I wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but I touched Abby's shoulders. "He won't hurt you, Pigeon," I said. "I won't let him."
"He'll find a way," America said, watching Abby with heavy eyes. "He always does."
"I have to get out of here." Abby pulled her coat tight, and then pulled at the handles of the French doors. She was too upset to slow down long enough to first push down the handles before pulling the doors. As tears fell down her cheeks, I covered her hands with mine. After helping her open the doors, Abby looked at me. I wasn't sure if her cheeks were flush with embarrassment or from the cold, but all I wanted was to make it go away.
I took Abby under my arm, and together we went through the house, down the stairs and through the crowd to the front door. Abby moved quickly, desperate to get to the safety of the apartment. I had only heard about Mick Abernathy's accolades as a poker player from my father. Watching Abby run like a frightened little girl made me hate any time my family wasted being in awe of him.
Midstep, America's hand shot out and grabbed Abby's coat. "Abby!" she whispered, pointing to a small group of people.
They were crowded around an older, slovenly man, unshaven and dirty to the point where he looked like he smelled. He was pointing to the house, holding a small picture. The couples were nodding, discussing the photo among themselves.
Abby stormed over to the man and pulled the photo from his hands. "What in the hell are you doing here?"
I looked down at the picture in her hand. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, scrawny, with mousy hair and sunken eyes. She must have been miserable. No wonder she wanted to get away.
The three couples around him backed away. I glanced back at their stunned faces, and then waited for the man to answer. It was Mick fucking Abernathy. I recognized him by the unmistakable sharp eyes nestled in that dirty face.
Shepley and America stood on each side of Abby. I cupped her shoulders from behind.
Mick looked at Abby's dress and clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Well, well, Cookie. You can take the girl out of Vegas--"
"Shut up. Shut up, Mick. Just turn around," she pointed behind him, "and go back to wherever you came from. I don't want you here."
"I can't, Cookie. I need your help."
"What else is new?" America sneered.
Mick narrowed his eyes at America, and then returned his attention to his daughter. "You look awful pretty. You've grown up. I wouldn't've recognized you on the street."
Abby sighed. "What do you want?"
He held up his hands and shrugged. "I seemed to have gotten myself in a pickle, kiddo. Old Dad needs some money."
Abby's entire body tensed. "How much?"
"I was doing good, I really was. I just had to borrow a bit to get ahead and . . . you know."
"I know," she snapped. "How much do you need?"
"Twenty-five."
"Well, shit, Mick, twenty-five hundred? If you'll get the hell outta here . . . I'll give that to you now," I said, pulling out my wallet.
"He means twenty-five thousand," Abby said, her voice cold.
Mick's eyes rolled over me, from my face to my shoes. "Who's this clown?"
My eyebrows shot up from my wallet, and instinctively, I leaned in toward my prey. The only thing stopping me was feeling Abby's small frame between us, and knowing that this skeevy little man was her father. "I can see, now, why a smart guy like yourself has been reduced to asking your teenage daughter for an allowance."
Before Mick could speak, Abby pulled out her cell phone. "Who do you owe this time, Mick?"
Mick scratched his greasy, graying hair. "Well, it's a funny story, Cookie--"
"Who?" Abby shouted.
"Benny."
Abby leaned into me. "Benny? You owe Benny? What in the hell were you . . ." She paused. "I don't have that kind of money, Mick."
He smiled. "Something tells me you do."
"Well, I don't! You've really done it this time, haven't you? I knew you wouldn't stop until you got yourself killed!"
He shifted; the smug grin on his face had vanished. "How much ya got?"
"Eleven thousand. I was saving for a car."
America's eyes darted in Abby's direction. "Where did you get eleven thousand dollars, Abby?"
"Travis's fights."
I tugged on her shoulders until she looked at me. "You made eleven thousand off my fights? When were you betting?"
"Adam and I had an understanding," she said casually.
Mick's eyes were suddenly animated. "You can double that in a weekend, Cookie. You could get me the twenty-five by Sunday, and Benny won't send his thugs for me."
