by Debra Kayn
Fifteen minutes later with no other delays, he entered the county road. His arm burned with any little movement.
He took his hand off the steering wheel and shook his limb. Iliana's gasp forced his eyes off his surroundings. He looked at her, then gazed down. Moving made the blood flow more.
"We're almost at the Lair," he muttered.
"You need to go to the hospital." Her voice tremored. "Anders? You plowed into the tree like a...like a mad man. Your arm is worse than it looks, isn't it?"
She believed his urgency to get off the mountain had to do with his injury. He'd been through more pain in his life. The teeth of dogs had done more damage, caused more infections, and left more scars than one bullet wound.
"I'll take care of it at the Lair." He rounded the corner, tires squealing.
But first, he needed to get Iliana safe. Then, he needed to call the others. Their troubles were far from over.
Chapter 20
The soundtrack from the bar drifted into the entrance of the casino. The flashing lights, bells, and whistles disoriented Iliana. She held on to Anders, ready to try harder to convince him to go back upstairs and rest.
Her first look at Anders' arm after the doctor came to the Lair nauseated her. He had a four-inch line of stitches across the outside of his bicep. She still couldn't wrap her head around a branch from a tree causing such a deep and angry wound.
Through getting hurt, getting treated, getting ready for tonight, Anders showed no discomfort. He moved around as if nothing had happened.
She'd been caught up in watching the rain make a trickle of mud down the middle of the mountain road, she hadn't seen the moment when Anders' had injured himself. Accidents happened, but his good deed would leave a scar.
"Are you sure the doctor wanted you to be on your feet?" she said.
He put his arm around her back. "I promised to give you a night in the casino. What do you want to try first?"
She second-guessed his answer, imagining him fighting the pain he had to be in, only to satisfy her. Feeling guilty, she refused to answer.
"Let's try the slots." He led her forward. "Tell me when you spot one that's calling your name."
"That's silly," she said.
"Some of the regular customers play the same machine each time. They believe in luck." He stopped in the middle of the aisle between two rows of slot machines.
She raised her brows, believing those behind the casino games only allowed a small number of winners a night. It was how they made their money. "But, you know differently, right?"
"Don't you feel lucky?" he asked.
She studied him. His business relied on those willing to throw away their money. The odds were in his favor.
"Will it help to know there's a sealed CPU EEPROM chip in each of the machines that report back to the gaming commission and are inspected regularly?" He pointed at the nearest machine. "It runs on an unknown algorithm but in my experience the longer you play, the more money you'll lose. It's all about knowing when to walk away."
"Hm." Curious if she could win a few dollars, she looked around and pointed at the slot machine she wanted to play. "That one."
There were music notes dancing on the screen. If she needed to look for a sign of luck, that would be the one.
He handed her a money roll. "Good luck."
She laughed, clutching the money to her stomach. "Are you kidding me?"
He shook his head.
"I can spend my own money," she said.
"That'd be stupid." His cheek twitched in amusement. "Anyway you play, if you lose, I get my money back."
She laughed, shaking her head, and headed toward the slot machine. Sitting on the stool, she read the screen trying to figure out the instructions when Anders sat beside her at an empty machine.
"Put the money in." He held up a ten-dollar bill and taught by example.
She followed his lead, and when he pushed five credits on the screen, she copied him. Instead of the spinning wheels of different fruit, an animated screen with musical instruments gave her the option to play.
Anders pulled down the handle. She wrapped her fingers around the one on her machine and then let it go. The screen flashed, tilted, whirled, and a guitar, piano, and flute lined up on the screen.
Iliana leaned toward Anders to check out his screen. Different weapons populated the three categories.
"Look in the right-hand column for instructions," he said.
"It says to spin again."
"You get three pulls to try and win." He pulled down his handle.
Deciding she'd move on to a different table or machine if she lost, she played her second and third turn.
Lights flashed, and music blared. She sat up straighter.
She grabbed his hand. "Did I win?"
Anders stood from the stool and moved behind her. "Yes."
"How much?"
He pointed to the bottom of the screen. "Eleven dollars and thirty-two cents."
She looked over her shoulder. "I put ten dollars in."
"Small win." He leaned down and kissed her neck. "Are you going to gamble and try to win again?"
"Oh, stop that." She tilted her head and pursed her lips. "I see what you're doing, trying to show me how addicting this can be."
"Do it, Il," he whispered. "You know you want to."
Her stomach fluttered. There seemed to be more in his urgings than gambling.
Before she could talk herself out of how wasteful it was to risk losing Anders' money, she pushed the button on the screen to play again and pulled the handle.
She'd doubled her money and looked at Anders smiling, knowing she could bet more and still keep the original ten dollars she started with. Her adrenaline kicked in as the animated instruments danced across the screen before landing in the proper columns, and her heart raced when she lost, giving her a sixth sense the next game would turn around in her favor.
Forty minutes later, she stood having lost everything she'd won plus five dollars of the money Anders gave her. She slipped the money roll into his hand and sighed. "I owe you five dollars."
