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Ethan had hoped they were all for show, big dudes to scare him but only that. He was plenty scared—he didn’t need any follow-through. When the first fist met his jaw, he knew he wasn’t walking away.
One of the men tossed him backwards, and Ethan’s head bounced off the door of a dryer, popping it open and sending a bundle of warm sheets tumbling out. Another was there to grab him by the collar before he could collapse into the linens, holding him up so the first man could punch him in the stomach and groin, adhering to Julian’s warning to, “Mind his face. That might be the only thing he has left to get me my money.”
The men punched him until he threw up. Then they left him amongst the newly soiled laundry.
From the elevators Julian said, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. With or without that money.”
Ethan paced in front of Sam’s room, raking his fingers through his damp curls and trying to figure out a way he could get around doing what he was about to do.
He shouldn’t involve her.
He should get on a plane and fly to Palo Alto to get the money from his parents. But he didn’t have enough time to wait for them to liquidate funds or try to rationally solve his problem by suggesting the police.
Perhaps he could track down Kelly and find out what she’d done with his money. Maybe luck would smile on him for the first time that evening and she’d still have it, or at least enough he could patch together the rest.
But he knew she’d blown it all.
He was up shit creek with no paddle, and he was out of favors he could call in. Being blackballed by Julian in the casinos meant his only option—winning the money—was right out the window.
Unless he had help.
He couldn’t get into the casinos, but Sam could. She had what it took to blend in, and he was hoping like hell he could coach her well enough to make the money back, no matter how long of a long shot it was. In a high-stakes game the pots were so huge she’d only need to win a hand or two to make back what they needed. She’d be in and out in a few hours tops.
But it was a lot to ask of someone he’d known less than a week, no matter how deep their connection felt. Ethan had been stunned by her balls when she stood up to Julian, but it was one thing to sass talk a man, quite another to get herself involved.
If she said no—and she’d be within her rights to—he’d be back at square one, and if that was the case, he might as well dig his own grave then and there because he’d be screwed.
Fuck it, the worst she could do was say no, which she probably would. But at least he’d have asked, and once he’d crossed Sam off as an option, then he could figure out a new plan.
He knocked with three loud raps and resumed his pacing.
When she opened the door, she looked frantic, her cell phone in her hand and her previously perfect hair mussed—likely from running her hands through it from the stress. He felt immediately guilty because it was all his fault she looked like this. He’d already ruined her vacation, what was one more shitty request?
“Oh my God, Ethan, what did they do to you?” Dropping her phone without looking to see where it landed, she crossed the threshold and took his face in her hands. He winced when her fingers touched his split lip. The growing bruise on his cheek wasn’t too fond of being handled either, but the worst damage was below the neck. Her reddish-brown eyebrows dipped in a concerned V, and she withdrew her hands. “What’s going on?”
“I’m in trouble,” he admitted, forgetting he had planned to ease her into things by being charming and glossing over his wounds. Now he sounded pathetic, and he felt certain she’d balk on his plan and—like his parents—would want to go right to the cops.
What did she know about him that might convince her not to? That he gave a good tour of the Vegas Strip and could make her come? How could he convince her to follow through with his plan when even he didn’t believe what he was doing was right?
He wanted her to gamble on his behalf, to pay a loan shark off so he no longer had to prostitute himself or get his ass kicked.
They didn’t call it Sin City for nothing.
Ethan looked awful. A purple-black bruise was blossoming on his cheek and blood had caked his lower lip. Sam never should have left him alone. She wasn’t sure what she could have done to keep this from happening, but she shouldn’t have let them lead him away. She felt lucky nothing worse had happened to him, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Her rage at Julian was running hot, and she couldn’t decide what had her more wound up, Ethan’s wounds, or her desire to shred Julian to pieces.
For his part Ethan looked like he was about to vomit. The tremor in his voice when he said he was in trouble was what
made her think his problems ran deep enough she should let him talk before she tried to say anything.
“Come in.” She stepped out of the doorway to give him room to pass, and he hesitated in the hall for a moment before accepting the invitation. His first step told her why. He was limping visibly, and his hands went to his ribs with visible agony. Once inside, he made a beeline to her bathroom and splashed water on his face then sat on the edge of the tub, gritting his teeth, his eyes shut tight.
“What’s going on?”
“I need your help.”
“Okay. With what? You have to tell me something.”
He appeared flustered and lost, like he didn’t know where to start or how to explain, but she thought she owed it to him to let him speak on his own terms instead of pushing any harder.
