Staying in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #1)

by Sam Mariano

  He is so late at this point that my phone begins to buzz and I see it’s my cousin, Gio. I was supposed to text him when we were done, and it’s been so fucking long, he’s calling to see what’s keeping us.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”

  “What’s the hold-up?” he asks without preamble.

  “Sin still isn’t here,” I state.

  “How the fuck is he not there? You should be out of there by now.”

  “I don’t know. He’s been quiet all day. I think he’s pissed off at me.”

  “Why? What’d you do now?”

  I haven’t clued Gio in on this Laurel situation. Obviously if I actually impregnated her, I would have to, but as things stand now, she has nothing to do with the business side of my life.

  Without actually saying much, I mutter, “Nothing that’s any of his business, but that doesn’t stop him from having an opinion about it.”

  “Sounds like a personal problem.”

  “It is. Lovers’ quarrel; don’t worry about it,” I quip. “I’m gonna call him now and see where he is.”

  I hear him continuing to bitch, but I end the call so I don’t have to listen to it. I open my messages real quick to make sure the text I sent Sin a half hour ago went through, but my eye catches on the texts from Laurel.

  “I’m safe,” she replied, curtly.

  Since I couldn’t skip straight to asking who knocked her up since it clearly wasn’t me, I sent back some pleasant bullshit, inquiring how the flight went. She sent back a to-the-point, “Cut the bullshit. If you have something to say to me, say it. If not, I’m busy.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. Text exchanges are more difficult to read anyway since there’s no tone, but I’ve never interacted with Laurel via text before, so I have no idea what her normal demeanor is like. Usually you can tell if a woman is pissed off at you because she’ll send back brief replies instead of blue blocks of text, or all of a sudden instead of three “lols” or emoji kissy faces per message, you get only words. Laurel certainly gives me no cutesy bullshit, but it’s hard to say whether or not that’s her norm.

  I stared at that one a moment, tempted to tell the truth. Tempted to tell her that after thinking it over, I felt I had maybe reacted a little less civilly than I should have, and I wanted to know what her situation really was that it made her desperate enough to try to fool me with such an absurd lie.

  Her text read so cold I couldn’t bring myself to do it, though. I sent back another line of bullshit, telling her I had just wanted to make sure she arrived home safely. She didn’t respond after that.

  Knuckles rap on my window and my gaze jumps to the glass. I’m expecting it to be Sin, that way we can get this done. Instead, motherfucking Cassandra Carmichael is standing there smiling at me.

  Fucking Christ, not her again.

  Against my better judgment, I roll down the window.

  “Were you planning to come inside?” she asks lightly.

  “When I got around to it,” I offer back.

  Her cherry-lipped smile widens, her blue eyes sparkling with fondness. “Doing things in your own time, huh?”

  “Everything happens on my time now,” I inform her.

  “I know,” she replies. “It’s hot.”

  I don’t want to talk to her, so I start to roll the window back up. Before I can close it all the way, she shoves a thick envelope through the slot. I let off the button, grabbing the envelope and opening it up to look inside.

  “It’s all there,” she assures me, watching me count the bills.

  “Where the fuck did you get all this money overnight, Cassandra?”

  “That’s not your problem, is it? I got you your money. You and my dad are square.”

  I roll the window back down, reaching a hand out. She’s so fucking stupid she leans in toward my touch, but her eyes widen when my fingers close around her throat and I jerk her forward. Now her manicured nails fly to my wrist, but she stops short of fighting back. I’ve choked her before, but not outside the bedroom.

  Attempting to maintain her humor despite the rising color in her face, she manages, “If you want to play, maybe we could try this without a door between us.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Cassandra. Where did you get this damn money?”

  “I have my own business interests, Rafe. I got a loan.”

  “From who?”

  “My business partner. It’s all above board, I swear.”

  My grip on her neck loosens and she recovers like a champ, like she wasn’t even worried. She should be fucking worried. I’m not above murder, and she already tops the list of my least favorite people.