He hooked her neck and pulled her forward, kissing her pouting lips. "How about I show you the Blackjack table. Bigger stakes. Bigger wins."
She lifted her chin and shook her head. "I don't think I'm ready for the big leagues, coach."
His frown deepened. She swallowed the guilt of getting caught up in the game and forgetting that Anders had hurt himself and damaged his Hummer on the way down the mountain.
She slipped her arms around his waist, being careful not to bump his arm. "You know what I'd really like to do?"
"Name it," he said.
"I want to go upstairs and take care of you." She waited, and when he looked away, pulling away from the conversation, she leaned into him. "Please? Do this for me?"
If nothing else, he was a proud man and took his role as a protector, a lover, a dominant male to the extreme.
"For you," he whispered, quiet enough she couldn't hear the actual words over the noise of the casino.
They weaved their way through the crowd. She held on to his hand, surprised when he skipped talking to Mac and the other employees that crossed their path. He took her upstairs and stood in the living room as if a stranger to his private quarters.
His quietness reminded her of their relationship early on before she'd gone off on her own. He'd made an effort to talk more since asking her to live with him, but she still failed to understand those times he shut himself off from her.
He acted as if he'd failed her today getting off the mountain when the rain had started. She understood the danger of slick roads, but he'd changed once he'd hurt himself. Shutting himself off, he wouldn't even admit the pain in his arm was killing him or that his injury was as serious as it looked.
Her only indication that he held back from her was the fact that nobody could pretend the injury wasn't painful. And, if she hadn't been there—actually witnessed the blood running down his a
rm and the doctor's stitches afterward, she would never know what he was dealing with because he hid everything from her and his employees.
She turned around and went into the kitchen. Taking the cap off a bottled beer—knowing he enjoyed a cold one over wine and that he wasn't taking any pain medication—she returned to him.
"Sit." She handed him the bottle and went behind the couch.
Anders watched her without saying anything, then finally sat down. She wished he'd relax. Unless he was in control of the situation and knew what was expected in the next minute, he always remained tense.
She needed to loosen him up.
"Relax," she whispered, putting her hands on his shoulders from behind.
Anders' muscles under her palms remained hard. She used her thumbs to massage the cords of his neck up to his hairline. Making circular motions, she manually loosened the tension.
It took several minutes until Anders lowered his chin to his chest. She massaged her way up his head, using all her fingers to knead his scalp.
His thick hair made the task enjoyable. Darker than brown but not a pure black, his hair showed signs of aging at the temples with strands of silver. Not gray, not white, but a subtle flash of prestige only men seemed able to pull off.
He rotated his shoulders. She hummed, pleased to have some way to pamper him.
She continued giving him a massage, working the strong, hard cords from his shoulders up to his neck, being careful not to go down his arm. Even if his injury wasn't causing him pain at the moment, his stitched wound had to be tender.
"...time makes you bolder," she sang softly, humming the next line of Stevie Nick's song, Landslide.
"Don't stop," whispered Anders lifting his head and letting it fall back on the couch.
She smiled behind him and massaged his temples, picking up the next line. Her voice only reaching his ears, she sang the words by memory realizing that today's mood picked the song.
When she finished, she leaned down and kissed his lips upside down. "Relaxed?"
"Mm." His eyes remained closed. "I want to take you in the bedroom and strip you naked."
She trailed her fingers over the top of his cheekbones. His eyelids opened, and his heated gaze warmed her. Her stomach fluttered, and she leaned down.
"I wouldn't stop you," she whispered, kissing him lightly before moving away and walking to the bedroom.
There was more she could do to pamper and relax him.
Chapter 21
Iliana smiled into the crowd as she sang. Anders followed her gaze, recognizing genuine pleasure on her face, and found a couple standing at the back of the bar near the entrance. Not recognizing them, he looked back and forth between Iliana and the customers.
It was obvious Iliana knew them.
With the dangers surrounding him, he made sure the customers never got close to Iliana. Quint, Will, Mark, and Two-crow were due to come in and talk to him after the show. He wasn't going to be away from Iliana while he was preoccupied if her fans tried to gain her time.
Iliana finished her song, put the microphone in the stand, and waved to the crowd as she grabbed her guitar. He gritted his teeth. Iliana's smile seemed extra happy.
Anders continued to watch the couple with his back against the wall. Something was off.
The woman kept whispering and smiling to the man, and then directed her happiness back at Iliana. Anders studied the guy. His attention stayed on the woman beside him. He wasn't interested in Iliana but why were they here?
Weird shit often went down inside the Lair. Singles looking for one-night stands. Couples looking for an adventure and swinging. Groups of friends came out for a good time and a few drinks. Amongst all the flirting and hookups, tempers could rise faster than the bouncers could often react.
He kept an eye on everyone, mentally putting Iliana in a safe zone where he could reach her before anything happened. Since she'd returned, he'd hired two more men for the security crew. It was important to cut down on the amount of fights that broke out at the Lair.
