Vegas Curves (A Masters of the Game BBW Erotic Romance)

by Christa Wick

  I want to hate myself for being so weak, but I can't. I have been on the run for six years, working and moving constantly, the only male in my life my baby brother. For twenty years before that, I remained under the watchful eye of my father. This isn't quite my first kiss, but it is pretty damn close and I am certain I will never experience another like it.

  Luke steps back and opens the door. His gaze narrow and on me, he pivots on one heel to reveal just how he has secured my return.

  In front of me, sitting on a couch, Tommy waits handcuffed and gagged.

  **********

  "Remove those immediately!" I move across the room as fast as my fat legs can carry me. With his lean muscular body, Masters makes it to the couch several strides before I do. I reach for the gag anyway and he catches my hand.

  He nods at the man standing guard over Tommy. "Let him talk."

  "The cuffs, too." I struggle to free my hand from Masters' tight grip. "You have no right -- this is kidnapping!"

  Continuing to wedge his body between me and Tommy, Masters wraps an arm around my waist and glares down at me. "No, beautiful, it's a conspiracy."

  Conspiracy.

  That one word shuts me up fast. Masters is right -- Tommy can be charged with conspiracy. If I don't cooperate, not only will Rose die, but Tommy could go to prison.

  My legs threatening to fold, I stop fighting. Masters keeps his grip firm as if I might be faking my capitulation. Knowing that I won't be free until he releases me, I can't hold back the angry, helpless tear that rolls down my cheek. Breaking left, it lands on my bottom lip. I suck it in. The salt bites my tongue and my bottom lip begins to quiver. Only then does Masters let go.

  The removal of his hand triggers more of my tears and he pulls the linen handkerchief from his front breast pocket. His big frame blocking Tommy's view, Masters dabs at my cheek. The press of the fabric is soft against my skin and his knuckles gently graze my lips. The gesture is intimate, as if we are long-time lovers instead of strangers.

  Finished erasing the evidence of how helpless I have become, he steps aside.

  "Key." Masters holds his hand out to the guard while I remove Tommy's gag.

  He gives me the key, only to take it back a second later because my hands are shaking too much. Bending to reach the cuffs, he stares Tommy down and unlocks them. "I'm sure you want to help Rose as much as Marie does."

  Tommy looks at me, rubbing his wrists and ignoring both men.

  I sink onto the couch. This close, I can see that there is swelling around his eye and bruises on his arms. I shoot an accusing looks at Masters. "He needs ice."

  Masters subtly gestures and the guard scurries across the room to return a minute later with an ice pack.

  I touch the pack to Tommy's cheek. When he winces, my chest constricts painfully in response. It kills me that he is hurt. He has received more than enough black eyes and bruises at the hands of our father to last him a lifetime. We both have.

  I meet his gaze and silently try to tell him how sorry I am and that I will fix everything. The look in his eyes tell me it is not my fault, but he is twenty and doesn't know how wrong he is. I have let him and Rose down tonight. I got too soft to play the game. I didn't keep better track of Rose and the people she hangs around with. I could have done a dozen things to stop the relentless march to this point in time.

  "Clock's ticking, Marie."

  My head jerks up and I glare at Masters. "I'm aware."

  More than aware, I am over-the-fucking-top aware of how many seconds and minutes closer I am to failing Rose. Even so, I can't pull myself away from Tommy. It's not right to pick favorites, but Tommy is mine. Rose was always a daddy's girl, untouched by Troy's fists or belt. Of course, she never said no to his cons, never judged him and she forgave our father every last bruise he left on Tommy's flesh and mine.

  Time has done little to change her. Even so, I want her safe -- but I want Tommy safer.

  Reaching up, my baby brother takes quiet command of the ice pack. "I'll be okay. Do what you have to."

  Masters extends his hand, his gaze locked down and as cold as the ice pressed against my brother's cheek.

  "Time for you to receive your instructions."

  **********

  An hour later, Solandro Ortiz has one meaty hand wrapped around my throat and is starting to squeeze.

  "You ditched my guy."

  I try to swallow, but he holds me too tightly. I force just enough air through my throat to reason with Ortiz. "You didn't tell me I had a tail."

