by Cassia Leo
She shrugs. “You’re going to miss out as I school this dealer,” she says, winking at the guy as he deals her another hand.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “No flirting with the dealer or I’ll really go caveman on you when we get back to the room.” I kiss her cheek. “I love you, baby. I’ll be right back.”
She laughs, but she never takes her eyes off the cards as I get up to head toward the terrace. As I step out into the clear desert night, I look around at the small groups of people chatting, but I don’t see my father or any board members anywhere. Sliding my phone out of my pocket again, I shoot off a text asking my dad where he is. I watch Kara through the glass doors as I wait for my father to reply, but he never does.
As I begin to head inside, a man with slicked hair and an ill-fitting tuxedo steps in my path. “Excuse me,” I reply, suppressing my urge to clock the guy.
“Are you Cash Westbrook?” the guy asks in a Russian accent as two huge meatheads appear at his side. “I’m Mykhail. Benny’s cousin. You know my cousin Benny Bagramov? Because he knows you and your girlfriend.”
“I don’t know what the fucking you’re talking about,” I say, trying to squeeze past them, but they block my path. “You don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with here. I suggest you let me through or this is gonna get ugly.”
Mykhail laughs. “What are you going to do? Going to call your little bodyguards? I think they’re a little tied up at the moment.”
I laugh. “Where’d you learn English? Did you go to super-villain school, or something? Get the fuck out of my way.”
Mykhail pulls his jacket open, showing me a semi-automatic Glock in a holster on his waist. “You can go with me or we can take Kara. Your choice. If you leave with me, Kara and her father will be unharmed.”
I shake my head. “Your guys will never get past Hector. He was special forces, SEAL team six. He’ll rip your men to shreds.”
“And how about your other bodyguard. What is his name? Dexter? Do you know where he is right now?” he asks, his smile widening as he sees the fear in my eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, Mr. Westbrook.”
I glance over their shoulders into the ballroom, my heart hammering against my chest as I watch the man sitting next to Kara look directly at me and smile. Kara is too busy concentrating on the blackjack table to notice anything. If the man were to pull a gun out of his jacket, she wouldn’t see it coming. I couldn’t get her attention right now unless I shouted her name at the top of my voice. Even then, she wouldn’t be able to react fast enough.
Where the fuck is Dex?
I let out a heavy sigh as I turn around. “I’ll go wherever you want, but you leave Kara and her father out of it. They don’t have anything to give you, but my dad will pay anything ransom you want to get me back.”
But as soon as these words come out of my mouth, I realize it was my father’s phone that texted me to meet him on the terrace.
“Where’s my father?” I ask, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.
Mykhail and his men laugh. “He’s fine. A little banged up, but he’ll survive.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end as my body floods with adrenaline. They took my father just to get his phone. Now, they’re getting away with me and who knows what they’ve done to Dex. I’m an idiot if I think they’re going to take me for ransom and I’m going to live to see another day. I’m an even bigger idiot if I think they’re not going to hurt Kara or her father as soon as I’m out of the picture.
With all the power and adrenaline I can muster, I shove the heel of my hand into Mykhail’s hooked nose and take off toward the ballroom as his slow goons chase after me. I hear a crackle of static and one of them shouts in Russian. I watch in horror as Kara’s head turns toward the man sitting next to her, nearly falling out of her stool as he pulls his jacket back and retrieves a gun from his holster.
I burst through the door into the ballroom and another guy next to him grabs her around the waist. The other guy stands up, points his gun at me, and fires. I duck behind a craps table as the ballroom erupts into panicked screams and people running in all directions. Glancing behind me, neither Mykhail or his goons are anywhere in sight. They must have changed tactics and decided to take Kara instead of me.
Without any regard for my safety, I stand up and race toward the guy with the gun as his friend drags Kara kicking and screaming toward the exit behind the bar.
