Surrender to Sin (Las Vegas Syndicate Book 3)

by Michelle St. James

  Fifteen minutes after leaving the car, they entered the ground floor of the unfinished skyscraper.

  The ceilings were open, the towering structure rising far above their heads. Its beams were visible when Max looked up, but the bones disappeared into the dark somewhere above the second floor. They were cocooned in the eerie isolation of the abandoned structure, the sounds of the city muffled beyond its half completed walls.

  “Construction elevator’s back here,” Locke said quietly.

  His obvious excitement while they’d staged had done nothing for Max’s confidence in him, but now that they were here, Locke’s demeanor was serious. There was an attentiveness behind his eyes that made it clear he saw everything, catalogued everything. It was obvious that while he’d had fun setting the whole thing up, and no doubt would still get off on the danger of it all, he understood what was at stake now that the mission was in motion.

  They came to the construction elevator, a surprisingly small cage attached to iron scaffolding that stretched upward as far as Max’s eyes could see. It had been bright orange once, but the paint was peeling now, revealing patches of rusted metal.

  “Looks too small for all of us,” Farrell said.

  Locke stepped into the cage. “It’s not.”

  “If you say so.” Farrell followed him with Nico, Max and Carlos on his heels.

  Locke shut the door. “Here we go.”

  He pressed a button inside the cage and the contraption shuddered to life with an ear-shattering clang.

  “Bloody hell,” Farrell said as they creaked upward. “We’re going to be made by the rent-a-cops before we get to the second floor.”

  Locke grinned. “It sounds louder than it is, and this place is twenty-five acres. Trust me, this isn’t going to make a dent in the sound of the Strip.”

  As they climbed higher, the city came into view beyond the metal safety bars of the construction elevator. It was a world so far beyond the one Max now occupied that they might as well have been looking at Earth from the moon.

  Down there, people were walking the Strip, watching the fountain show outside the Bellagio, getting drunk and sampling the city’s casinos and strip clubs. Max wondered if he would ever be one of them again, then decided he wouldn’t.

  Too much had happened.

  The city grew smaller beneath them, the air colder as they climbed upward. Max was beginning to think the ride would never end when it clanged to a halt at the top of the tower.

  Locke opened the cage door and they stepped out onto the roof.

  “Follow my footsteps,” Locke instructed. “Foundation’s mostly in place but no sense taking chances.”

  They made their way across the roof, choosing their steps carefully behind Locke, until they came to the edge of the building that faced the Tangier.

  Max looked down at it — at the glittering dome that was its trademark, the tower that held thousands of people who didn’t know who and what Jason was, the top floor where right now Jason thought his money and power kept him safe — and felt a surge of pure hatred.

  The casino was an altar to Jason’s ego. Nothing more.

  An altar to his corrupted, twisted soul.

  Locke removed his pack and bent down to unzip it. When he straightened he was holding a small drone.

  “You sure this is going to work?” Farrell asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I don’t trust anything I can’t control with my own hands.”

  “You mean anything you can’t beat to a pulp with your own hands,” Locke said.

  “That too.”

  “You can control this with your hands.” Locke removed the remote, complete with a small screen. “It just takes a little practice, a little finesse.”

  “Finesse isn’t my strong suit,” Farrell said.

  “You don’t say.”

  Locke set the drone on the edge of the roof and straightened as he turned on the remote. They waited while he synched the drone with the remote, and a moment later, the drone fluttered to life, lifting upward with hardly a sound.

  “Go get it baby,” Locke murmured, working the remote.

  The drone disappeared into the darkness over their heads.

  Max edged closer to Locke, watching on the screen as the city’s light pulsed below. It took less than a minute for the roof of the Tangier to come into view.

  “Easy now…” Locke worked the joystick on the remote, moving the drone into a position only he understood.

  “You sure you’ll be able to get close enough?” Carlos asked.

  Locke’s eyes were glued to the screen as he maneuvered the drone. “I outfitted the drone with a pretty strong magnet. As long as I can get it within a foot of the carabiner, it should grab hold.”

  Max had no idea how Locke had managed to get the zip-line connected to the Tangier, but according to him, it was there, one end securely attached to the roof, the other waiting to be ferried across the empty space between the two buildings.

  “There you are, beautiful,” Locke said when the dangling carabiner came into sight on the screen.

  Max watched as the metal piece became bigger, the drone growing closer to it as Locke slowed it down, taking advantage of its ability to hover as he moved it into place.

  “Almost… there…” He exhaled. "There it is.”

  Max had to look closely at the grainy image on the remote to see that Locke was right, the drone was pulling the line across the space between the two buildings, proof that the carabiner had locked onto its magnet.

  Max saw the Drew’s roof come into view on the screen before he spotted the drone itself. He was almost surprised when it hovered above them, then dropped to a gentle landing on the roof next to Locke’s feet.

  The end of the cable was attached, the magnet holding onto the carabiner.

  “Jackpot,” Locke said, bending to pick up the drone. He disconnected the cable and set down the drone. “I’ll connect the cable and we’ll be good to go.”

