“You’ve got your choice of the black Lamborghini, the yellow Ferrari, the white Maserati or the red Corvette,” Terri the female ex-race car driver explains, as she walks beside the vehicles lined up against the curb. She’s been a pure professional since we arrived in the office, and I’ve gotta say, it’s a fucking turn-on listening to a woman who knows this much about cars. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing what she could do with one of these babies.
“Pair up. You’ll get the chance to change drivers a few times, as well as swap cars too, so it doesn’t really matter what you start with.”
“I bags the Lamborghini,” Jones barks. She tosses him the keys and Stone moves beside the car with him. The boys laugh and gawk at the car as if they’re seventeen again and going for their first burnout session.
“I’ll be driving the blue muscle car up front and Johnno will be in the Porsche out back.” She motions towards a short guy with brown hair, who’s wearing the same black polo shirt as she is. “We’ll communicate with the two-way radio as we guide you to Lake Mead, which is out east. Keep it on channel two. Once we get out there you might even get the chance to put your foot down.” She winks and hands the next set of keys to Brett.
“I’m not paying all that money to sit on the speed limit, you know,” Brett says, and cackles with Billy.
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter under my breath. That douche doesn’t know when to shut his fucking mouth.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, freckles,” Terri teases. “That’s one hefty excess if there’s so much as a scratch on any of my cars.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mocks, in the dickiest attempt at an American accent I’ve heard yet. The fucker sounds more like Kermit the Frog.
“Just keep it safe, boys, and follow my lead.”
Steve and Nate jump in the Ferrari behind Jones’s car and Billy and Brett take the Maserati. I get to drive the convertible Corvette on my lonesome, which I couldn’t be happier about.
We move out onto the road in close succession, following Terri. I’m second last in the group. It takes a bit to adjust to driving on the wrong side of the road, but having someone guide you takes that stress away. Being in a machine like this, it takes all of my self-control not to speed off like a maniac. The accelerator is taunting me to push it. It’s such a tease, knowing what power lies beneath the bonnet. The engine’s purring like a kitten now, but give it time and it’ll be roaring like a fucking cheetah.
Within the blink of an eye, we turn off into what looks like a national park. The landscape of the desert is so surreal compared to anything I’ve ever seen. Rich earthy colours, like one big pallet of rust, are splashed across the horizon in large boulders and rock formations. It’s like looking at some kind of masterpiece, and nothing like the Australian landscape that I’ve seen. The sweeping turns curve around the mountains, intensifying the thrill of the ride.
Brett is driving like a lunatic—flat-out fast and then slow. Does he know how fucking annoying he is? I wish to fuck Jones hadn’t invited him, but I guess he couldn’t exactly ask the rest of the team and not him.
“Okay, boys. Follow my lead.” Terri’s voice comes across the two-way, all Smokey and the Bandit. The muscle car roars off into the distance, followed by the other boys in formation.
My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel tight. I shift up a gear, listening to that sweet purr growing louder as the distance increases between me and the car in front. When there’s plenty of space, I slam down my right foot. The roar of the engine sends a shot of adrenaline right through me as I let loose. I breathe in deep as the wind whips through my hair. If only V was sitting in the passenger seat next to me—better yet, the driver’s seat. He’d soon forget all that shit from his past. The De Luca brothers in Vegas would be something to behold. Even without alcohol.
With the top down, the blinding sun and dry heat is so intense that my mobile phone in the centre console starts beeping a warning about being dangerously hot. I slide it under my arse to keep it out of the sun.
I cruise around the next bend and have to slam on the brakes. Smoke curls from the squealing tires. I clench my teeth as I stop within an inch of the Maserati.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I yell out to the dry desert air.
Johnno on the two-way radio directs all cars to stop in the next waiting bay about a mile up the road.
When we pull over to the side of the road, I swear steam is shooting from my ears as I contemplate exactly how I’m gonna make Brett a new hat with his freshly cut scrotum.
