by Shayla Black
“Process improvements,” I mumble absently.
I’ve got to get into that room ASAP. I need hard evidence so I can free these people and get out of this shithole.
“Precisely. Thoughts so far?” Marco asks as he steps back into the elevator and presses the button to return to the observation suite above the casino.
“About this venture?” I shrug. “If you want max profitability, we need to clean it up. If I had money and I was in the market for specific…companionship, I wouldn’t want anyone who looked mistreated and unwashed. Torn clothes and bruises should be a hard fucking no.”
“You have a fair point. The merchandise should come in pristine condition. What the buyer decides to do with it…”
“Should be up to them.” If I can convince Donzelli to treat his captives more like people than animals until I can deal directly with the situation, I’ll call that a temporary win.
“Their current accommodations were slapped together simply because we grew faster than planned and had nothing else prepared. I’ve been toying with the notion that we need better. This facility is secure, but…”
“But it smells like body odor and shit. You can’t get top dollar that way. It might have worked for a small-time operation, but you want to go big. So you’ve got to do better.”
“You’re right.”
“We have that old wing of the hotel shut down for upgrades. They’re not scheduled to start work on the west hallway of the eighth floor until the end of summer. Put the merch there. That will buy you a few months to find an alternate location. Move guards into position so that anyone who wanders that way can be redirected. Hell, put a passcode on the southern-most elevator so that anyone who gets on can’t stop at that floor.”
And if Donzelli agrees, all those people in cages now will have a bed, a toilet, a shower, and a few creature comforts. It’s not freedom yet, but it’s a step up.
“To be honest, I haven’t been down there in a few weeks. I’m displeased Paulie hasn’t improved his setup. I’ll have the product moved to that abandoned wing tonight. Those rooms haven’t been renovated in a few decades, so the doors still have old-fashioned locks with keys. Jimmy in Maintenance can flip the knobs around so they lock from the outside. The windows don’t vent out. We sold off the old phones for parts months ago. We can wire some video surveillance in each room quickly and tie that into the rest of the casino’s security. That way, we can monitor every piece of merchandise from my suite. We have the equipment. And you’ll be around to keep an eye on things while you study the business. It’s a great plan.” He claps me on the shoulder, clearly pleased.
And Paul Carboni will consider my involvement as welcome as me pissing in his Corn Flakes. “Like I said, I’m happy to help.”
We reach the level just above the casino. When Donzelli and I step into his suite, a glance out the wall of windows tells me the crowd on the floor has swelled again. Shoulders bump and bodies rub as people dash from one diversion to another, looking for empty, temporary amusement.
But that’s not the shock. Paulie standing in the middle of the room, rain-soaked and shaking up a bottle of champagne in his beefy hands as blood stains his shirt, is.
What the fuck has he been up to?
Instinct kicks me in the teeth again. Whatever it is, I’m not going to like it.
“What are we celebrating?” Donzelli asks.
“Boss!” Paulie uncorks the bubbly and turns toward Sal and Rudy. Yeah, he knows better than to spew all over the boss’s fancy duds. He celebrates over the duo’s sputtering with a laugh. “Boss, that thorn in your side? That annoying ‘competitor’ in the flesh biz, Ransom?” He barks out a low, ugly laugh. “I got him.”
My blood runs cold. I work like a motherfucker to keep all hint of reaction, especially dread, off my face. “What do you mean?”
“Shut up, you little puke,” he snarls. “I’m talking to the boss.”
“We’re family,” Donzelli growls. “We’re supposed to get along, Paul.”
But Carboni has already made it clear I’m like the pesky younger cousin he’d rather do without. The feeling is more than mutual. And I don’t need more family, thanks very much. I’ve got three older brothers.
Ransom just happens to be my oldest.
Paul sneers. “Then the little fuck shouldn’t interrupt me when I’m trying to tell you that I eliminated the competition—for good. I dusted Ransom in a strip mall about an hour ago.”