  “How’s your little mouse doing?” she asks.

  I have no intention of talking to her about Laurel, but before I can even entertain the notion, she lets out a low whine and backs up like she’s being dragged.

  She is. Sin stands behind her holding a fistful of her blonde hair. “I can’t leave you alone for ten fucking minutes, can I?” he asks.

  My eyebrows rise. I ignore Cassandra’s whining that he’s hurting her and meet his gaze. “Ten minutes? You need to get a new watch.”

  “Rafe,” Cassandra whines. “Tell him to let me go.”

  I don’t have to; Sin releases her, brushing his hands off like they’re dirty. “Look at this shit. Now I have skank all over my fucking hands.”

  “You don’t have to manhandle me,” Cassandra snaps at him.

  Rolling his eyes, Sin says, “Bitch, please, you wish I’d fucking manhandle you.”

  She narrows her eyes at him. “Not hardly. Rafe doesn’t share.”

  Now Sin’s eyes go cold. “You’re not his.”

  Cassandra swallows. She’s been around long enough to know Sin isn’t as dangerous when he blusters as when he looks like he doesn’t have a single fuck to give.

  Sin takes a menacing step toward her. “You don’t get to fuck with Rafe’s head anymore, Cassandra. Get lost before I help you get lost.”

  Her voice lacks confidence, but she still insists, “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Want to put some money on that?” Sin asks.

  Cassandra glares at him, but upon looking at me and seeing I have no intention of backing her up, she pulls herself up and turns around, heading back inside her daddy’s club before she gets her ass in real trouble.

  I watch Cassandra until I can’t see her anymore, just to make sure she’s gone. Sin leans on my door, ducking his head to look in at me. “What the fuck are you doing, man?”

  “Waiting for you to show up,” I tell him.

  His expression doesn’t change. “This is the second time in two days I’ve shown up and that little whore’s scent was still hanging around you.”

  I hold up the envelope of cash. “She was paying her father’s debt.”

  “Where’d she get that kind of cash?” he asks, taking the envelope and counting it again, like he doesn’t trust me to count cash when Cassandra’s around.

  “Said she got a loan from her business partner. Who fucking knows? She got it though, so I guess we don’t have to deal with Edmund after all.”

  “I don’t like it,” Sin says. “I want to know where she got the money. I’m gonna look into it.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Checking my own watch, I think about calling Gio. I don’t really feel like it, though. I’ve gotta head to the casino in a couple hours, but since I haven’t seen much of Sin, I ask, “Wanna grab some dinner before I go to work?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, I had a big lunch.”

  “Well, come with me anyway, you can have a drink.”

  “I’ve got some other shit to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just stuff,” he says, evasively.

  “Nah, bullshit. Come on, we’re going to grab a drink.”

  He looks like he wants to tell me no again, but he must not have a good reason. That furthers my belief that he’s pissed at me about last night. I
don’t know why, but he got weird about Laurel a couple times last night. Since he stormed out, not even speaking to me, I assume he didn’t approve of the way I handled things. Sin has a soft spot for kids, so maybe Laurel throwing a pregnancy out there hit him in the gut.

  All I do know is we need to have a drink and clear the air. Laurel is gone now and however he feels about the way I dealt with it, that was my personal life, not business. Sin gets no say in how I handle my personal business. Hell, he doesn’t even have a say in how I handle my business business in an official capacity, but Sin’s a hell of an enforcer and I know he has more to offer. Now that I’ve moved up, I want to get him moved up, too, I just have to wait until the timing is right.

  “Fine, one drink,” he tells me.

  Fuck, I was supposed to be at the casino 20 minutes ago.”

  Sin grins—really fucking grins—and puts down his empty shot glass. To be honest, I had no intention of getting him drunk when we first arrived at the bar, but I can’t shake the feeling he’s keeping something from me. Being what he is, Sin is good at keeping secrets, but he’s not supposed to keep them from me; I thought a little alcohol might loosen him up.

