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Suddenly, something shiny flashed, and the next moment his grip on me relaxed. I stepped back in confusion and saw a knife stuck into the side of his neck. His eyes were wide with shock as he slumped onto the concrete floor.
My arms locked in place around my middle as I forced myself to lift my head. I met a pair of steel-colored eyes. The smell of weed found its way past my tangled thoughts. A small cross below his eye stood out in the light as he squinted at me. My breathing hitched as he reached out to take my chin. He tilted it up slowly and turned my head to inspect my battered cheek. As hard as it was, I didn’t break down. I couldn’t. My chest heaved as I tried to get my wits about me.
It was too dark to see, and before I could say anything, those eyes turned away and he let go of my head. I felt strangely adrift at the loss of contact. In an instant, he was gone in the darkness as if he’d dissolved into thin air. I was utterly alone and terrified, unable to think. I didn’t waste another moment. I ran from the place like the hounds of hell were at my heels until I reached my car that was parked down the street from Minnie’s club. My fingers shook as I fumbled with my keys. I didn’t even remember the doors would unlock without having to push the button. I opened the door, stumbled inside, and tore off down the road. As I raced by the security hut, Bobby poked his head out, clearly unaware that I was there or what had just happened.
* * *
“You’re fine, you’re fine,” I told myself repeatedly as I got ready for work the next day. I’d barely slept. I patted my face with the cotton towel and looked in the mirror. I knew I couldn’t tell a soul about what happened or… I squeezed my eyes shut but winced at the pain in my cheek. I’d popped a pain pill, but it still hadn’t kicked in.
I should’ve known better, but what choice did I have? If I hadn’t…stop.
I should’ve come up with a better story of my whereabouts. I knew they could ping the location of my call to Dale and see I hadn’t lied, but the thought of what could have happened mixed with what did was all too much. I tossed the towel with a small sob.
I could have been killed just from being reckless and alone on private property, and who the hell was the man who’d saved me? He’d make a good witness, one who could testify I was there. But oh, yeah, he’d just killed someone, so that wasn’t going to happen. Though, that wasn’t someone random he was with …
Breathe, Kenna. I pushed my freakout back into the box in my head and slammed the door shut. In my line of work and with my kind of family, you saw a lot of things that might stay in your head, but you had to shove it out the back door if you wanted to survive. The people I was surrounded with had the kind of money that made them untouchable.
I popped open my concealer and dabbed the brush to my face, trying my best to hide the red mark. I thought I did a pretty good job. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever been hit, and it probably wouldn’t be my last. Life in the fast lane had its challenges.
Though I had my own house outside the city, I spent most of my time living in the hotel just below the owners’ floors. Given the hours I worked, the drive to and from my home simply wasn’t feasible. Plus, I felt safe there. You had to have special clearance to access my floor, and even higher clearance to go to the owners’ floors.
I flicked through the outfits in my walk-in closet. Most of my clothes were really just scraps of fabric because this was Vegas and less was everything. As hostess for one of the hottest hotels on the Strip, my kind of clientele came with a cost, and that cost was my body up for show.
Annoyed I couldn’t find anything I liked, I pushed a button, and the rack of clothes slid into the wall and another came forward. It was the start of summer, which meant I could wear my favorite color. White. Perfect. I spotted an outfit I liked and inspected the neckline then folded it over my arm. Now for some panties and a pushup bra. I was blessed with double D cups, no surgery needed, thanks to my mother’s fabulous figure. She took the time to teach me from an early age how to care for my body. Eat right, work out, look after my skin, etcetera… and though it might seem vain to some, it had helped me in this industry. Now if only I didn’t have to work under my father’s best friend, Walter Wallace, I’d be a happy woman. Working for Wallace was just as difficult sometimes as working for my father, just in a different way, and his son Jayden made my head hurt.
My phone rang, and I tapped the screen.
“Good morning, Kenna.” Zara, my father’s secretary, sounded upbeat today.
“Morning, Zara. What’s the shitstorm today?”
“Your father needs you in a meeting on the twentieth in fifteen.”
“The twentieth?” I questioned. That meant he had a client coming in, and we were meeting with the hotel owners.
“The twentieth,” she repeated to put emphasis on it. She lowered her voice. “A new client is here, and holy shit, Kenna, he’s at least an eight.”
“Really?” We hadn’t had an eight in a very long time. She and I had our own sexy scale with clients. “Age?” I stepped into my dress and slid it up over my smooth skin then wiggled the girls into place.
“Forty-six, maybe.”
“I can work with that.” I flinched as I touched the tender spot on my cheek. Mind over matter.
I readjusted the girls and checked out the dress in the mirror. It was skintight right down to my knees, and I once again thanked my mother for all her coaching over the years.
“Trust me,” Zara continued, “after the last one, who touched my boob as an introduction, I’d take a friggin’ four. At least they aren’t usually so full of themselves.”
“Gotta love our industry.” I swapped out my iPad case for one that matched my outfit then slipped on a pair of sparkly heels. There. I looked in the mirror again. That’s better. “Okay, Zara, I’m ready.” I put my ear bud in and grabbed my purse. “Give me the goods on Mr. Eight.”
As she told me the details, I headed to the elevator and tapped my ID against the black pad then hit number twenty. I had a pretty good memory and quickly soaked up the important details she shared. By the time I hit the floor, the pain had subsided, and I was ready to go.
“Morning, Kenna,” one of the security officers on the floor greeted me, and I smiled warmly at him as I went by. I moved down the long hallway that led to a set of big steel doors. The owners were among the wealthiest on the Strip, so I understood their need to be over the top with protection.
I scanned my badge at the door, and the doorman opened it.
Well, hello, Mr. Eight.
A tall man, with broad shoulders and a trim waist dressed in what I knew were some of the best Italian fabrics there were, stood looking out the window. His hands were tucked in his pockets and snugged his pants across his ass.