  His grip relaxes marginally. I inhale, the air rushing in so fast it makes me dizzy.

  "You have my sister," I continue. "A tail would have drawn attention in the casino."

  I had, in fact, noticed the man following me and evaded him for just that reason. Wearing a brown wig and raincoat to the earlier meeting, I then detoured through a familiar restaurant and stashed my disguise behind a dumpster in the alley. I had intended to retrieve both before returning, but getting collared by Masters had left me with too little time.

  Now, that little bit of subterfuge is all that stands between me and Solandro realizing I have a new boss.

  Thinking about the man who now holds my future in his hands, my stomach and heart flip at the same time. I take another breath in and remind myself that I don't have the luxury of thinking about Masters. I have to focus on Solandro and convince him that I wasn't burned at the casino.

  I lightly curl one hand around Solandro's wrist and the thick fingers still attached to my throat. "The money is in my purse."

  He jerks the bag from my shoulder. Yanking me with him, he walks over to a folding table and dumps the contents onto it. Seeing my cell phone spill out, my stomach somersaults a few more times. I don't know how, but Masters is using the phone to track me in a way that didn't set off the wand Solandro ran over my clothes and purse when I first entered the warehouse.

  "Nice." He thumbs through the money a second time and raises a brow at me. "Eight grand?"

  "Seven-point-six."

  He tosses the money at one of the three men he brought with him then returns his attention to my bag.

  "Hand over the lenses."

  I comply while Solandro takes my pocketbook from the pile. He checks through it for any additional money, leaving the ten dollar bill he finds. His fingers squeeze and prod the case for anything else that might be hidden. He repeats the act with my empty purse.

  I do my best to look bored when Solandro grabs the cell phone. Just as he did during our last meeting, he flips through my address list then looks at my call history and for new text messages.

  "When did you stop playing?"

  I gave him the time Luke finally released me from the casino. "Two."

  Sneering, he glares at me. "Seven G and you played until two?"

  "Seven-point-six." I shrug. "You told me to keep it low key. I lost hands I would have won."

  He is slow to accept my excuse. His gaze passes over me with a laboring scrutiny. Everything is noted -- the blonde hair, the smoky make-up, the georgette that has gone limp and clings to my body, the strappy gold sandals. He finishes with a swipe of his hand across his mouth then tosses the purse at me.

  His hand flaps at the table. "Take your shit and go. I'll call you when I'm ready again."

  I slowly move to comply. A week has passed since he let me talk to Rose. I cannot be sure she is still alive. "Can I see--"

  "No." Walking away, Solandro stops and turns back. Pulling a switch blade from his pocket, he clicks it open and points the blade at me. "You miss my call -- I slice Rose ass to mouth then find you and Tommy."

  I lift my chin, letting him know I understand the threat and take it seriously. Sweeping everything into my purse, I watch Solandro and his men exit the building. They turn the lights off, leaving me to grope my way through the dark and out onto an empty parking lot.

  Emerging from the building, I want to immediately scan the area for Solandro or one of Masters' team. I for
ce myself not to. The little ploy with turning the lights off was to buy Solandro time in leaving. And Masters assured me his team would make sure Solandro's crew doesn’t follow me. I am to leave the rendezvous point and head for a restaurant ten blocks away. If no one from Masters' team approaches me there, I have instructions to head to another casino a few more blocks beyond the restaurant and wait until someone does approach me.

  Instructions and assurances aside, old habits die hard. I take as circuitous a route as possible to the first meeting point, approaching the restaurant from the opposite direction.

  At a few minutes before seven a.m., only staff and two other customers fill the crappy little diner. I pick a booth along the south wall, next to the drive. Beyond the drive, another building pushes up from the concrete, ensuring I only have to keep an eye on the street in front of the diner and the buildings beyond that.

  "You like it straight, right?" Without my asking, the waitress tips a coffee cup over and starts pouring.

  I don't drink coffee, but I smile at her anyway. "Got me pegged."

