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Chapter One
Blake Stone
I need a fucking drink.
That’s the only thought in my head as I break down the last of my computer equipment in Xavier Cerelli’s penthouse apartment overlooking the gaudy lights of the Las Vegas strip. As soon as I move everything to my new accommodation downstairs, I’m going to go find myself a drink. I don’t care how early it is. John, our medic, finally isn’t in my pocket advising against it and after the last couple of days, I totally deserve whatever top-shelf libation this place has to offer. If it’s anything like the top guy’s private supply, it’s bound to be good.
The horror I felt when I saw Faye making her way down that narrow ledge, the sound of devastation that was ripped from Travis’ throat when she finally made it to the rooftop, only to be captured by that son-of-a-bitch, is burned into my brain. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to shake it. Even now, knowing she’s safe and sound with him in the room I arranged for them, my heart hasn’t been able to slow down its frantic beating. I need a drink, something to eat and some uninterrupted sleep.
In that order.
Trav and I have been through a lot together over the years. I met him on the bus to boot camp right after the foster family I had been living with turned me out. I’d just graduated and my most recent foster family had let me know that since they weren’t going to get paid to keep me that I needed to find another place to stay, so I found my way to the nearest recruiter’s office and signed up. It was more than blind luck that assured we ended up as part of the same team, and our time overseas cemented our bond.
Our brotherhood.
We both dated. Went home with the girls we met at the bar or anywhere really, but it didn’t take long for either of us to realize that we wanted something more, and the women we were meeting weren’t the type that you make a life with, just a good time. Having been alone for most of my childhood I longed for family and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. I wanted something, someone permanent, not flings with girls who only wanted a good time for a night or two. I suspect that for Travis, his heart knew that Faye was his future long before she was old enough for him to see it. Through everything, Faye was his constant, as funny as that sounds. It wasn’t sexual or anything, it’s just that she was always in the front of his mind while he was waiting for a letter from her and then, when we got home for good, trying to find her. He didn’t have time for anyone else.
It’s different for me. I don’t have anyone in my life keeping me away from the whole scene, just a sense of dissatisfaction regarding every woman I’ve dated. Ever. Maybe that sounds shitty. I mean, how many straight guys in their late twenties who are single and not bad looking can say that they just aren’t interested in the women that they meet? Any of them…
Sometimes I think I’m looking for an ideal that doesn’t even exist. Call me a romantic, but is it too much to ask to find a woman who isn’t just beautiful, but one who has substance as well? Someone with integrity who is kind and caring, generous where they can be… like I said, someone out of the made-for-TV movies they play around the holidays. Women like that don’t exist in real life. At least that’s what I thought before I met Faye and Ana. Before meeting them, I would have told anyone who asked that I thought that combination was like looking for a unicorn! Now I know that fucking unicorns are real, and I’m determined to find my own.
I just don’t know how someone goes about finding one. Travis knew Faye for years and didn’t realize she was his until he found her again. I don’t know all of Xavier’s story, but it sounds like Ana was in the picture long before she became his wife. I don’t have anyone like that in my life and I have no idea how someone goes about finding their other half. It’s not something I ever witnessed growing up bouncing from one foster home to the next. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out.
Hauling my stuff through the door I look around. The small apartment X arranged for me is nice enough. Not as nice as my house in Spokane, but it has a great view of the city and the desert beyond it. We won’t be here forever, so it’ll do. I’m not a big fan of apartments and small living spaces in general. Years of foster care spent in trailer parks, followed by the less than luxurious digs the military provided, are to blame for that. The first thing I did when Travis and I decided
to settle in Spokane was buy a house. I’d been saving my money for years, and when Trav bought the next house on the road I felt like things were on the right track. Now we’re in Vegas for who knows how long.
Depositing my gear on the glossy wood table in the dining nook, I limp through the bedroom and into the bathroom. The bruises on my leg have mostly faded to a sickly yellow and the swelling is gone but the lingering ache remains as a reminder of Faye’s wicked swing with a baseball bat. Stripping off the clothes I’ve been wearing for the last couple of days I shudder. I hate being dirty. It’s fucking gross, but apparently if I leave them in the bathroom hamper someone from housekeeping will make sure they get picked up and laundered for me. That’s going to be a new experience. I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was five.