“Somebody stop him!” I shout, painfully aware I’m not going to get to her in time as I dodge the other guy’s bullets. “Fuck!” I roar as I duck behind the same blackjack table where I just left Kara.
I fucking did it again.
I cover my face as I try to block out Vanessa’s blue skin and glassy-eyed stare.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
16
Kara
As soon as the man with the tree trunk arms pulls me outside, my sinuses are assaulted with the smell of burnt rubber. But it only lasts a second before someone else yanks a hood over my head. I’m lifted off the ground and someone else grabs my feet as I’m carried away. By the way my captors are bouncing, it feels as if we’re descending a staircase, which would make sense since the ballroom and terrace are on the third level of the hotel.
“If that’s you, fuck you, Benny!” I shout through the dark fabric as I continue kicking and fighting, making their job as difficult as possible. “Fuck you and your needle dick! Fuck! You!”
I’m determined to spout as many insults as I can before I’m knocked out with a needle in the neck or a fist in the face. But it doesn’t take long. As I’m tossed into the back of whatever vehicle they’re using to abduct me, the top of my head slams into something hard. Propelled by the full weight of my body, the force knocks me out in an instant.
I don’t know how long I’m out, but it can’t be long because I’m still bumping along in the back of — what is this, a van? My hands are now tied behind my back and the hood is still over my head, but it’s no longer covering my mouth, as if it’s been taken off and put back on poorly while I was unconscious.
“She’s breathing fine,” a man with a Russian accent insists. “Her head’s not even bleeding. You worry about yourself. Don’t worry about the girl.”
“Fuck you!” says another man’s muffled voice, but this one I recognize. It’s Dex. “My boss is going to make you all wish you were dead when he finds us.”
“Dex!” I shout.
“Kara!” he shouts back. “Don’t fight anymore. Just do whatever they say. Knox will find us.”
“I’m so sorry, Dex. I didn’t mean for this to happen to you.”
“Shut up, bitch!” the Russian roars, then he lands a hard kick in my back. “You should listen to him and don’t fight or talk. Save your voice for later when we all take turns fucking you.”
The food in my stomach shoots into my throat as my body floods with visceral terror. I try to hold it in, but I can’t. And I thank God the hood isn’t still covering my mouth as I vomit my steak and salad all over my shoulder and the floor.
“What the fuck!” the Russian shouts, stepping on my bad thigh as he tries to get around me.
I scream at the slicing pain in my hamstring and he laughs as he shoves my face in my vomit.
“Clean that up!” he commands, laughing as I sob and try to wrench my hands free from my restraints.
“She’s gonna aspirate!” Dex shouts. “Pick on someone your own size you piece of shit.”
I can’t see Dex, but he must be even more restrained than I am. Dex is at least 250 pounds of solid muscle. They probably had to drug him to subdue him.
The Russian pulls me up into a sitting position, making no attempt to make me comfortable as I cry from the pain in my leg. “You’re disgusting. Look at you. Almost as disgusting as your father.”
I swallow my pain and wipe the vomit off my mouth by swiping my lips across my shoulder. “My father would wipe the floor with you. You’re too dumb to gamble, so you get other peopl
e to do it for you. You’re pathetic.”
He lands an open-handed smack against my temple and I see bright flashes of color dancing before my eyes in the darkness of the hood.
“Kara, stop talking,” Dex begs me. “Don’t give them any reason to hurt you. Please.”
“Listen to your babysitter, Kara,” the Russian warns me as the vehicle comes to a stop. “We’re here. It’s showtime, baby.”
I fully expect to be removed from the van and led to the next location. Instead, I feel a sharp sting in my neck as I’m stuck with a needle. I gasp for breath as panic sets in. But it doesn’t last long before my muscles become cold and slack and I pass out again.
17
Cash
I should have expected this. I should have known when Kara told me about her father’s bookies that they would find out about our relationship. I should have seen this coming a fucking mile away.
Why did I leave her alone at that fucking blackjack table?