  As she pours, I note her name is Tina, she doesn't wear a wedding ring, she has rhinestones on her manicured nails and a run in her pantyhose. As I catalog Tina and her life, my stomach reminds me with a gurgle that I haven't eaten in sixteen hours. "I'll take a slice of pumpkin pie."

  "Sure thing." She throws me a wink designed to increase the size of her tip but the gesture is too devoid of sincerity have any chance of working. She heads to the counter to collect my pie. Her skinny hips bounce left and right like she's playing pinball and has made it to the final round of the world championships.

  Again, I am not impressed.

  Trying not to count how many Tina clones with their sashaying hips I can squeeze into my skirt, I scan the parking lot and street. I keep my expression one of practiced indifference in case one of Solandro's crew has managed to tail me and because it is never a good idea to let your waitress know you don't think much of her.

  "Anything else, hon?" Tina slides a plate with a fat wedge of pie on it in front of me.

  I give her points for at least being fast.

  "Thanks. That'll be it." I push the lonely ten dollar bill Solandro didn't swipe from my purse at Tina then take a bite of the pie. Flavor spills across my mouth and I close my eyes. I run the flat of my tongue against my upper palate, the motion bringing out more of the ginger and nutmeg. When the cinnamon hits my taste buds, I am reminded of Masters and the hungry complaints move south from my stomach.

  Eating, I try to shake the idea of something else in my mouth and sliding down my throat. I fail, my mind returning to Masters with each bite and swallow. I have never had this problem before tonight -- before Luke. Not only is there zero room or time in my life for romance, men don't approach me.

  Why would they? I am not Tina or her slightly meatier cousin. I wear thrift store clothes. Make-up is a luxury I cannot justify. I get my hair cut once every six months and only then because neither Tommy nor Rose is competent when it comes to hair and scissors.

  In no way am I the kind of woman who gets attention from men. Masters, however, wants me to believe and now I am obsessing over him. I wonder how his facial hair, which I normally hate, would feel rubbing across my nipples or between my thighs as he takes my flesh into his mouth and sucks. The question instantly becomes a sensation. My skin flushes, my nipples pucker, and I feel the warm crawl of moisture against my labia.

  Like a dirty dream I don't want to wake from, Luke Masters chooses that moment to walk through the door and slide into the booth behind me. The tailored silk suit is gone. In its place, he wears jeans, a dark t-shirt and a denim jacket. A lived-in ball cap covers his thick, dark curls, the brim pulled low to hid those warm brown eyes.

  He is only barely recognizable, but my infatuated heart has memorized the lines of his body.

  "What can I get you, handsome?" Tina shimmies up to his booth and starts purring like a cat in heat who has landed in a room full of tomcats. Taking his order, she can't stay still. Her hip rubs against the side of the booth. Her shoulders squirm, lifting and pushing her breasts in a little dance just for Luke.

  "Extra-large coffee to go." Amusement reflects in his voice and he moves a little closer to where she stands.

  I watch their reflection in the plate glass window. She places her hand on his bicep and squeezes. I barely contain the hiss building behind my lips. Is she fucking serious -- touching a complete stranger like that?

  She gives another squeeze and her breasts lift again. "Big strong man like you needs more than coffee to start his day."

  I snort, certain Tina intends something other than a plate full of bacon and eggs -- unless the eggs are as over easy as she is. Ears straining for his reply, I swallow my last forkful of pie.

  "Mmm...how about I come back for lunch, sexy?"

  Hearing the reciprocating purr in Masters' voice, I feel the blood drain from my face. If I want proof that Masters faked the heat directed at me in his penthouse, it is standing less than a foot from me, reeking of cheap perfume and stuffed into a navy blue skirt, size two.

  Still, it is a wake-up call I desperately need. Rule four only applies to conning cons, not fools. For Rose's sake and mine, I cannot foolish fawn over Masters.

  "You do that, sugar!" Laughing, Tina walks back to the counter and grabs a super-sized Styrofoam cup and lid.

  It is cosmically unfair that I am sitting here wondering how I'm going to save my sister and stay out of jail while Tina is scheduling a hook-up with Masters. Even if he has no intention of returning, his approval of Tina with her tiny little body vibrated through his voice when he talked to her. I watch her work and a small, vindictive part of my soul I would rather not acknowledge hopes she spills a little of the hot liquid on herself.