"It'll clean me out, Mick. I have to pay for school," Abby said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
"Oh, you can make it back in no time," he said, waving his hand dismissively.
"When is your deadline?" Abby asked.
"Monday mornin'. Midnight," he said, unapologetically.
"You don't have to give him a fucking dime, Pigeon," I said.
Mick grabbed Abby's wrist. "It's the least you could do! I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you!"
America slapped his hand away and then shoved him. "Don't you dare start that shit again, Mick! She didn't make you borrow money from Benny!"
Mick glared at Abby. The light of hatred in his eyes made any connection with her as his daughter disappear. "If it weren't for her, I woulda had my own money. You took everything from me, Abby. I have nothin'!"
Abby choked back a cry. "I'll get your money to Benny by Sunday. But when I do, I want you to leave me the hell alone. I won't do this again, Mick. From now on, you're on your own, do you hear me? Stay. Away."
He pressed his lips together and then nodded. "Have it your way, Cookie."
Abby turned around and headed for the car.
America sighed. "Pack your bags, boys. We're going to Vegas." She walked toward the Charger, and Shepley and I stood, frozen.
"Wait. What?" He looked to me. "Like Las Vegas, Vegas? As in Nevada?"
"Looks that way," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.
"We're just going to book a flight to Vegas," Shepley said, still trying to process the situation.
"Yep."
Shepley walked over to open America's door to let her and Abby in on the passenger side, and then slammed it shut, blank faced. "I've never been to Vegas."
An impish grin pulled one side of my mouth to the side. "Looks like it's time to pop that cherry."
CHAPTER TWENTY
You Win Some, You Lose Some
ABBY BARELY SPOKE WHILE WE PACKED, AND EVEN LESS on the way to the airport. She stared off into space most of the time unless one of us asked her a question. I wasn't sure if she was drowning in despair, or just focused on the looming challenge ahead.
Checking in to the hotel, America did all the talking, flashing her fake ID, as if she had done it a thousand times before.
It occurred to me, then, that she probably had done it before. Vegas was where they had procured such flawless IDs, and why America never seemed to worry about what Abby could handle. They'd seen it all before, in the bowels of the city of sin.
Shepley was an unmistakable tourist, his head leaned back, gawking at the ostentatious ceiling. We pulled our luggage into the elevator, and I pulled Abby to my side.
"You okay?" I asked, touching my lips to her temple.
"I don't want to be here," she choked out.
The doors opened, revealing the intricate pattern of the rug that lined the hallway. America and Shepley went one way, Abby and I the other. Our room was at the end of the hall.
Abby shoved the card key into the slot, and then pushed open the door. The room was large, dwarfing the king-size bed in the middle of the room.
I left the suitcase against the wall, pressing all the switches until the thicker curtain separated to reveal the busy, blinking lights and traffic of the Las Vegas Strip. Another button pulled away a second set of sheer curtains.
/> Abby didn't pay attention to the window. She didn't even bother to look up. The glitter and gold had lost its luster for her years before.
I set our carry-on bags on the floor and looked around the room. "This is nice, right?" Abby glared at me. "What?"
She opened her suitcase in one motion, and shook her head. "This isn't a vacation, Travis. You shouldn't be here."
In two steps, I was behind her, crossing my arms around her middle. She was different here, but I wasn't. I could still be someone she could count on, someone who could protect her from the ghosts of her past.
"I go where you go," I said against her ear.
She leaned her head back against my chest and sighed. "I have to get on the floor. You can stay here or check out the Strip. I'll see you later, okay?"
"I'm going with you."
She turned to face me. "I don't want you there, Trav."
I didn't expect that from her, especially not the cold tone of her voice.
Abby touched my arm. "If I'm going to win fourteen thousand dollars in one weekend, I have to concentrate. I don't like who I'm going to be while I'm at those tables, and I don't want you to see it, okay?"
