High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1)

by Ellis Daniels, May

  But this? This is different.

  This is like a flood, a raging torrent bursting over a dam, a force of nature, and I have to wonder if this is the consequence of keeping my lion chained up for so long? Is this my own fault?

  I hit the last light outside Vegas and floor the Rover. The engine doesn’t make a sound. I swapped out the gas guzzler for an electric prototype Blue Line’s testing. There’s no fuel to burn through, so the engine gets a jolt of instant power as soon as I press the pedal, shooting the SUV forward.

  My cell phone’s on the passenger seat, ringing, but I barely hear it over the sound of blood pounding in my ears. My hands are getting thicker. Fine blonde hair springs up along my arms. I tear past a group of cyclists, scaring the shit out of them because they didn’t hear me approach.

  I don’t have long before my animal breaks free, pushing me outside my conscious mind. I’ll be a fucking lion trapped in an SUV going a hundred forty miles an hour—

  That’s not the worst of it. The Wildblood Council will scent me out. Uncontrolled animals are quickly and quietly culled. There is absolutely no leniency for Wildbloods who lack self-control. It’s been that way for centuries. Ever since the first jackass wolves started going all feral on the Northern Europeans and the human began the hunts—

  That’s why Blake’s always on edge. He’s a loose cannon. Which is funny, because here I am, Mr. Stable, the calm brother, the diligent, upright brother—losing my shit.

  I glance at the GPS map. Three more miles, then a right onto a dirt road.

  I might make it.

  But I’m worried about the girl. Summer Mason. If the cabbie drops her off out here and I’m in my animal…she’ll be prey. I won’t even remember who she is. I’ll simply scent her warm blood—

  I slow, then crank the wheel and turn, sending the Rover into a long four-wheel slide that almost puts me in the ditch. A rumbling chuff escapes my lips. The sound terrifies me. I slam the Rover into gear and punch it down the dirt road. The road’s washboards and ruts are so deep I bottom the suspension and nearly slam into the ceiling.

  Then the pain starts for real. Worse than I remember. A grinding heat way down in my hips that spreads to my lower back. I feel him now, his animal instincts overpowering my rational mind. My vision changes. Colors bleed and blur. I lose some of the red and violet spectrum and pick up blues and greens. The red sandstone hills darken.

  But the air is alive with scent. The animals that passed across the road in the night. The reek of greed and corruption from the city. Even the light has a quality of scent to it, the morning sun damp in my nose—

  Another flash of pain, this one in my jaw, and when I open my mouth to scream blood leaks from my lips.

  I whip the Rover out of a dry wash and up a sharp crest.

  Then I see them.

  A group of gangbanger-type guys out for some shooting practice. Their Glocks popping off at the beer bottles set up against a berm of dirt and sand. They turn as I bear down on them. Shit. One of their cars is jackknifed across the narrow track. I crank on the wheel, sending the Rover ploughing across the desert. The bangers hoot and holler, waving their guns as I blast by, sending a billowing dust cloud over them.

  Get the fuck away. Get the fuck away you idiots—

  The Rover crashes through creosote bush, tumbleweed and cholla cactus. The pain intensifies around the base of my spine, then shoots through each limb. I scream again, and this time the sound quickly becomes a tremendous roar.

  They say a lion’s roar can be heard for over five miles.

  That means the gangbangers heard that.

  Their deaths are on them if they get snoopy and come investigate—

  I check the GPS. Another mile and the road ends and I’ll be a few hundred yards away from the Red Rock canyons. I hope my animal has the sense to flee into the shaded canyons and stay out of sight. If the Council comes hunting—

  I lose the thought as a splitting pain bursts through my skull. More blood spills from my mouth. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to keep the lion caged. The motherfucker. All this time. I’ve been working and keeping my head down. Almost had myself fooled about what and who I am. But he was there. Lurking inside me every step of the way. Laughing at my delusion of control.

  I envy the humans and their dull lives.