His time to protect her came a half hour later when she left the stage, and instead of coming to him, she gazed at him and pointed her finger toward the couple on the other side of the room, heading in their direction.
Ready to run after her, he straightened and witnessed her rush across the bar and hug the woman, then hug the man. Anders strode forward, wanting to put himself between her and the customers.
Iliana turned in his direction before he reached her. "Here he is."
She reached out and leaned into Anders, putting her hand on his stomach. He put his arm around her in ownership.
"This is Anders Stone, the owner of Stone Lair." She smiled up at him. "This is my sister, Sofia, and her husband, Tom Morlock. They're on their way back from Seattle and stopped to see me before they drove home. Isn't that great?"
Tom held out his hand. Anders shook. "Nice to meet you both."
"What a great place you have here." Sofia smiled, and Anders spotted the family resemblance toward Iliana.
"Thank you." He raised his hand, catching the attention of Brandi, the waitress, and held up three fingers. "Why don't you take them upstairs and I'll bring up some drinks. That way you can visit."
"Make mine a straight Coke." Tom shrugged. "I'm driving."
"I'm not." Sofia grinned.
Iliana rubbed his stomach. "Can you join us?"
The others would be here any second. He motioned for Iliana's relatives to follow him. He held Iliana close. "I have to meet with a few men in the office. Go ahead and enjoy your visit, and hopefully next time they stop by I can get to know them better."
She stuck out her lower lip and kissed him when he stopped at the door to his private quarters. "Is your arm hurting you?"
He wiped the tension off his forehead. "I'm fine. Go on up. I'll bring the drinks."
Nodding at Iliana's relatives, he walked to the counter and spotted Mark with Two-crow, Will, and Quint. He'd hoped to keep them separated from Iliana. The fewer questions he had to answer, the more he could keep the dark side of his life from her.
While he waited for the drinks, the others approached him. "Iliana's got family visiting so don't say anything until we're in the office."
Two-crow glanced down at Anders' arms, probably trying to figure out which one was shot. He purposely reached out and grabbed two of the drinks with the hand that barely left his side the last few days. He'd show no weakness in front of anyone.
He led the others upstairs, motioning them into his office while he delivered the drinks to the company in the living room and made his excuse to leave again. Iliana's brother-in-law bought his reasons for leaving, but her sister looked at him curiously.
Kissing Iliana, he walked out of the room. He shut the office door quietly and turned on the widescreen making sure the sound was off, so he could keep an eye on Iliana.
Then, he faced the others to answer the questions in their eyes. "I'm fine. The bullet went through the outer muscle of my arm. The doctor I have on call for the Lair cleaned and stitched it."
They already understood that he paid the doctor not to report the gunshot wound.
"Which one of us is next?" asked Two-crow.
Mark scoffed. "I've had my turn."
"How are you doing?" Anders glanced down at Mark's stomach where he'd been shot.
"It's hell." Mark sat down in the chair. "But, it's getting better."
"This is affecting my business. I'm supposed to have two more cabins built before the snow flies, and I'm too busy watching the backs of all my employees." Quint crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpits. "I think we should get a fucking passport and spend a week in Mexico, taking out the whole village that partakes in the dogfights. Shut it down. Maybe then, the men will disappear out of our lives."
"Except, they're here, or the men they've hired to come after us are here." Two-crow's jaw muscle bulged. "Do we bring them out into the open?"
Drawing the enemy out
would end the terror in their lives. Iliana would be safe.
"Will going there put an end to everything?" Anders glanced at the screen making sure Iliana remained upstairs. "We've never had a proven account on how many were involved in stealing us away from the state's care as children. The only list of names we have is of the men who took us to Mexico. Someone in Mexico has to be in charge."
"The men there or the men here. They're all guilty. Somehow, they made it possible that six of us were never reported missing. How does that happen when the state was in charge of us?"
"The state officials don't care. Fewer kids in a group home are preferred and really? Who wants a fifteen-year-old kid raised in foster care?" Mark curled his lip. "We were only a number on a piece of paper. With us gone, that was less money going toward our care."
Considering they all came from different states originally, it was easy to believe kids disappearing was a country-wide problem. The dogfighting ring was a huge attraction in Mexico. The number of gawkers at a fight ended up being well over two hundred men.
"We've beat these same questions to death over the years. We know there are two men out of the six who were in charge of bringing us to Mexico who are still alive. We're making progress. If you guys want to draw out those who are in Montana and going after us, then count me in, but we're not doing it here at the Lair or involving Iliana. I need her to remain safe. If you guys have a woman you're involved with, you better think carefully on how we go forward," said Anders.
The others remained silent. All of them kept to themselves, like him, never relying on anyone or getting close enough to someone else that their pledge to keep their secrets became a problem. Things had changed for him over the last several months, but he was handling Iliana just fine.
On the widescreen, Iliana's relatives stood from the couch and hugged her. He needed to finish the meeting. If he stayed in the office too long after Iliana's family left, she'd start to wonder what he was discussing with the others privately.
"Should we go after the remaining two or stay in protective mode?" he asked the others.
