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Cobra was too savvy to lend out his club’s services for nothing. The main reason why the MC received a hefty profit from underground fighting at the Valley View warehouse in exchange for their contacts in Vegas.
“This city has its players outside of the Serpents. Whoever said the mob isn’t in Vegas didn’t do their homework,” Samson said.
“Doesn’t mean we have to be a part of it.”
Samson threw him a side-eye. “This isn’t Disneyland; you know as well as I do that they’re always involved.”
Nick mashed his lips together because he knew Samson was right. There were plenty of different ways to be involved, but washing their hands clean, especially with their track record, was rare, if not impossible.
Over the last few months, Nick mainly stayed in New York, tying up loose ends while Samson got tight with the Serpents. He’d developed a bond with them and didn’t want to mess with their valuable allies.
“Gotta say I like our new spot at the Vegas Towers.” Nick’s change of subject spoke volumes. “Looks like the MC prez has good taste.”
Cobra recommended the building because he lived there himself. Crazy that the prez of one of the most feared MC clubs in Southern Nevada liked luxury, but he was hard to figure out. Talk about breaking stereotypes, this fucker lived in a spacious five-room luxury condo with a view of the Strip on one side and the mountains on the other.
“Everything and more. Rooftop pool, state-of-the-art gym equipment, and of course the view is fuckin’ unbelievable.”
“We’re not in New York anymore,” Nick quipped.
“Agreed. Sure beats the weather back East too.” Samson hated the cold. He’d spent way too many winters as a kid in buildings with little or no heat, shivering so hard his teeth chattered.
“I’m assuming Daria kept the bar staff in line,” Nick asked the rhetorical question as he stared at a new screen on the monitor.
“Like I said, everything went smooth.” Samson strategically left out her ambitious blowjob.
Nick pulled his eyes away from the screen. “You realize she’s doin’ both of us, right?”
Samson barked out a laugh. “I knew it. I just didn’t know if you did.”
“Shit. Daria might be a great manager with many talents, but discretion isn’t one of them.” Nick pulled a face. “Along with monogamy.”
Samson shook his head. “She seems to think it’s a well-kept secret.”
“Maybe it gets her off. Either way, it don’t mean shit to me as long as she keeps the bar humming and everyone on the floor happy.”
Nick had a few women back in New York. One even stuck around for almost a year, but it didn’t end well, especially when he caught her stealing from the club. The bar scene wasn’t kind to lasting commitments, and why Samson’s relationships only existed for one night, maybe two. It just wasn't worth the trouble until Lisbeth.
“You get a chance to talk to the event planner?”
“Yeah.” It was like Nick jumped into his brain. “And you’ll never guess who she is.” He waited a beat. “Lisbeth.”
Nick turned to face him. “Lisbeth with the wild curly red hair who almost blew your life to shit?” Nick snickered. “That Lisbeth?”
“I don’t need the commentary. It screwed with my brain enough when I saw her in the VIP. Anyway, she relocated to LA and was here for her friend’s bachelorette.”
“No, shit.” Nick kept his smirk firmly in place. “So, did you catch up on old times?”
“I’m gonna meet up with her later this week.” Samson purposely left out how she still made his heart race and his dick twitch.
“If I remember correctly, she had your dick all twisted up.”
Fuck, he did it again. “Don’t remind me.”
Nick cocked his head. “Yeah, you were screwin’ around with her and Yvette at the same time then . . .” Nick’s expression flattened as the memory of those days sharpened. He turned his attention to his computer and mumbled, “Sorry, man.”
Samson waved his hand like it didn’t mean anything anymore, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yvette’s face flashed through his brain—her sad, sorrowful brown eyes minutes before she took a swan dive off the roof. Not a surprise with all the coke she shoved up her nose. That guilt plagued him even after ten years.
For the first two years, he woke up at least twice a week in a clammy sweat, the vision of Yvette standing on the ledge haunting him, an open wound he didn’t think would ever heal.