  He walked a few feet to the corner of the roof, then flattened himself onto his stomach, his head hanging over the side. Max wasn’t afraid of heights, but he was still taken aback by the casualness with which Locke dangled his head sixty-eight stories over the asphalt below.

  How he’d gotten the connector in place on the Drew’s side was less of a mystery than the connection on the roof of the Tangier. Max assumed he’d planted it sometime in the last couple days using the same path to the roof they’d just traversed.

  Locke spent a couple minutes adjusting the cable, reaching into the bag next to him now and then for tools to adjust the tension on the line. A few minutes later, he jumped to his feet and brushed off his gloved hands.

  “Let’s get the comms equipment online,” Nico said.

  He reached into his pack and handed out the small earpieces and mics that would act as their communication system once they were inside the Tangier. They did a quick test to make sure everything worked, and Locke started for the corner of the roof.

  “Now for the fun part.” He reached into his bag and removed a handful of nylon that Max knew were harnesses for the line.

  “How do we know it’s secure?” Carlos asked.

  Locke grinned. “Because I’m going first.” He handed them each a harness. “Put these on now, while I’m here to make sure they’re attached right.”

  They watched him put on his harness and mimicked his movements, stepping into the leg holes, buckling the waist strap. When they were done, he stopped in front of each of them, testing the buckles and straps.

  “Looks good.” He sat on the edge of the roof. “You’re going to have to get down to see how the harness attaches to the line since I won’t be here to hook on for you.”

  “What if we make a mistake?” Max said.

  Locke shrugged. “I can go last if you want, but then one of you will have to be the first one over.”

  “No, thanks,” Farrell said, getting down on his stomach.

  Nico, Carl
os, and Max followed suit, watching as Locke slid off the roof, landing lightly on a one foot ledge below.

  Max dared a look down and felt the world tilt. He refocused his eyes on Locke as he clipped a nylon strap attached to his harness to the zip-line, explaining as he went how to make sure it was secure, how to keep themselves upright as they zipped over the chasm below, how to slow their approach when they got close to the Tangier.

  It was easier than Max would have thought to propel yourself hundreds of feet above the ground with only a few straps of nylon and a length of aircraft wire.

  “You guys got it?” Locke asked without looking at them.

  “We’ve got it,” Nico said.

  “Then yippee-kai-yay, motherfuckers.”

  He let go all at once and immediately flew away from them, the sound of the trolley wheels receding as he got smaller. They were on the dark side of the Drew — the side off the Strip — but the lights from the city still made it possible for them to track Locke’s figure until he got about halfway between the two hotels.

  When he disappeared into the darkness, Max jumped to his feet and pulled the binoculars from his pack.

  Locke appeared in the lenses, scrambling up to the roof of the Tangier from a ledge similar to the one he’d used to launch himself from the Drew. He turned and gave a thumbs up, grinning like a fucking idiot.

  “He’s good,” Max said. “I’ll go next.”

  He sat on the edge of the roof before he had time to think too hard about what he was doing. The ledge felt wider than it had looked from above — not roomy by any means, but he didn’t have the sense that he was in danger of toppling off it.

  He held onto the line with one hand and reached up with the strap in his other. Locke had left four cable trolleys behind to avoid having to send one back and forth, and Max clipped onto the next one in line, tugging to make sure it was secure.

  “Ready?” Nico asked from the roof.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Max positioned his hands the way Locke had shown them. “See you on the other side.”

  He kicked off the roof.

  Twenty-Nine

  Abby looked at the city lights, thinking of Max, hoping he felt her love. She was stretched out on a lounge chair, a full glass of wine next to her on the terrace. She’d thought it might settle her nerves, but the first sip immediately soured in her stomach.

  She hadn’t bothered trying to watch a movie or read a book. She knew instinctively there would be no point.

  All she could think about was Max.

  She’d grabbed the blanket off the couch and headed for the terrace, as close as she could get to him without being downtown.

  She thought of her father, wondered if he was out there somewhere, if he could see or feel her.

  “Watch out for him, Dad,” she murmured.

  She’d never been sure she believed in life after death — in anything after death. Life itself had been too much of a struggle to lose any sleep over what happened when it was over.

  But since her father’s death she’d found comfort in thinking he continued somehow. Maybe not in the woo-woo ghost way some people believed, but in the form of energy, his soul or consciousness or whatever the spiritual school du jour preached.

  Sometimes she was sure she heard his voice — that combination of gruffness and tenderness that in the months he’d been sober had replaced his drunken bite — calling her name. Other times, it was more a feeling, like being in the same house with someone who was in the other room. You couldn’t see them, you might not even be able to hear them, but you knew they were there, could feel their presence like a current of energy.

  It suddenly hadn’t seemed so crazy to think he was out there, although she was willing to admit it might be wishful thinking.

  She was startled by the ring of her phone. Her heart beat faster as she reached for it, a response that wasn’t helped when she saw the name on the screen.

  Angel Vitale.