  Nothing’s worth this pain—

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SUMMER

  THE CABBIE DRIVES me north to the outskirts of Vegas without saying a word. Here the wide, palm tree lined boulevards return; the houses are roofed in clay tile and hidden behind twelve-foot tall stone fences and wrought-iron gates. The shopping malls are full of gleaming luxury vehicles and everyone looks well shopped and well fed—

  “Stop the car,” I say.

  The cabbie looks at me in the rear-view.

  “I said stop the fucking car.”

  “You sure you want me to do that?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it—twice—if I wasn’t sure.”

  The cabbie slows to the curb. I pop open the back door and am about to hop out when something stops me. I can’t say what exactly. It’s like I hear something. A roar. I could almost mistake it for a diesel truck growling up a hill. But it’s not a truck.

  It’s an animal.

  Blake’s mouth widening, revealing row after row of sharp teeth. Only not teeth. Fangs. Like an animal’s.

  What the fuck’s happening to me?

  “Miss?”

  The cabbie.

  “Tell me who gave you that phone and sent you to collect me.”

  The cabbie shrugs. “The desk clerk at Savannah’s handed me an envelope. Look. I get paid—”

  “I know, I know. Whether I go with you or not.”

  Could be Blake making good on his promise to hunt me down. Could be Landon, although I can’t imagine why. Could be some kind of pig sting aimed at getting me somewhere isolated so they know I can’t run.

  I stare at the sidewalk. A yuppie-looking dude wearing a hip-belt jogs past, blabbing into an ear phone. Which reminds me. I take out my phone. I should text someone. Tell them where I am. It takes me a minute to decide who, but then I fire the text to Alfie. Jay’s missing. Vito’s a wreck. Maya? Who the fuck knows if I can trust her or not.

  Alfie gets back almost instantly with a question about where I’m going.

  I wish I knew.

  Just having a friend out there eases my mind a little. I’ve been getting ahead of myself. Allowing pessimism to take over. Whoever put those cameras in my apartment doesn’t want me dead. At least not quite yet. Otherwise I’d already be coyote food.

  The roaring sound’s still ringing in my ears. There’s a whole lot of strange shit going on inside me. Exhaustion. Fear. Horror. And a weird kind of…attraction. But how can you be attracted to something if you don’t even know what it is? Maybe there’s some subconscious shit bubbling up in me.

  But whatever’s going on, my cheeks are flushed and my skin’s tingling, and for some reason I start thinking of Landon Stone. His eyes, that soft hazel with gold speckles that seemed to caress me. His impeccably messy surfer hair. How stunning he looked in that suit. How powerful his hands felt on my shoulders, commanding and supportive at the same time. How weak my legs were. I blamed it on having nearly been strangled. But there was more going on.

  I swallow hard. Shit.

  What the hell, Summer?

  The cabbie’s staring at me in the rear-view.

  Okay, I tell myself, thinking as rationally as possible. Landon’s hot. No big thing. Totally normal to be thinking of him. Especially with all the drama, and before the cabbie pulled up I was about to storm into Landon’s office and demand to know where Jay is.

  So I was already thinking about the rich asshole.

  And now we’re apparently driving into the desert. Which is where lifelong grifters get shot twice in the head and buried under a foot of sand so when the cops find your body it’s been partially consumed—


  I reach my hand inside my bag and brush my fingers across Layla.

  The motherfucker.

  He must’ve had Blake let me go in the alley so he could deal with me later, without the potential witnesses. But why the phone message and the pictures? Why not do what they usually do, which is send a beater van and four meatheads—

  Then something really freaky happens.

  I start to tremble all over, not violently but enough to get me worried. I snatch my hand out of the bag, afraid of what I might do with Layla. The tremors ripple over me and then the world right in front of my eyes starts to fade. I’m moving through dense brush, deep into the coolness of a mountain canyon, searching for water and prey. Smells of sage and juniper. I scent where a cougar crossed the wash earlier that morning. There’s a group of bighorns resting beneath a cliff on the ridge ahead. I sniff the air, unsettled by the close scent of humans. Then I’m moving, soundless through the red-blue canyons, thirsty for blood—

  ***

  “Miss? Miss?”