I suffer through a long fucking hour of their celebration, trying to tamp down my panic. There’s no way Ransom would allow himself to be offed in some shitty, crime-ridden part of town, right? He’s the assassin. He’s too smart. He’s always been the hunter, not the hunted…unless whatever’s distracted him for the past few weeks—and I suspect she must have two shapely legs and a great pair of tits—got the best of him.
Finally, I dash back to the john. I’ll suffer Sal’s jokes about having to pee too often. Whatever. Or maybe I’ll just tell him I have diarrhea and offer to shit down his throat. Bastard.
The minute I close the door behind me, I quickly sweep the bathroom. Still no surveillance equipment, thank fuck. Nice to know there’s some honor among thugs and criminals. Then I yank out my phone and dial Ransom with shaking hands.
Collectively, my brothers and I do some dangerous fucking jobs, but I’ve never come close to losing one of them. We’re tight, and I don’t know how the fuck I’ll cope if Ransom really is gone.
“C’mon,” I mutter under my breath. “Answer.”
Then, like a miracle, he does. “Ridge? Talk to me.”
Relief blindsides me. For a moment, all I can do is breathe. “You’re alive?”
“What made you think I wasn’t? And if you thought I’d kicked it, why are you calling me?”
I drop my voice. “Paul Carboni came tearing in here about an hour ago, whooping like an idiot.”
Ransom snorts. “He is an idiot.”
“I can’t argue with that. But he gave Donzelli the thumbs-up and started popping champagne. When I asked why the fuck we’re partying, Paulie announced that he iced you tonight in the parking lot of some ratty-ass strip mall.”
“Carboni tried. He tagged me twice. But I got some stitches and meds. I’m good as new.”
Thank God. “Donzelli thinks you’re dead.”
“So he’ll get brazen. One less competitor, right? See if you can get him to move on the next part of his operation so we can figure out what the fuck is happening.”
“Actually, I should have a lot of new information soon.” I’d say more…but here and now aren’t good. “You lie low until then, ’k? And hey, thanks for not making me mourn you yet.”
“Nah. I wouldn’t let a punk like Paul Carboni off me.”
I’m so fucking grateful for that. “I gotta go. I’ll call when I can.”
“Stay safe.”
I would have liked to ask more questions about where he’s at, who patched him up, and how he’s watching his six. But I can’t risk it. It’s enough to know he’s alive and taking care of himself. “You, too, man.”
This time, I really do piss, then wash up, my thoughts racing.
Donzelli and Carboni both think their competition is dead. This presents an opportunity, and if I’ve just been put in charge of this skeevy operation, then I need to act like I intend to take advantage of this moment to expand our market share.
But when I emerge from the bathroom, Donzelli doesn’t look in the mood to party. Sure, Paulie and Sal are passing around the champagne and pouring it over their faces like water. Half-witted Rudy chortles like a middle-school mean girl reveling in another’s misfortune. But the boss? He’s on his phone, looking grim.
“Shut the fuck up,” I bark at the other three morons, gesturing to Marco.
He probably thinks I’m showing him deference, but I’m really fucking worried that somehow, someway he’s already figured out that Ransom isn’t dead and will contract someone way better to
do the job.
Finally, Donzelli nods. “Of course.”
I can’t follow the conversation because Paulie gets in my face. “Stay the fuck out of my operation. I run the sex biz around here.”
“Not anymore, according to the boss.”
Carboni ignores me. “You fill his head with stupid shit. Now the people we’re keeping alive simply because they have tits and a pussy or an asshole someone wants to poke are going to fill up the fucking empty wing of the hotel. Do you know how much harder they’ll be to keep an eye on up there?”
“Marco agrees with me that the merchandise should be kept in better shape. You don’t like it? Take it up with him.”
“I hate you, you pansy-ass, Ivy League, brown-nosing motherfucker. I’m coming for you.”
I smile Paulie’s way. “Please do.”
