Charming. I shake my head and go to read whatever is on my phone that got Hatch’s hackles up. Dead battery. I move to the kitchen, plug in my phone, and wait for it to get enough juice to power up.
No new texts. Hm . . . then what the hell did Hatch mean?
I hit Mason’s contact.
It rings and I check the clock. It’s almost noon. I’m sure he’s working. His voicemail picks up, and I close my eyes, allowing the sound of his recorded voice to soothe my racing heart and aching head.
Beeeeeeep!
“Hey, Mase, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t text you last night, but . . . he’s back.” My lips pinch together, almost as if I’m waiting for him to get angry, even knowing this is a one-sided conversation. “Don’t worry. I’m still only yours.” God, I want to see him. Fall into his arms until I feel better. But I can’t. I’m too close now. “I love you.”
I end the call and then move back to the bathroom to take a shower. I have to be to work by six. I have only nine hours to revamp my plan to get information. Getting him drunk and talking isn’t working, but maybe the right combination of biker buddies and a whole hell of a lot of booze will do the trick. I’ll try just about anything at this point because I’m ready get what I need and go back to Mason.
Mason
The sun is almost down by the time I head out of the training center for home. I think Rex and I set a damn record for longest sparring session. Usually I don’t train this hard on Saturday, but with Trix tied up and my brother and Jessica taking up most of my place, I need to be gone and keep myself busy.
I drove by Zeus’s last night around seven and saw her car in the lot. It was near torture knowing that she was just inside, separated from me by a wall of brick and mortar while men, possibly even this Hatchet guy, were in there enjoying my woman’s body. I could’ve put a hole through my damn dashboard, but, instead, drove up to our spot in the mountains and lay in the bed of my truck, thinking about her.
When it was quiet and I was left to nothing except my own thoughts and the infinite stars, I prayed. I’ve never been a religious guy, but Trix is rubbing off on me. Either that or I’m desperate with nowhere else to turn. Hell, I’d do anything if it keeps her safe. Including praying to a God I’m only now starting to believe in.
I pull out my phone to call Drake, but notice I have one new voicemail. How the fuck did I miss that?
I freeze in the parking lot, halfway to my car, when I hear her voice.
“He’s back. Don’t worry. I’m still only yours. I love you.”
“Fuck!” I speed walk to my truck, throw my shit in the back, and peel out of the lot toward her house. Deep inside, I know I could be fucking up all her plans, but hearing those three words lights a fire in my chest. I need to touch her, to lay my hands on her, feel her warm skin and her beating heart behind her ribs to know she’s okay.
It doesn’t take long before I’m parked in her driveway next to a gray Smart car in the driveway. Not what I’d expect a guy named Hatchet to drive, so I jog to the door and pound hard.
The door swings open to reveal a smaller brunette. She’s dressed in conservative pants and a professional-looking button-up collared shirt, untucked. “Can I help you?”
A man comes up behind her. He’s average height, dressed similarly, with glasses and a frown. “Kim, you know this guy?” He glares at me.
“I’m looking for Trix. Is she here?”
Her eyes narrow. “And who’re you?”
My chest warms at how protective Trix’s roommate seems to be. “I’m her boyfriend.” It’s bold, but fuck it. It’s the truth.
The brunette, Kim, shakes her head. “No, she’s not. I’m pretty sure she’s at work, but I don’t know. We don’t cross paths often.”
Work. Of course. It’s Saturday night. “Okay, right.” I shake my head and step back. She’s fine, at work. Safe. I force my pulse to slow. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Wait.” Kim holds up her hand and disappears back inside while her man watches me intently. When she comes back, she hands me a Zippo lighter with an eagle engraved on the side and a black Harley Davidson tee. “Are you looking for these?”
I flip the lighter over in my hand then shove both items back at her, fighting the urge to roar. “These aren’t mine.”
“Oh, oops.” She flashes an embarrassed smile, hissing through her teeth. “I’m sorry. I thought . . . Never mind.”
“No, thought what? What did you think?”
Her gaze darts to her boyfriend’s and then back to mine. “Well, I mean you know Trix. She uh . . .” She chews on her lip.