  My eyes sliver open.

  I’m laid out flat on the already-baking sidewalk. My head’s pounding. There’s a bitter coppery taste in my mouth.

  Blood. The lion fed.

  What? I shake my head, close my eyes against the blinding light. Who fed? What blood? I had some kind of seizure. A stress-related panic attack that knocked me on my ass. Maybe I bit my tongue during the fall. That would explain the taste of blood—

  “Miss you gotta get up. C’mon now. Get up and outta the sun.”

  I let the cabbie slide his hands under my shoulders. He’s muttering about something being worth the money. I get my legs under me and allow the cabbie to drag me into the back seat. A woman yells that he needs to take me to the hospital.

  She’s probably right. Something’s not right in my head.

  I manage to sit up and swallow hard, trying to get rid of the blood taste fouling my mouth. “You got any water?” I ask the cabbie.

  He tips his Panama hat back and hands me a bottle. “It’s tap water.”

  “Look like I care?”

  I drink thirstily, polishing off the bottle.

  “Sorry,” I say, meaning it.

  The cabbie shrugs. “You an epileptic?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Huh. My nephew is. What you had…it looked a bit like that.”

  “I think I fainted is all.”

  He fires me a yeah-right glance. “From the heat? It’s hot for this early.”

  “From hunger.”

  He stiffens. Digs in a bag beside him. Hands me an orange. “That’s all I got.”

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  There’s a long silence as I peel the orange. The citrus smell seems really…strong in my nose. Layered. Almost like I’m smelling it for the first time. Popping a piece in my mouth, I try and remember what happened. But all I’m left with is that strange feeling of attraction. Okay, fuck it. Lets call it what it is. It was arousal. I was suddenly, overpoweringly horny—

  “Let’s get going,” I say.

  “Where?”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Into the desert,” the cabbie says, a note of worry creeping into his voice. I decide he’s an all right guy.

  “Into the desert? Huh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  The cabbie takes off his hat, spins it in hands nervously.

  “All right,” I say, texting Alfie. “Let’s drive.”

  ***

  The cab comes to a halt at a sandy wash that’s too rutted to cross.

  “End of the line, miss,” the cabbie says.

  “There’s no one here.”

  “Instructions said to go as far as I could then have you walk the rest.”

  “What do you do when I get out?”

  “I leave.”

  “You can’t do that,” I say, real quiet, holding up my busted pinky finger. “You see this? It happened early this morning. There’s a good chance the guy who sent me the message is the same one who did this. You want to leave me out here alone with the kind of person who would snap a girl’s finger without a second thought?”

  “I been paid.”

  The cabbie starts doing a ten-point turn to get the car flipped around in the wash. The car nearly gets stuck in the sandy ruts. The cabbie’s sweating now, cursing under his breath, hitting the gas hard, spinning the front tires. I’m getting tossed around in back, feeling like I’m about to puke.

  “How much he pay you?” I say, rummaging through my backpack. “I have…twenty…no…twenty-four bucks…”

  “I guess I could take your money, tell you I’m going to stay, and when you get out take off.”

  “But you won’t do that.”

  “Nah. All I’m gunna say is: you don’t have enough.”

  “Shocker.”

  The cabbie almost smiles.

  I kick open the door.

  “Can I say something?” the cabbie asks. “It’s none of my business. But if I were you, I’d tuck that firearm you got hidden in my belt and keep my hand on it.”

  “Thanks,” I say, stepping into the blazing late-morning sun. The cab rolls slowly down the dirt road, leaving me alone with the wind and the falcons screeching overhead. There are a few Joshua trees scattered about, and we’re close enough to the highway for there to be bits of plastic garbage impaled on their spiked limbs. The garbage flutters in the wind, making a sound that feels lonely. I can’t say I’ve even been a real fan of the outdoors. Too much shit that can sting and bite and scratch.