I brushed her hair from her eyes, and then kissed her cheek. "Okay, Pidge." I couldn't pretend to understand what she meant, but I would respect it.
America knocked on the door and then traipsed in wearing the same nude number she wore to the date party. Her heels were sky high, and she had put on two extra layers of makeup. She looked ten years older.
I waved to America, and then grabbed the extra card key off the table. America was already building Abby up for her night, reminding me of a trainer offering a pep talk to his fighter before a big boxing match.
Shepley was standing in the hall, staring at three trays of half-eaten food on the floor left there by guests across the hall.
"What do you want to do first?" I asked.
"I'm definitely not marrying you."
"You're fucking hilarious. Let's go downstairs."
The elevator door opened, and the hotel came alive. It was like the hallways were the veins, and the people were its lifeblood. Groups of women dressed like porn stars, families, foreigners, the occasional bachelor party, and hotel employees followed each other in organized chaos.
It took a while to get past the stores that lined the exits and reach the boulevard, but we broke out onto the street and walked until we saw a crowd gathered in front of one of the casinos. The fountains were on, performing to some patriotic song. Shepley was mesmerized, seemingly unable to move while he watched the water dance and spray.
We must have caught the last the two minutes, because the lights soon dimmed, the water fizzled, and the crowd immediately dispersed.
"What was that about?" I asked.
Shepley still stared at the now calm pond. "I don't know, but it was cool."
The streets were lined with Elvis, Michael Jackson, showgirls, and cartoon characters, all readily available to take a picture for a price. At one point, I kept hearing a flapping noise, and then I pinpointed where it was coming from. Men were standing on the sidewalk, snapping a stack of cards in their hands. They handed one to Shepley. It was a picture of a ridiculously big-breasted woman in a seductive pose. They were selling hookers and strip clubs. Shepley tossed the card to the ground. The sidewalk was covered in them.
A girl walked past, eyeing me with a drunken smile. She carried her heels in her hand. As she ambled by, I noticed her blackened feet. The ground was filthy, the foundation for the glitz and glamour above.
"We're saved," Shepley said, walking over to a street vendor selling Red Bull and whatever liquor you could imagine. Shepley ordered two with vodka, and smiled when he took his first sip. "I may never wanna leave."
I checked the time on my cell phone. "It's been an hour. Let's head back."
"Do you remember where we were? Because I don't."
"Yeah. This way."
We retraced our steps. I was glad when we finally ended up at our hotel, because in truth I wasn't exactly sure how to get back, either. The Strip wasn't hard to navigate, but there were a lot of distractions along the way, and Shepley was definitely in vacation mode.
I searched the poker tables for Abby, knowing that's where she would be. I caught a glimpse of her caramel hair; she sat upright and confident at a table full of old men, and America; the girls were a stark contrast from the rest of those camped out in the poker area.
Shepley waved me over to a blackjack table, and we played a while to pass the time.
Half an hour later, Shepley nudged my arm. Abby was standing, talking to a guy with olive skin and dark hair, in a suit and tie. He had her by the arm, and I immediately stood.
Shepley grabbed my shirt. "Hold up, Travis. He works here. Just give it a minute. You might get us all kicked out if you don't keep your head."
I watched them. He was smiling, but Abby was all business. He acknowledged America, then.
"They know him," I said, trying to read their lips to figure out the distant conversation. The only thing I could make out was have dinner with me from the douche in the suit, and Abby saying I'm here with someone.
Shepley couldn't hold me back this time, but I stopped a few feet away when I saw the suit kiss Abby's cheek.
"It was good to see you again. See you tomorrow . . . five o'clock all right? I'm on the floor at eight," he said.
My stomach sank, and my face felt like it was on fire. America tugged on Abby's arm, noting my presence.
"Who was that?" I asked.
Abby nodded in the suit's direction. "That is Jesse Viveros. I've known him a long time."
"How long?"
She glanced back at her empty chair at the poker table. "Travis, I don't have time for this."
"I guess he chucked the youth minister idea," America said, sending a flirtatious grin in Jesse's direction.