“Guess you weren’t here for the party last night?” Kim’s boyfriend chimes in, a sympathetic smile plastered across his dorky face.
“No.”
“I just assumed . . . wow.” She rubs her forehead. “This is embarrassing.”
“No, it’s okay.” It is so not fucking okay. “I knew she had a party.”
I swallow hard and take another step back. Did he spend the night? Here. With her. I’ve never even spent the night here.
Without saying good-bye, I turn toward my truck, not moving nearly as quickly as I was when I got here.
Fine. He spent the night. But she said she’s still mine, so no sex. Does that include her mouth on his—fuck, no. I can’t go there. Not even in theory.
This is torture. Absolute fucking torture.
I growl and stifle the urge to put my fist through the window of my truck. How will we ever be able to survive this?
At this rate, we won’t.
Thirty-one
Trix
Angel, Kayla and I pulled up to Caesars Palace with Santos in tow. Hatch was right. After a call to our boss and what I’m sure was a massive money exchange, we were cut from our shift early and picked up by a limo.
Memories from the last time I was here pierce me with regret, and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. So much has changed since my first run-in with Mason. Walking through the giant doors into the casino, I’m not the same girl I was before he crashed into me.
Back then I was floating, unsure of what I wanted. And now, I’m dead set on my future. With this last obstacle keeping us apart, I plan on ending this as soon as possible and putting us both out of our misery.
“I can’t believe how much this job is paying,” Kayla whispers between Angel and me as we all follow Santos to whatever room we’re supposed to report to.
Angel rocks into my hip with hers. “Two grand each, plus tips, and you’re still thinking of quitting?”
She lifts an eyebrow, daring me to say yes. “We could walk in on a bunch of asshole pervs. Would the two grand still be worth it?”
“Fuck yeah, it would.” Kayla giggles at her own enthusiasm. “I’ve never made this kind of money without having to suck dick.”
Angel cackles and gets a glare from Santos that says High-class, ladies. Let’s try to act like it.
She leans into my shoulder. “What’s his problem,” she whispers so he won’t hear. “He’s been funky all night.”
“He just needs to get laid.” Kayla rolls her eyes as if the solution to all men’s problems is just that easy.
The girls quietly giggle the rest of the walk to the room, while I steel myself and muster up courage for the night. Hatch will expect me to drink heavily and pay a lot of attention to the men he’s trying to impress, I’m sure. It’ll be difficult to get more information out of him, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about these parties, they’re great for eavesdropping.
When powerful men get together, they’re all so busy trying to out peacock the other they don’t even consider the dancer rubbing her tits in their faces is listening to every word they speak.
Diversion by sexual persuasion. PI work at its finest.
We make a turn and stop at a set of double doors. Santos checks the number to his phone then puts it away to knock.
“Holy shit!” Kayla whisper yells. “This is a villa.” Her wide eyes s
tudy the door. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of one of—”
The door swings open, and a guy around my age stares openly at the three of us without greeting, completely ignoring Santos. Dark brown eyes peer out beneath his overgrown hair and rake along our bodies from feet to tits.
I throw a hand on my cocked hip. “You gonna let us in, cowboy?”
His lips curl into a crooked grin. “Hatch!” He calls over his shoulder.
Hatch appears at the mouth of the marble foyer. He barely spares us a glance, and if I’m not mistaken, it looks like he avoided looking at me altogether. “Yep, let ’em in.” He disappears deeper into the place or, rather, palace.
The ceilings are taller than I’ve ever seen in one of these suites, and everything is decorated with an old-world flare that screams rich and pretentious. We stick close to Santos as he follows the younger guy down a long hallway and into a room. There’s a pool table and a bar, similar to the last place, but through the patio doors are a pool, spa, fire pit, and another bar that, even from this distance, I can see is fully stocked.
“Who the hell has this kind of money?” Angel whispers form behind me.
“No clue.” But certainly not Hatch.
“They’re in a meeting. Help yourself to the booze.” The guy who answered the door doesn’t look like anyone I’d ever seen hang around the MC guys. He’s too clean. Too young.