“Who the fuck stops on a turn like that in a normal car, let alone a fuckin’ car like that?” I screech as I storm towards Brett. “Are you tapped in the head?”
“Relax, Rocco,” he says, and runs his fingers across the rim of his black baseball cap.
“Relax? Not fuckin’ likely,” I spit at him as I take another step closer. Jones leaps out of nowhere and presses his hand to my chest.
“You ride with me,” Jones says, widening his eyes. He’s not asking; he’s telling.
Terri struts up to Brett and stands toe to toe with him. She is about ready to tear shreds through him by the look of her flushed face and chest, which is labouring to take breath.
“A word?” she says, her jaw tight.
Jones grips my shoulder, turning me towards the Ferrari.
“Your fuckin’ mate,” I grumble as I get into the passenger side of the car.
We both turn and stand in awe as the expletives pour from Terri’s mouth like lava erupting from an angry volcano. Brett cowers like a frightened animal, and then gets into the passenger seat of the rear car with Johnno. Suck shit. Your ride is over.
“My mate, huh?” Jones says, and laughs. His face lights up as he curls his fingers around the steering wheel, stroking it as he would his girlfriend. He turns to face me with a smile that’s trouble. “With any luck we lose him to a transvestite hooker on the strip tonight.”
“Poor hooker.” I chuckle, as we take off into the bowels of the desert again.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SOPHIE
I place two hundred–dollars in purple chips on number thirteen on the roulette table. This is all I’m gambling this weekend. The rest of the planned events I’ve carefully budgeted for. I won’t be drinking a huge amount, not that I care, because I feel like I owe it to Rocco to take it easy, and there’ll be no fine dining. Not that I think that’s the plan, anyway. It’s not that hard to eat cheap here.
“Soph,” April shrieks. “Thirteen!”
“What?”
April points at the wheel, which has the white ball resting on my number.
“Oh my fucking God! I won?”
“Can you refrain from swearing at the table please, ma’am,” the balding croupier says in his very thick American accent, as he runs a hand down the front of his black vest. I’m still getting used to not hearing an Aussie accent come out of people’s mouths.
“Sorry, I’m just … I never win.” I squeal and wrap my arm around April’s shoulders as the croupier places a clear glass object on my chips. He clears the bulk of chips from the rest of the numbered felt, pushing them into a hole on the far side of the wheel.
Carefully, he pushes a small chip stack to a player on the opposite side of the table to me, and then assembles a few tall piles of purple chips, with several black chips sitting on top. My eyes light up as he pushes this goldmine in my direction.
“Sorry. How much is that?”
“Seven thousand neat.”
I clutch at my chest as it hammers faster. I can’t believe I won.
“I never win anything,” I gush.
“Number thirteen. Unlucky for some; tonight it’s come up for you,” April announces, with her arm outstretched and her finger pointed at my chest.
I can’t fucking believe it.
It’s enough to pay back April for accommodation, pay another month’s rent in advance with Rocco, and have some left over
. Fuckface has paid a big chunk of the debt, alleviating the pressure. There’s still the risk he won’t pay it all, but for the first time in years I have breathing room. I also need to ask Rocco what he paid so I could keep my car and return that, too.
I’d love to let this money ride, to keep going until I have enough to give a comfortable gap between my debt and me, but it would be foolish to continue. I know better than this. Prince Fuckface and his gambling is what got me into this cluster-fuck of a situation. I’d be stupid to make it any worse for myself. Time to quit while I’m ahead, or rather, not so far behind.
I gather up my chips and pour them into my purse, the soft clanging of them pooling at the bottom music to my ears. April links her arm around my waist.
“Let’s cash my chips, get changed into our hen’s outfits and then go ride a bull to celebrate,” I say, and plant a loud kiss on her cheek.
“A what?” she asks.
“Relax. It’s not a real bull.”
“I’ve run in Pamplona, baby. I got this,” she slurs, and holds a palm towards me, attitude dripping from her.