  Then a thought hits me. It’s Wednesday. I have a shift beginning at two. It must be almost eleven now. I’m at least an hour out of town. So I’m going to be late for my shitty job. I can’t afford to miss another shift.

  I take my phone out. No reception.

  Hold it up in air and spin slowly. Nothing.

  But my calendar does kick on and beep—

  “Fuck. Tomorrow’s my monthly parole meeting.”

  The thought makes my gut churn.

  South, I can see the Vegas smog rising above a line of sandy, barren hills. The hills are carved with roads and pits. Some kind of mine. But here I think we’re in the Bureau of Land Management Land. No development allowed. There’s nothing but empty desert clear to the huge sandstone mountains rising behind me. I stare into the shadowed canyons as the wind picks up, driving sand into my face, then shoulder my backpack and get moving.

  That’s where I’m going.

  Whoever called me out here is somewhere in those canyons.

  Waiting.

  ***

  I walk about a mile before I spot the orange Range Rover. It’s an odd color. Too hipster for its own good. There’s a logo on the driver door, a blue line with a circle resting over it, like some kind of hieroglyph. I set my hand on the butt of my gun and pause, listening, scanning the truck and the nearby desert.

  The truck seems deserted. Weird.

  Wind whips around my hair. Black clouds are building over the red rock cliffs and canyons. Thundershowers. I’m gunna get soaked pretty quick.

  My mouth’s so dry, from fear and thirst, that I can barely swallow.

  What the fuck am I doing out here?

  Then I hear something. The wind? No. I strain to listen.

  Sounds like…moaning.

  I slip Layla from my belt. Click the safety off.

  At least she’s ready to party.

  Take a step forward. Then another.

  I’m about ten yards from the Rover. The moaning’s coming from behind the truck. It’s a trap. It’s gotta be. A furious gust of wind whips my hair into my eyes, momentarily blinding me. I reach up and pull the errant strands down so I can see, then glance out into the desert.

  Something’s moving out there. Maybe a mile off.

  Coming down from the hills—

  Quickly.

  A bolt of blind, irrational fear grips me, similar to the terror I felt when looking into Blake Stone’s murderous eyes
. I glance at the Rover. The keys are inside. I could hop in. Fire the truck up—

  “…help…”

  From behind the Rover.

  Then a thought hits me.

  Shit sakes. It’s Jay.

  It has to be.

  They sent me out here to find Jay all beat up, his fingers cut off and stuffed in his mouth—

  I clamp my jaw closed. No way I should have come out here. What the fuck, Summer? I’m no good at this cowboy bullshit. Fucking desert. Fucking outdoors. Fucking wind and sand and—

  A long, piercing howl arrives on the wind.

  Wild animals.

  Wildblood.

  Blake’s fangs—

  My mouth drops open. A slow, terrified moan escapes my lips. My hands are slick with sweat. I’m holding Layla in both hands, elbows slightly bent, trying to stay relaxed but the gun’s shaking—

  “Fucking hell, Summer,” I scold myself. “Get your shit together. It’s a coyote is all. Lots of coyotes in the desert—”

  Then the howl starts again. But not from the same animal.

  This one’s from further west.

  Like they’re surrounding us.

  “You really need to chill the fuck out,” I whisper, resisting the suddenly overpowering urge to fling myself into the Rover, crank the fucker on and tear ass outta here—

  “…please…help…”

  I’m only five yards away from the truck.

  I look out into the desert.

  Whatever I saw up in the hills is gone. Hidden in the washes and canyons now. Invisible until they’re only yards away—

  The thundershowers have opened up over the mountains, a shimmering blue-white sheet of water. It’s really coming down. I can smell it. There’s an energy in the air. Something…primal. The wind’s grown chill; goosebumps spread across my arms, and I can’t seem to shake that feeling of terror in my blood and bones.

  Furious with myself for letting absolutely nothing give me the creeps, I take four long strides and whirl around the Rover, bracing for the worst, expecting Jay to be beaten to all kinds of hell. My finger’s hovering on Layla’s trigger—