Kayla busies herself behind the bar while I do a slow walk through the room. It’s late, and yet we’re the only ones here? I thought this was supposed to be a party. Unless there’s a separate wing to this place where all the people are stashed . . . I wouldn’t be surprised.
Kayla comes out, holding three drinks between her two hands. “Lemon drops!”
We all grab our shots, and with the lingering throb of a hangover, I choke it down.
“Let’s play pool!” Angel says, and Santos starts to rack up the balls.
“I’ll make more shots!” Kayla grabs my glass and heads back to the bar for round two, which, knowing her, will turn into three and four.
The guy who let us in moves back to a room at the far end of the villa, turns his back to the door, and stands like a guard.
Ah, so that’s where all the people are. Who the hell is behind that door and what are they talking about that’s so important it takes a guard to protect it?
Another drink is shoved into my hand, and I throw it back, this one easier than the first. “One more.”
Kayla squeals and heads back to the bar while Angel takes her first shot at the pool table.
I don’t know what’s going on here tonight, but something tells me whatever it is could bring me closer to finding Lana’s killer.
And back to Mason.
Mason
“You sure you’ll be okay?”
Jessica’s plopped on my couch beneath a blanket with the remote in one hand and a saltine cracker she’s been nibbling on in the other. “How long will you guys be gone?”
Fuck, not any longer than we have to be. “I’ll get him home as soon as I can.”
She blinks rapidly, as if she’s fighting tears. “Do you think . . .?” She swallows hard. “Do you think he’ll let him go?”
Drake’s dad let him out of the family business? Funny, the asshole never acknowledged Drake as being family until the guy was old enough to do is his bidding. Prick.
I blow out a long breath and drop to the couch at her feet. “I have no idea. But I’m going to try my hardest to convince him to.”
She studies the glowing screen of the TV. “The pregnancy changes everything.”
“The baby changes everything, yes.”
Her tired eyes meet mine and her bottom lip quivers.
“It’s okay, Jess. You just worry about taking care of yourself. There’s food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want and try to get some sleep.”
Drake’s heavy footfalls sound as he barrels down the stairs, freshly showered. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
I nod to Jessica, and her gaze slides to my brother. “Be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful, Dr—”
Her words are cut off as my brother presses a kiss to her lips, cupping her jaw with a tenderness I’ve never seen between them before. I push up and move to the kitchen to give them some privacy.
“I’m not giving up on us, Jess. Not you or our baby, understand?”
She mumbles something I can’t hear.
“We’ll get back as soon as we can.” The sound of him kissing her mixes with the sound of her sniffing back tears.
I don’t know what Drake’s dad has planned for us tonight, but my guess is it’ll be nothing more than a stern talking to about me staying out of Drake’s life, keeping my mouth shut about what I’ve seen, and Drake trying to convince the man that his baby is worth him letting him go for.
I’ve always known D’s dad had no soul. I only hope he’s finally grown one. If not, Drake’s fucked.
“This is it.” Drake nods toward the huge doors to a fancy-assed suite of some kind.
Music filters through the doors, hard-hitting bass that would rattle the fuckers if they weren’t made of solid wood.
He hits the glowing orange doorbell, opting out of a simple knock, knowing it won’t be heard over the music. Voices call out, and soon the locks click and the door cracks open to reveal a guy who’s vaguely familiar. One of Drake’s crew.
“Jase, man. What’s up?” Drake shakes hands with the guy, and they pull together for quick back-slapping hug.
“Drake, glad you could make it.” Jase opens the door wider to let us in.
“Like I had a choice?” Drake laughs, but there’s little humor in it. “This is my brother, Mason.”
I nod to Jase, and he doesn’t offer to shake my hand, which is good. I’m not sure who’s an enemy and who’s a friend yet, but if this guy is on Drake’s dad’s crew, he’s an enemy.
“Nice to meet you. You guys got here just in time.” Jase bounces his eyebrows, and I deduct a few years off my original age estimation.
Fuck, these guys are recruiting high school kids. Great.
“My dad around?” Drake asks while Jase leads us through what looks more like a mansion than a damn hotel room.
“He’s here. Been meeting privately with some of the guys, but my guess is they should be finishing up.” