer, which confuses and, oddly, enrages the bartender. Apparently, this isn’t the sort of bar that people go for beers, but they have them so clearly someone must be ordering them, and I don’t appreciate this asshole trying to make me feel like white trash.
“Where are you coming from?” He asks so much judgment and contempt in his voice.
“Riding your father’s cock,” I tell him casually.
Then, my fiancé finally arrives and obnoxiously kisses me on the cheek as he sits down next to me.
“Hello there, Zachary,” I say to him.
“Why does my name sound like a bad word coming out of your mouth?”
“Guilt on your part, probably,” I say, taking a sip of my beer.
“What am I guilty about?” He asks me.
“Oh, you know, nothing. Just fucking my sister a week ago,” I tell him.
“I didn’t fuck Dani!” he yells defensively.
A few women sitting next to us look over at us. They seem concerned that my fiancé is a psychopath and they’re right to worry about this.
“Mind your fucking business,” Zac says to them. “Listen, Lindz,”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, anger all over my voice. “And don’t call my sister, Dani, either. I don’t know why that matters to me at this point, but it does.”
“Fine,” he says. “I just want to get through this wedding, ok?”
“Get through the wedding? Wow, you take asshole to new levels.”
“Look, you’re going to find out anyway, but I proposed to Danielle a few weeks ago. Obviously, she said no, which is why I’m here,” he says with no trace of empathy in his voice. “There, it’s out in the open. Either we can move forward or we can’t, but if we can’t let me know so I can cancel with the…”
“We can move forward!” I say, smiling. “You all have history. It’s to be expected that you’d have cold feet and want to get back with her. If you say you still want to marry me, then I believe you.”
“Really?” He asks, not quite believing me but clearly wanting to.
“I am. I don’t want to ruin this good thing.”
“Me neither, and I really am sorry. I know that doesn’t make up for it but, yeah…I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” I say, but don’t really mean it and soon he’s going to find that out in a way he’ll never fucking forget.
Rob III
I look at the blonde lying on the bed with ankles firmly touching her shoulders, and for some reason, I start crying. I’ve been here a thousand times before, so why am I struggling so much right now?
“What the fuck is the matter?” She asks, annoyed. “You’re aware you’re paying me by the half-hour?”
“Just get the fuck out,” I tell her, turning around so she can’t see my tears.
“Not without getting paid you little asshole,” she says.
“It’s on the fucking counter. Now get the fuck out!”
“Whatever…faggot!” She says shrilly.
After she leaves, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wallpaper across from me, while my sight becomes fragmented in glassy fucking tears. Right now, my uncle is somewhere off the strip at a Japanese lighting festival. Even after ditching him at the restaurant, he still texted me and found it him to beg me to join him at the park for the festival…the sweet fuck.
I pour myself some costly liquor even for me, swallow it down in one gulp, and fall back onto the bed—contemplating how everything’s gone wrong even at twenty-one. But through the sadness, one image keeps repeating itself in my mind. That girl. And suddenly I’m filled with new hope and lightness that I haven’t felt in since I was a kid and was sure I’d never feel again.
But, in my cowardice, I had let her go, succumbing to nerves.
So, instead, I just smoke a cigarette outside and watch The Strip for a while and then go downstairs to get a drink.
Lindsey IV
Zac leaves downstairs to the main floor of the hotel to gamble with his loser friends. I keep worrying that the condemning bartender will decide to rerun my fake id just to be an asshole. But, I don’t spend much time on them though, because I have to plan.
As I’m plotting how to get my revenge, my sister, Danielle, calls me. It’s been months since we’ve spoken…in fact, I don’t think I’ve talked to her since Daytona. I grip the phone tightly, trying to crush it although I’m not very strong. But, finally, I answer.
“What?”
“Hi…”
“What do you want, Danielle?”
“Lindsey, I miss you. And, well, you’re the only sister I’ve got. And I’m the only one you’ve got. I want to come to your wedding.”
“No fucking way.”
“Tell me why…”
“Because, you bitch, you fucked my FUCKING HUSBAND!”
&
nbsp; “…fucking Summer,” my sister says, and then I hang up in her face and start to cry, getting some of my tears into my seventh beer.
As I gulp down the beer, I smell the scent of cologne directly behind me. It smells like it belongs to a typical rich-douchebag, and I prepare to exit the conversation as I turn to enter it, but am surprised because the guy is actually really, fucking handsome.
“I…um,” he stutters.
“You’re…?”
“I’m Rob,” he says, nervously extending his hand to me.
“You’re shaking,” I tell him as I shake his hand.
“I know. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m never like this. I’ve actually been called pretty smooth, actually, almost too-smooth.”
“Sure you have, buddy,” I say, turning around to order another beer.
“I saw you earlier…with your friend,” Rob tells me.
“What?”
“Shit, I know that sounds creepy. But, I just meant I was too nervous to talk to you. There’s something about you that makes me…”
“A pussy?” I ask.
“Feel like for the first time I have something to lose.”
“Wow, that was a pretty smooth line.”
“It’s not a line,” he says.
“I weirdly believe you,” I say. “Here, take a seat next to me. I won’t bite you.”
Rob sits next to me. His cologne is intoxicating, and I scoot my chair closer towards him. He doesn’t flinch at all, and his dark eyes invite me even closer. Maybe, he was right. Maybe he is actually a smooth guy.