“Fuck!” I roar, then I take off running toward the stairwell on the opposite end of the hotel, the one that empties into the parking garage.
No doubt the hotel elevators will be packed with panicking guests right now, and the police and first responders will probably use the stairwell closest to the scene of the shooting. I don’t have time to give a statement to police, and Kara’s abductor was pretty clear that I should not alert authorities.
I explode through the exit door and pull my vibrating phone out of my pocket as I begin descending the stairs. My heart races as I see I have another text from my father, which is certainly from the Russian.
Dad:
$2 million for Kara. We will throw in your dad for free. 2-for-1 deal of a lifetime. Will probably kill bodyguard for fun. Call cops and they all die.
My stomach vaults as three images are sent. The first is my father in the back seat of a dark sedan, duct tape stretched across his mouth as blood trickles from his nose and a swollen cut on his cheek. The next picture is Dex sitting in the back of a van with his feet tied together and his hands tied behind his head. His torso is tied to the steel security screen separating the front of the van from the back. The third picture makes me want to set the fucking world on fire.
The third photo is a picture of Kara lying on the floor of the same van, her eyes are closed as a male hand shoves her face into a pool of vomit. I want to turn away from the image, but I force myself to look at it, to let it fill me with the raging fire of a thousand suns. I let the fury overtake me until I feel as if I’m almost outside my own body, analyzing the situation from every angle, using my anger as a tool to make better use of every single second I’m away from Kara.
These motherfuckers will regret the day they touched her, and they’ll regret it for the rest of their lives.
I burst out of the exit door into the parking garage, thankful that Kara’s captors insisted I can’t involve the authorities. Knox Security is much more experienced at handling these types of situations than Vegas PD. They’re so experienced that, as I’m about to call the emergency number Knox Savage gave me when I became a client of his two years ago, my phone rings before I can even dial the number.
“Hello?”
“Cash, it’s Knox. I’m out in front of the hotel,” says Knox Savage in his deep New York wise guy accent.
“How did you know?”
“I was in California when Hector called a few hours ago to tell me about Benny. I’ve dealt with him before, so I didn’t hesitate. This isn’t the kind of threat you wait out. Come on, kid. We gotta get movin’.”
“I’m in the parking garage, on the third floor, but I can hear sirens coming from the lower level.”
“Take the emergency stairwell on the south side of the garage down to street level, and meet me at the entrance to Via Bel Canto,” he replies without hesitation.
“Got it.”
I disappear into the concrete stairwell just as the first police car arrives on the third level. Racing down the steps, I rush out into the cool Las Vegas night, running across the sandy desert landscaping toward the black SUV idling at the entrance to Via Bel Canto. The back door swings open when I’m nearly there, allowing me climb inside and slam the door shut as the SUV begins moving.
The guy in the back seat isn’t Knox Savage, but he’s definitely there to break some heads and take some names. His head is a block of granite sitting atop a fucking quarry, with a tattoo of the word “Devil” carved into his thick neck. He’s busy loading a gun in his lap.
I nod at him. “Cash.”
He nods without looking at me. “Bruno.”
“Sven,” says a blond guy in the third row seat, who’s busy typing on a laptop, which sits securely inside a steel hard case.
“Jimmy,” says a dark-haired guy next to Sven.
Jimmy is also loading a weapon. He’s almost as huge as Bruno, but his blue eyes are even colder. This man will do whatever needs to be done without hesitation. That much is obvious.
Hector is driving the SUV while Knox Savage sits in the front passenger seat loading another pistol. This must be the team that was with Knox when Hector called him a few hours ago.
“Hector, if you’re here, who’s guarding Kurt?”
Knox responds for Hector. “I have a couple guys guarding them. They’re fine.”
My heart pounds as I have to stop myself from declaring that they’re not fucking fine. “They sent me some photos in a text—”
“Give me your phone,” Sven cuts me off.
I glance toward Knox and he nods. Handing over the phone, I feel as if I’ve given over control of this operation, which makes me feel powerless. I need to be able to do something or the rage will consume me.
Sven connects my phone to his laptop and continues typing. “Ping info should come through in ninety seconds.” He stares at the screen unblinking, his fingers poised over the keyboard. “They’re headed toward downtown.”
Just like that, they already have these fucking amateurs’ location.
“I want them all dead.”
Knox turns in his seat to look me in the eye. “The blood-thirst is good, but it will only help if you don’t let it get in the way. You ever shoot a gun?”
I nod as I recall skeet shooting and quail hunting with my dad in my teens. “Only rifles.”
“I’ll give you a lesson with this .38, but you gotta remember the rules of engagement or I’ll fuckin’ kneecap you. You’re only useful to me if you listen. Got it?”
I swallow my pride and throw him a curt nod. “Got it.”
“Your phone’s ringing,” Sven declares. “Unknown number. Give me ten seconds for the trace.”
“Answer the fucking phone!” I shout, ready to climb into the third row.
“Don’t fucking think about it,” Bruno warns me, pressing the muzzle of his gun to my head.
My muscles tense as I’m frozen in place. “Okay, okay,” I say, slowly moving back into my seat.
He slowly pulls the gun back just as Sven declares the call is coming from a landline before he answers the call by putting it on speaker.
“Who’s this?” Sven asks.
“Who’s this? Where’s my son?” my father shouts into the phone.
“Dad! I’m here!” I shout back. “Where are you? Where are you calling from?”
“I don’t know where I am,” he replies. “I think I’m — are we downtown?”
He seems to be talking to someone who’s there with him. My heart soars as I pray it’s Kara. The text I received implied they might release my father and Kara together.
“Kara! Are you there?” I call out.
“Kara’s not with me, son,” my father replies, dashing my hopes. “They dumped me on the street. This kind Samaritan allowed me to use his phone. I’m at the AutoZone on Eastern and Fremont.”
“Stay there,” Sven replies before I can. “Are you injured?”
“A little roughed up, but I’m fine.”
“No possibility of internal in
juries?” Sven asks.
“I’m fine,” my father insists.
“Good,” Sven replies. “Ask if they can hide you in the stockroom. We’ll send someone to pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“No!” my father shouts. “You will come and pick me up. I’m not going to sit back and take it while these thugs abduct my future daughter-in-law. You will pick me up, and I mean now!”
Jesus Christ. My father has no chill.
I look to Knox, and he and Sven seem to be engaged in a telepathic conversation. Finally, Knox nods and Sven shakes his head.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes. Sit tight,” he tells my father before ending the call.
18
Kara
I wake with a blinding headache and a serious case of cotton mouth. Licking my lips, I taste the familiar metallic tang of blood mixed with the bitter flavor of dried vomit. As my eyelids flutter open, my surroundings slowly come into focus.
I’m in the corner of a dingy office, tied to an old wooden swivel chair, but all five casters have been removed from the base so it no longer rolls. A metal desk with chipped gray paint sits in the center of the concrete floor. On top of the desk are multiple stacks of hundred dollar bills, each stack is at least six inches high. Next to the money is my phone and a collection of tools — a hammer, hand saw, pliers, tire iron, and hedge clippers — which I assume will be used to torture me.
The door opens and the sound makes me physically flinch. My heart races and vision blurs as a man in a beige suit walks in with two musclemen behind him. It’s Benny Bagarov. I recognize him from the articles I’ve read.
“Kara Langley. Fancy meeting you here,” he says in a smooth voice. “I thought you might never wake up, and I’d have to throw you into a barrel of acid. Good to see you’re still fighting.”
His Russian accent isn’t as thick as the man who abducted me and roughed me up in the back of the van. But the words he speaks, the easy way he walks, and the sinister smile on his face make me fear him even more. My body trembles as he draws closer with every step he takes.