  "You're not listening, Marie."

  Masters has said something that I did not hear. Blood rushes back to my face, heating the skin enough to break a sweat. "What?"

  "Green Honda Civic out back," he repeats. There is no purr in his voice, just irritation at my inattentive lapse. "Passenger seat. If the driver isn't there in ten minutes, go to the next location."

  Tina returns with his coffee, but she does not immediately hand it over. She holds it like bait and flirts with him. I get up and leave. As I walk down the drive in search of the green Honda, I see them together one last time. She leans down, whispering something in his ear as her breasts brush against his shoulder. His hand is on her hip and his eyes are on her breasts. She stops talking and slides a slip of paper across the table. It is the perfect size for a phone number. He pockets it with one hand as the other squeezes Tina's flesh and she smiles.

  Fuck my life.

  **********

  Three minutes after I close the passenger door on the Civic, the man who delivered Tommy bruised and bound to the penthouse eases into the driver's seat. Driving in silence, he returns me to the casino. In the underground garage, we enter an access-card-only area then an elevator. No buttons mark the floors we pass, but I sense we are descending even further below street level.

  That downward perception may just be my mood or echoes of the spiral my life is in since Rose's abduction. Certainly the area revealed when the elevator doors part looks nothing like the bowels of a casino. Instead, I am greeted by a labyrinth of shiny computers and office chairs intended for prolonged use.

  My escort navigates me through the maze of desks and cubicles, his attention seemingly focused on a narrow door at the opposite side of the sprawling space. Not trusting me to follow behind him, he makes me walk in front and steers me with the press of a finger against my shoulders, switching between them when he wants me to change directions.

  I already don't like him but only seconds remain to make some kind of connection. If I can, maybe he will slip and reveal information that will help me, Tommy and Rose out of this mess. Approaching the door, I decide to try.

  "My brother--"

  "Wait inside." Sliding his access card
, he unlocks the door and pushes it open. "Luke'll be in when he's ready."

  Bracing my palm against the door frame, I look up at him. A cold void stares down at me. My pulse skips nervously and anger heats my skin. This guy is no different than Masters or Solandro or my father. I am trash to be used, ignored, or abused.

  Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

  "Your ass ain't so big I can't move it." He wraps a hand around my elbow, his fingers expertly finding the same pressure points Masters used earlier to move me from the table to the cashier's cage.

  Studying his face to see just how far I can push him, I quietly resist. His expression turns ugly in a heartbeat. The thick lips thin and his eyes become narrow slits.

  "Not a hair out of place, Tony."

  A hand lands lightly on my shoulder, the thumb extended so that I can feel it bare on my skin. When I stiffen, the thumb begins to rub lightly and the man continues speaking.

  "You're already in hot water with him over the kid."

  Trying to make sense out of this new development, I look over my shoulder. It is the man who took my purse and briefed Masters right before Tommy arrived at the penthouse. Without doubt, the guy can melt ice -- provided no one has seen him standing next to Masters. He possesses the same dark hair, same eyes, but with a few less years on him. For all his looks, he lacks that one element that delivers a gut punch whenever I look at Luke.

  "You're his brother..." I trail off as a confused look spreads across the man's face.

  "You think I look like this ugly mug?" Lifting a brow, he points at Tony and I am forced to correct the misunderstanding.

  "I meant Luke."

  "Indeed." He gives a bow, his gaze holding mine throughout the gesture. "Vincent Masters, at your service, Mademoiselle Layfayette."

  Vincent brushes Tony's hand from my elbow like it was lint then turns me. His eyes crawl down my body. Heat shimmers in his eyes, but I won't be fooled by another Masters male. Seriously, I am almost insulted that they are using the same technique in an attempt to manipulate me and throw me off balance.

  Do they really think I am that stupid?

  The question makes me reconsider how I should react. Clearly, they do think I'm some kind of idiotic mess who will melt at the first smile they offer. Rolling my lips, I take one second too long in deciding whether there is any leverage to be had by playing along.