“Come on, Vicky. We’re cashin’ in,” I call out, getting her attention from where she sits at a neighbouring table. She turns and all but skips over. “And then we’re goin’ for a ride,” I inform her.
“Woo-hoo,” Vicky hollers and skips ahead to the cashier. I can’t help but laugh. She didn’t even care to ask me what we were riding. For all she knows, I could be challenging her to ride one of those young Texan boys who we ran into earlier. They were on a buck’s night, although they were very animated when trying to inform us Aussie girls that it’s called a stag party.
“Babe, after the bull we’re going to Stratosphere Tower to go on the X-Scream rollercoaster.”
“Yay!” April shrieks. I’m quietly shitting myself, but I knew this adrenaline junkie would jump at the chance at riding one of the highest rollercoasters in the world.
I look up to see Vicky a few people ahead of us. “Just don’t tell Vicky yet, because I have a feeling Miss Always Do The Sensible Thing will never forgive me.”
“She’s a bridesmaid. She has to do it. Us sisters are in this together,” April says, with a nod. “Maybe we can trick her into it. We can tell her it’s like a little shuttle thingy that gives you a view of the strip.”
Even though she’s pissed, I think she might have a plan. “I think when we’re dangling headfirst over the edge eight hundred feet above solid ground, she might be onto us.”
April throws back her head and laughs. It melts my heart seeing her so happy and carefree. I hope that for many years to come, she looks back on this trip with fond memories. I know I will.
“That sounds like my kind of ride.”
April tugs Vicky’s hand, bringing her into line with us. When we reach the other side of the casino, I pour my chips on the felt counter at the small window of the cashier. The young dark-haired guy gives me a wink and flashes a dimple, and then slowly gathers the chips in piles and starts gathering notes from a drawer beside him.
“You’re wasting your winks on this one, my friend. She’s all about the boob,” April leans over my shoulder and slurs at him.
“She’s right,” I say to him, and then look to either side of me. “I love boobs. I’m a boob girl. The bigger the better.” Of course my tone is playful. I wink at him and secretly enjoy watching as the colour prickles at his smooth-shaven cheeks.
He clears his throat and then counts the money in front of me. When he gets to seven thousand, he makes a neat pile of notes and then pushes it forward.
“Enjoy your evening,” he says, and then stands and leaves his chair. Eep. Way to make the young guy uncomfortable.
“Why’d you make me be mean to the poor cashier, babe?” I say through a chuckle.
“What? I just didn’t want him to get his hopes up, is all.”
As we walk out into the heat of the night, April steps between Vicky and I and we link arms in some show of solidarity. Us versus Vegas.
“We thought later we might go check out the view of The Strip at night, Vic. Whatdya think?” April asks, directing her gaze straight ahead. I don’t miss the curl to her lips. She looks as if she’s a second away from pissing herself laughing.
“Ooh, I bet it’s so pretty,” Vicky says, and then beams her bright white teeth at us.
I hope she’s smiling like that afterwards, because I’m worried that after what I have planned, she may never speak to us again.
“Let’s go get changed,” I announce, as we make our way to our hotel. “Our night has only just begun.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ROCCO
The rest of the drive goes off without a hitch, and after showering and changing into jeans and dress shirts we head to the Rock Bar for a few beers. Not that I’m drinking. We have about an hour to kill before the strippers arrive back at the hotel.
I feel like a sucky best man, because I’m not looking forward to it. What guy doesn’t look forward to lap dances and easy girls strutting around naked in a hotel?
One that’s trying to stay sober.
Once upon a time I’d be all over this kind of shit, but now? Easy chicks and strippers remind me of the stupor I used to be in, far too often. Paralytic, blind-rotten drunk. Now that I’m dry, I don’t need triggers. Really, the next thing I know my cock is going to shrivel up and drop off one day in the shower.
As we sidle up to the bar, wolf whistles and girls screaming and laughing around the end of the bar distract me.