Donzelli slashes a glare at both of us as he continues to speak into the phone. “I understand. Thank you for the heads-up. I’ll have it taken care of.”
With a curse, the mafia don stabs his phone to end the call, then looks up with a snarl. “We have a…situation.”
“What? Tell me how I can help.” Maybe I can use it to destroy this fucking organization.
Suddenly, his phone lights up, then he glances at the picture with a grim smile. “Gotcha.”
What the fuck is he talking about? “Boss?”
Now that Paulie, Sal, and Rudy are finally paying attention, Donzelli gives us a tight smile. “Last night we grabbed a girl off the floor for one of our VIP guests. He paid a pretty penny for her, and he’s planning to…introduce himself after he finishes at the craps tables this evening. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet since her disappearance, so the police won’t get involved until later tonight. But it appears she has friends and family who aren’t waiting. One of them is down there, stirring up trouble. I want you to find this woman and shut her up quickly.”
Sal and Rudy glance at her image on Donzelli’s phone. The big lug whistles. A dirty smile flits across the short man’s face. “She’s a looker. I’d fuck her. In fact, I think I will. C’mon, Rudy.”
Together they head out, taking the elevator with them.
Finally, the boss turns his phone around to show me a picture of a gorgeous redhead who flips every one of my switches at the same time the blood in my veins freezes.
Unfortunately, I don’t have to guess where Kristi Knolls is anymore. She came to Vegas—and fell pretty ass first into danger.
Fuck.
I go running.
Kristi
Worry gnaws my belly as I shoulder my way through the thick crowd of people, trying not to scream. Why is this casino so crowded? Granted, it’s a Saturday night, but I don’t understand the neon, get-rich-quick attraction. Then again, I’ve never liked gambling. But that doesn’t matter now. My cousin Sammie does. The girl is barely eighteen.
And she went missing last night.
Early this morning, my aunt Tammy called frantically and asked for my help in finding her daughter. Sammie disappeared here, at a concert she came to with friends. It should have been fine. She was in a group. They were in public. But she went to the restroom between bands…and never returned.
Worry knots me. Sammie is young and impulsive, but she’s never been the kind of kid who looks for trouble. Sure, it’s possible she saw another pal or met someone new. But it would be completely out of character for her to ditch her friends without a word. Even more unlike her not to call her mother all night long. When she left the house, her phone battery was full, so it shouldn’t have given out.
With every passing minute, I get more concerned. If I let myself imagine all the things that could befall her in Vegas, I’ll lose my shit. I can’t imagine what my aunt Tammy is going through. Sammie is her only daughter.
But at this point, I’m terrified the worst has happened.
I grab a passing employee’s sleeve, shoving my phone with a picture of Sammie in his face. “Excuse me. Were you working last night? Did you see this girl?”
He glances at the screen, then quickly shakes his head, avoiding my gaze. “Sorry.”
He pushes forward. The crowd swallows him up. I fight to keep my composure.
I’d follow the waiter and demand his help, but he’s the third employee I’ve questioned. Each dismissed—more like dodged—me when I asked about Sammie. What the heck is going on?
Hotel security wasn’t any more helpful. They said they would only work with me once the police deemed this a missing-persons case. Until then, they consider Sammie an adult, having adult fun in a haven built for just that purpose.
As I snake through the throng of people, pushing against the flow of bodies, I scan everywhere for my cousin’s long, dark waves and sunny smile. Nothing. Her last text to her mother said she was having a great time and that she and her friends planned to get some food after the concert. That was twenty-two hours ago. No one has heard from her since.
A few feet away, I spot a cluster of stairs that lead to some high-roller slots. I twist my way to them, climbing to the top for a better view, then turn to scan the vast expanse of the casino. My stare makes it halfway across the room before I feel eyes on me.
It’s ominous. A warning.
The unease rolling through my stomach turns to fear.