"That's your ex-boyfriend?" I asked, instantly angry. "I thought you said he was from Kansas?"
Abby shot America an impatient glare, and then took my chin in her hand. "He knows I'm not old enough to be in here, Trav. He gave me until midnight. I will explain everything later, but for now I have to get back to the game, all right?"
My teeth clenched, and I closed my eyes. My girlfriend had just agreed to go out with her ex-boyfriend. Everything inside me wanted to throw a typical Maddox tantrum, but Abby needed me to man up for the moment. Acting against my instincts, I decided to let it go, and leaned down to kiss her. "All right. I'll see you at midnight. Good luck."
I turned, pushing my way through the crowd, hearing Abby's voice surge at least two octaves. "Gentlemen?"
It reminded me of those girls who would talk like children when they tried to get my attention, hoping to come across as innocent.
"I don't understand why she had to make any deals with that Jesse guy," I growled.
"So she could stay, I guess?" Shepley asked, staring up at the ceiling again.
"There are other casinos. We can just go to another one."
"She knows people here, Travis. She probably came here because she knew if she got caught, they wouldn't rat her out to the cops. She has a fake ID, but I bet it wouldn't take long for security to recognize her. These casinos pay high dollar for people to point out the hustlers, right?"
"I guess," I said, frowning.
We met Abby and America at the table, watching as America gathered Abby's winnings.
Abby looked at her watch. "I need more time."
"Wanna try the blackjack tables?"
"I can't lose money, Trav."
I smiled. "You can't lose, Pidge."
America shook her head. "Blackjack's not her game."
"I won a little," I said, digging in my pockets. "I'm up six hundred. You can have it."
Shepley handed Abby his chips. "I only made three. It's yours."
Abby sighed. "Thanks, guys, but I'm still short five grand." She looked at her watch again and then looked up to see Jesse approa
ching.
"How did you do?" he asked, smiling.
"I'm five K short, Jess. I need more time."
"I've done all I can, Abby."
"Thanks for letting me stay."
Jesse offered an uncomfortable smile. He was obviously just as scared of these people as Abby. "Maybe I can get my dad to talk to Benny for you?"
"It's Mick's mess. I'm going to ask him for an extension."
Jesse shook his head. "You know that's not going to happen, Cookie, no matter how much you come up with. If it's less than what he owes, Benny's going to send someone. You stay as far away from him as you can."
"I have to try," Abby said, her voice broken.
Jesse took a step forward, leaning in to keep his voice low. "Get on a plane, Abby. You hear me?"
"I hear you," she snapped.
Jesse sighed, and his eyes grew heavy with sympathy. He wrapped his arms around Abby and then kissed her hair. "I'm sorry. If my job wasn't at stake, you know I'd try to figure something out."
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, something that only happened when I felt threatened and was about to unleash my full wrath on someone.
Just before I tackled him, Abby pulled away.
"I know," she said. "You did what you could."
Jesse lifted her chin with his finger. "I'll see you tomorrow at five." He bent down to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then walked away.
It was then that I noticed my body was leaning forward, and Shepley was once again gripping my shirt, his knuckles white.
Abby's eyes were stuck to the floor.
"What's at five?" I seethed.
"She agreed to dinner if Jesse would let her stay. She didn't have a choice, Trav," America said.
Abby peered up at me with her big, apologetic eyes.
"You had a choice," I said.
"Have you ever dealt with the Mob, Travis? I'm sorry if your feelings are hurt, but a free meal with an old friend isn't a high price to pay to keep Mick alive."
I clamped my jaw closed, refusing to let it open for words to spill out that I would regret later.
"C'mon, you guys, we have to find Benny," America said, pulling Abby by the arm.
Shepley walked beside me as we followed the girls down the Strip to Benny's building. It was one block away from the bright lights, but it was somewhere the gold had never touched--and wasn't meant to. Abby paused, and then walked up a few steps to a large, green door. She knocked, and I held her other hand to keep it from trembling.