  So far he hasn’t shared anything pertinent; we’ve just been talking and pounding shots like college kids on spring break.

  “Fuck, I need to stop,” he says, shoving the glass away.

  I slap him on the back. “Head over to the casino with me. Play the slots. See if you can’t win enough to buy yourself a new watch.”

  He slides a dry look my way. “You know my watch works just fine.”

  “Yeah, well, you sure were late. Busy having that big lunch?” I ask.

  “I had some errands. I have my own shit to do too, you know.”

  “My shit’s more important,” I assure him.

  Sin rolls his eyes at me. “That’s the problem with you. You always think your shit’s more important, but it’s not.” I’m about to respond, but before I can, he continues, “You should apologize to Laurel. She’s not into this douchebag thing you’re doing right now. You need to apologize for being a dick if you want her to like you.”

  “That must have been some car ride,” I remark, watching him. “Did she bend your ear the whole way to the airport?”

  “Get your phone out,” he tells me, indicating the pocket where I keep my phone. “I’ll help you write the message.”

  I snort at the ridiculousness of my perpetually solitary henchman telling me what to say to a woman I’m interested in. “I don’t need your help talking to a girl, Sin.”

  “She’s pregnant,” he states. “You called her a liar and turned her away. You were a dick.”

  My amusement swiftly evaporates. “She is lying. That’s not debatable—it’s only the ‘why’ that’s unclear.”

  “And what if she isn’t, huh?” He lifts an eyebrow, regarding me. “I know it doesn’t happen a lot, but it’s not like no one has ever had a condom fail. Joey fucking… whatever the fuck his name is, he’s pretty adamant that he and what’s-her-face hadn’t fucked up when she got pregnant.”

  I shake my head. “No. That was user error. They’re morons. When used correctly, condoms work. Condoms have worked for me for 14 years, Sin. I’ve never had one fail me.”

  “Well, as many women as you’ve fucked, maybe you’re just lucky this was the first time. All I’m saying is, sometimes shit happens, and what if she’s not lying? You turned your back on your own fucking kid, man.”

  He’s ruining my buzz. “I’m not wrong. I didn’t fuck up that bad. That’s not… No.”

  “You like her,” he states. I shake my head no, but he ignores me. “Yes, you do. I can tell. So, if you like her and she’s pregnant with your kid, I think it’s the right move to swallow your fucking pride and tell her you’re sorry for being a dick.”

  “Nope. I like my life the way it is. I’m not… no.”

  “What if it is your kid? Would you still feel that way?”

  “It’s not—”

  He cuts me off. “Yeah, I know, but pretend for a minute. Pretend she was telling the truth. Pretend this guileless fucking girl from halfway across the country really just came here to tell you the truth because she’s pregnant with your child and doesn’t know what to do about it. If all of that’s true and she didn’t lie to you, then what?”

  Then I’m an asshole, but that is not the situation. Laurel tried to take me for a ride and I shut her down—that is the situation.

  “You suck,” I tell him, climbing off the stool. “I didn’t ask you to come out with me for this shit.”

  “If you think she’s worth a shot, you need to act now,” he states. “If it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t go anywhere, but you’ve made worse decisions than seeing if you want to date the girl you impregnated. Your window of opportunity is small, Rafe; you need to do it now if you’re going to. She’s not fucking around. She’s not going to sit around waiting to see if you pull your head out of your ass. That girl is not hung up on you.”

  I frown, looking at him. “But why?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Too much going on in her life? Supportive family? Healthy sense of self-esteem? All I know is, if you want her, you need to make a move before she moves on, because she’s more than halfway there already. I’m not even sure she likes you enough to give you a chance at this point, but if you want one, you’re wasting valuable time.”

  “Easy come, easy go, I guess,” I mutter.

  Apparently as unimpressed with me as I am with him, he slides off the stool. “You’re a dumbass,” he tells me.

  “I’m your boss; watch your mouth,” I advise him.