Turning on the taps, I step into the glass enclosure, the cold water is a shock but refreshing and quickly warms to a comfortable temperature. The shower is to die for. Not really, obviously, but pretty damn close. It’s better than anything I’ve had anywhere I’ve ever lived. This, I could get used to. I guess being in the mafia has some perks. I might consider doing crimes if it meant having a shower like this to come home to every day. Might. I chuckle to myself thinking about all the hacking I’ve done since we started K&S… not exactly legal.
As much as I enjoy the endless supply of hot water, I don’t linger under the delicious spray. I’m intent on finding that bourbon and something to eat. Decent company of the feminine persuasion? I’ve given up on that concept. There’s never anyone decent, and in a city with Vegas’ reputation, I expect decency is a virtue that might be even harder to find.
Throwing on some of the spare clothes from my bag, I lock up behind myself and take the private elevator down to the main floor of the casino. Not having to share the elevator is a nice perk too. I can’t help but appreciate the luxury that Luminoso Casino is providing, even though I know it would get on my nerves if I had to deal with it on a regular basis. I’m just a simple guy, with simple needs. I don’t need fancy, just enough, and it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to share it with. I don’t think I’m asking for too much.
But first, I need that drink. My knee throbs painfully inside my jeans. The doctor in Spokane told me I should stay off it as much as possible for a couple of weeks after my unexpected meeting with a terrified Faye. She’s a little bitty thing, but she sure got the best of me. Doing my best to hide my slight limp, I make my way into the crowded hotel lounge and take a seat at the end of the long, polished bar where I’m a bit removed from the chaos going on around me.
The bar is classy, like everything else I’ve seen in Xavier’s place of business, all dark woods, butter-soft leather, and muted lighting. Understated elegance. There isn’t anything gaudy anywhere, unlike the city bustling around outside. Even the waitresses are understated in their simple black dresses and heels.
After a commendably short wait, I get the drink that I’ve practically been dreaming about. Settling back into the surprisingly-comfortable, high-backed leather bar chair, I inhale the sharp aroma of the liquor and take a small sip, enjoying the heat as it slides down my throat and spreads through my belly. I’m content. I have nothing else to do right now. Nowhere that I must be. I’m grateful for the chance to decompress for a while.
Taking another sip of the liquid awesome from the heavy glass in my hand, I sigh. It’s been a shit-ass week and since the Feds are involved now, we’re sticking around for a while, who knows what the upcoming days are going to look like. I’m just hoping it’s not too much of a shitshow.
I’m sipping my second bourbon, finally letting go of the vibrating energy that has been fueling me since we left Spokane and curiously watching as strangers come and go around me. From where I’m sitting, I can see almost everything just by turning my head a little. All the booths and tables and back into the kitchen area beyond the bar. It looks like a full kitchen, and I recall that on the other side it connects to the café. I gesture to the goth-looking bartender for another round, and when she lifts her chin, letting me know that she sees me, I swallow the last of the amber liquid and return to my observation of the activity surrounding me.
Behind the bar, just inside the kitchen, a heavyset man is hovering over a petite woman dressed in a waitress uniform. A long dark brown ponytail falls to the center of her back. The short black dress, shiny hose and sexy as fuck, skyscraper heels draw my eyes to a perfect peach of an ass and her slender legs. I can’t help myself; I may not have much faith in the goodness of womankind, but I appreciate nice legs and a nice ass as much as any other guy.
She shifts uneasily on her heels. Either her feet hurt, or it’s the man talking to her who is making her uncomfortable. I can’t quite make out what he is saying to her, but his rough hand gestures and the angry scowl on his face tell me everything I need to know. It’s him. I can’t see her face; she is mostly turned away from where I’m lounging with feigned disinterest, only my eyes locked on the scene unfolding in front of me.