“You want something?” Jones asks, with a shrug of one shoulder.
“A Coke.” I lift my chin. There might as well be a giant ‘pussy’ sign on my forehead.
“No dramas,” Jones says without batting an eyelid. He turns and hails a bartender.
Fuck he’s good to me.
“I’m gonna check out what’s goin’ on,” I tell him, and walk towards the squeals.
Much to my surprise, there’s a bucking bull area. Facing the ring, three girls are leaning up against the edge, wearing white tanks and matching short shorts, with dark purple sashes draped across their upper bodies. One is short with blonde, cropped hair, and the others are tall with long, fair hair. They have legs that go on forever. Another group of girls stand to the side, helping a girl dressed in pink out of the ring.
We’d already passed two hen’s groups on the way here. Vegas is just one big fucking hen’s and buck’s party.
I sit on a stool at an empty area and watch them. It’s a reprieve from watching the other boys drink.
“Come on, April,” a familiar voice chants. “Now that you’ve seen the other hen ride, it’s your turn to dominate this bad boy.”
Ha. What are the odds? How many bars are in this town?
The tall girl in the middle hitches her leg over and climbs into the padded ring. She turns around and bows, confirming that it is in fact April. She runs her fingers over the words ‘Bride to Be’ on her sash, wearing a smile that would melt hearts all over this party town.
“Watch me rope this sucker,” she says, and makes a lasso movement with her right hand. The girls encourage her with claps and cheers as she kicks off her sandals and mounts the padded beast.
The machine kicks and then starts a slow roll forward and then tilts and sways back. Two seconds later, April is flat on her back on the brown leather padding. She giggles as she rolls onto all fours, her shoulders heaving as the laughter takes over her whole body.
“This bull can kiss my arse,” April curses with a huff. Once she’s balancing on two feet, she slaps the back end of it. “Nothing on Pamplona,” she says.
She ran with the bulls? Why does this not surprise me about her? Jones has certainly gotten himself a firecracker.
Speaking of Jones, I’d better get back to him. It’s his bucks.
“Maybe I should show you how it’s done,” Suds challenges.
That “Pony” song blares from the speakers. Of course it fuckin’ does.
As if I can turn away now.
Suds slips off her white sandals and moves like some kind of sexy goddess as she hoists herself to sit on the edge of the ring, and then twists slightly to place one foot on the ledge, spreading her knees apart. She giggles, carefree as anything as she climbs inside. With a swivel of her hips, she grips the edge and turns her back on her friends. She leans back, showing off how fuckin’ incredible her tits are as her upper body hangs upside down off the edge and she balances like some kind of kinky yoga teacher with her toes reaching for the sky.
I palm the front of my jeans. I don’t know why I had to physically confirm that I’m hard as a hammer.
“You tease! Hurry up and ride that animal,” April shouts.
“We need more champagne,” Vicky squeals at a passing waitress.
Suds pulls herself up and then throws a leg over the machine and wiggles her hips until she settles into position. She gives a nod and then the bull starts to move.
With each roll and twist, Suds sways her body, holding her left arm high in the air and pushing her chest out when the time is right. She’s in control. She makes it look as if she was born to be a bull rider, but more than any of that, she’s hot as fuck.
“Here’s your Coke,” Jones says, and holds the tall glass in front of me. I choke. On what, I’m fuckin’ baffled. As I scull down my drink, the bubbles itch inside my nose with each gulp.
“Will you look at that?” Nathan says from beside me. “What I’d give to have that beauty ride me. Holy hell. The way she rolls her hips …” The bull turns so her front is facing us. “Those tits are frickin’ superb.”
Suds has now gained the attention of a large crowd of guys, who are milling around the edge of the ring. I hate that they’re watching her. Everyone in here is ogling at my …
“We should go,” I bark out. I’ve got a right mind to haul Soph over my shoulder and drag that sexy arse out of here. It’s not my place, and she’s not my girl but fuck, if only.
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