  “I’ll watch my fucking mouth, all right.” Patting his pocket, he draws out a key, then sighs. “I can’t get behind the wheel like this. Fuck.”

  “Come over to the casino,” I tell him. “You don’t have to stay out on the floor; you can hang out in the back while you sober up enough to head home.”

  “I can’t, I need to get back to my house.”

  “Why?”

  Sin shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call someone.” Pointing his finger at me, he says, “Call Laurel. Do it now. Do it before someone else does.”

  “Fuck that,” I tell him. “If someone else wants to deal with this pregnancy shit, someone else can. Maybe she can tell him he’s the father,” I suggest.

  “You’re a fucking idiot,” Sin tells me again. “I want it on record I tried to help you and you declined.”

  “I’ll sign a document in blood if you need me to,” I tell him.

  “Great.” Slipping his key back into his pocket, he draws out his phone and stumbles away.

  “Are you leaving?” I ask.

  “Yep. Going home. I told you that.”

  “Well, are you done being pissed at me?”

  Sin glances up from his phone, then nods at me. “Yep, I’m done.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah. Good.”

  14

  Laurel

  When Sin comes in this time, he makes no attempt at stealth. I’m annoyed with him for tying me to the bed before he left, so I shoot him a dirty look as soon as I see his face.

  Instead of the smirk he favors, he smiles at me again, leaning against the doorframe. The sight of his smile unsettles me the same way it did last time. There’s an almost playful glint in his eye as he leans there, his gaze wandering over my body. When his brown eyes land on my cuffs, his smile widens.

  I shift, trying to sit up, but because of where he’s standing and the fact that I’m still wearing this dress, I don’t want to move my legs too much and give him an eyeful.

  “Can you get these off me now?” I ask.

  Pushing off the frame, he strolls over to my side of the bed. His eyes aren’t on me; they’re on my night stand. “I don’t know,” he says, almost absently as he picks up my phone. “I sorta like you tied to my bed.”

  I wasn’t completely prepared for that, so I don’t know wh
at to say. I’m also not sure what to say about him checking my phone right now like it belongs to him. “There’s this thing called privacy,” I tell him. “Want me to tell you about it?”

  Now I get the little smirk. “I know about privacy.” He flashes me the screen. “Your sister wants to know why you’re ignoring her calls.”

  “Tell her a maniac in Vegas has me chained to his bed periodically, and I need her to send help.”

  “Spotty reception,” he reads aloud as he types. “Call you later.” Second guessing himself, he glances at me. “Exclamation? Smiley face? Pointless l-o-l?”

  Cocking an eyebrow in disbelief, I inform him, “I am not going to give you tips on how to fake texts from me.”

  “Dolphin emoji it is.”

  “What?” I demand. “How does that make sense?”

  “I don’t know, it’s in your recently used icons, not mine.” Putting the phone down, he says, “Nothing from Rafe.”

  I roll my eyes. “Broken heart emoji. Crying emoji. Coffin emoji.”

  “Coffin emoji?”

  “For ‘I’m going to die alone,’” I explain.

  “You’re weird,” Sin tells me, but he says it like it’s a good thing.

  “I’m aware of that,” I answer.

  Now that he’s sated his desire to go through my phone, he peels off his jacket. That’s acceptable. It gets a little less acceptable when he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Um, what are you doing?” I ask, jerking on my chain. “I need out of these.”

  “Is it hot in here? I’m hot,” he answers, peeling off his shirt and dropping it on the ground.

  I watch the fabric fall, hoping he at least keeps his pants on. It’s so much harder to remember he’s my captor when he takes off his clothes. “It’s not… No, it’s comfortable in here right now. Is something wrong with you?” I ask, noticing he’s acting a little off. I don’t know what he left to do, but I think he’s acting funny.

  “Lots,” he answers, putting a knee on the bed and climbing across me to get over to his side.

  I nearly object to him climbing on top of me when he could have easily walked around to his own side of the bed, but then I catch a whiff of alcohol and it all clicks into place. “You’re drunk.”