  Was Angel calling to tell her something had gone wrong? Was that how things worked in the Syndicate? Instead of uniformed officers at the door or official-sounding voices on the other end of the phone, you got a call from the wife of Nico Vitale?

  “Hello."

  “Abby, hi,” Angel said. She hurried to continue. “Please don’t worry. I’m just calling to check on you.”

  Abby exhaled. “Thank god. I saw your name and…” She couldn’t finish the thought. It felt too much like a curse.

  “I’m sorry.” Sympathy shaded Angel’s voice. “I hesitated to call for that reason, but I thought you might need a friend.”

  “I could definitely use a friend,” Abby said, leaning back against the lounge chair.

  “You’ve had a rough few weeks,” Angel said. “A rough few months.”

  Abby sighed. “I guess so.”

  “I was so sorry to hear about your dad.” Angel hesitated. “I lost mine in a similar way. It was…” Abby heard her inhale on the other end of the line. “It was hard.”

  “Your father was killed?” Abby couldn’t help the morbid curiosity that sprang to life in her mind. Had the death of Angel’s father been related to the Syndicate?

  “He was,” she said quietly. “And the circumstances were… difficult. It took me a long time to reconcile everything. To find some kind of peace.”

  “Peace seems a long way off right now,” Abby admitted.

  “And that’s fine,” Angel said firmly. “There’s no time limit on grief. It’s important to really process those feelings, I think, not to gloss over them because you feel pressured to move on.”

  Abby knew all about feeling pressured to move on, had spent most of her life trying to move on. Maybe if she hadn’t — if she’d taken the time to confront her feelings about her past, to confront her father before it was too late — she would be sleeping better at night now.

  “You’re right,” Abby said. “I’m really going to try and do that.”

  “How are you holding up tonight?” Angel asked.

  Abby swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat as she thought about Max, at this very moment on his way into the Tangier to face down Jason and his guards.

  “I’m not sure how to answer that,” Abby said.

  Angel sighed. “It’s the worst part about loving one of these men. There are so many wonderful things, but this one really sucks.”

  Abby laughed in spite of herself. The words sounded almost crass coming from the woman on the other end of the phone, and Abby had to remind herself that Angel wasn’t much older than her, that according to Max, she’d been born and raised in Boston, not in the villa in Rome where she now lived with Nico.

  “I take it you have more than your share of experience with it then?”

  “You have no idea,” Angel said. “It’s been challenging to bring each territory under control. A lot of the men got used to operating without guidelines, and Nico has more guidelines than Raneiro had. They weren’t all happy to be brought to heel.”

  Abby thought about the trouble in Vegas — Jason and Fredo and the months and months Nico had spent traveling back and forth, trying to help Max, getting shot — and multiplied it by however many times they’d done it before.

  “I’m surprised you’re still sane,” Abby said.

  Angel laughed softly. “Who said I’m sane?”

  Abby smiled. “I trust Nico and Farrell, and even Carlos, although I don’t know him very well.”

  “I notice you left Locke out.”

  Abby could almost hear the grin in Angel’s voice.

  “He came into the situation pretty late,” Abby said.

  “He’s a good guy,” Angel said. “Unconventional, which is why he runs his own operation, but really helpful when you need an out-of-the-box thinker.”

  “So I was told when Max explained how they’re zip-lining hundreds of feet above the street to get into the Tangier.”

  “Oh, they’ll pretend not to like that,” Angel said, “but tr
ust me — they’ll want to go again like kids at Disneyland.”

  Abby laughed softly. “You’re probably right.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” Angel said. “And to remind you that you have a friend if you ever need to talk. Eventually you’ll get to meet Jenna and Charlotte and Isabel. In the meantime, I hope you’ll feel free to call me anytime.”

  “I appreciate that. Any advice on getting through tonight?”

  Angel hesitated. “When I’m scared, I try to remember how much Nico loves me. It might sound silly, because it’s not like that offers him superhuman protection.”

  “Then why does it help?” Abby asked.

  “Because I know Nico will do anything to get home. To get back to me.”

  Abby exhaled, the tension in her body allowing for the slightest bit of hope. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. When this is all over, come to Rome. I’ll stuff you full of pasta and you can sleep for days.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” Abby said.

  “Talk soon.”

  The line went dead and Abby set down her phone and trained her eyes on the city in the distance.

  Come home, Max.

  Come back to me.

  Thirty

  Max stood on the roof of the Tangier and watched as Nico, Farrell, and Carlos made their way across the line. It went off without a hitch, just like Locke had promised, except for one hair-raising second when Carlos teetered on the ledge of the Drew before hooking onto the line.

  “Tell me that wasn’t the ride of a lifetime,” Locke said when they’d all scrambled onto the roof.

  “Fuck you,” Carlos said.

  Locke laughed.

  “Let’s go,” Nico said, heading across the roof, his eyes on the ground as he searched for the airshafts and stairwells on the building plans.

  “There.” Max shone the flashlight of his cell phone onto a grate in the roof.

  “Which means the stairs are…” Farrell moved to the left of the grate and walked a few feet, stopping in front of a door that jutted up from the roof. “Here.”