Is the someone who’s responsible for whatever happened to Sammie watching me, determined to make sure I don’t find her?
Quickly, I whip out my phone to text someone my location. But who? Aunt Tammy has enough on her plate. Most of my friends are back in Dallas. But I didn’t tell any of them that I hopped a last-minute flight to Vegas to help locate Sammie.
If I disappeared, too, no one would know where to start looking.
Those are crazy thoughts, right? I need to calm down. Sure, I came here alone, but who would really try to shut me up for asking a few questions about a missing girl?
Writing off my disquiet to paranoia seems logical…but I still feel eyes on me. Again, I skim the crowd. I don’t see anyone staring, but something tugs my gaze up, to a band of dark, mirrored glass that rims the edge of the dropped ceiling. Above it is clearly another level, one not open to the public.
At first glance, I assume the casino hides their security cameras there. Now I suspect it’s hiding people, too.
My heart pounds. Even though I’m standing in the midst of a crowd, I suddenly feel as if I’m in danger.
Quickly, I dash off a text with my location and situation to Sophie Larsen, my bestie since grade school—not to mention one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. It would be better if she was in Vegas, too, and I doubt she’s still awake to look at her phone, but she’s the only person I trust one hundred percent. It also doesn’t hurt that she’s married to a small-town police chief. Rand is the perfect guy for her—protective, smart, brave, and badass…yet totally caring. He’s head-over-heels for Soph, who feels the same about him. I’m happy for them both.
Too bad Ridge wasn’t anything like his big brother.
He was a one-night mistake I’ve been hoping to forget. Unfortunately, that’s impossible. I’ll have to figure out how to deal with that later. Sammie first.
Suddenly, I spot a pair of suits heading in my direction, one tall and round and looking as if the lights upstairs aren’t quite on. The other is on the diminutive side, but with a tough-guy demeanor that says he means business. They’re wearing identical scowls. Instantly, I know they’re coming for me.
I glance around for someplace to escape, but it’s a dead end. They’ve got me cornered.
“Miss.” The big one settles his hand around my elbow. “You need to come with us.”
Not happening. “Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just looking for someone.”
“While harassing our employees and disturbing other guests,” Shortie barks.
“Then I’ll leave.” I try to yank my arm from the tall lug’s grasp.
He’s not budging.
Shortie leans into my face.
“You’ll come with us. We have a few things to say.”
“People know where I am,” I blurt. It’s almost true.
That gives the tall one pause. He looks to Shortie for answers.
The smaller, meaner man shrugs. “We just want to have a conversation, miss. You’ll be out of here in ten minutes.”
My BS meter is pealing. “I’m not going anywhere with you. If you want me to move from this spot, you’ll have to carry me out and I will scream at the top of my lungs.”
“I don’t advise making this more difficult.”
“Or what?”
“We might have some information about the girl you’re looking for. We’d rather not discuss it on the floor. Do you want it or not?”
If I wasn’t suspicious that they had something to do with Sammie’s disappearance, sure. “Whatever you have to tell me, you can say right here.”
The tall one gets impatient, crushing my elbow with his meaty fingers. “Look, bitch—”
“Rudy, get your hand off the lady. Sal, shut up. I’ll take it from here.”
At the sound of that familiar voice, head-to-toe chills cover me. I wanted to hear it again. I’ve needed to. Heck, I’ve ached to. But I didn’t expect to hear it here. I especially didn’t expect him to know these two thugs who might have had something to do with my cousin’s disappearance.
Gasping, I stare into the face of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Ridge Garrison. I remember every minute I spent with him, every inch of his skin, every tattoo, every glance from his dark eyes, every kiss he pressed to my mouth, and every orgasm he gave me.
He looks right through me like I’m a stranger.
“Get lost, Rafael,” Shortie sneers. “We got her. And we know what to do.”
Rafael?
He raises a thick, dark brow. “I said to get your hand off her. I outrank you boys, and the boss put me in charge. Step away.”
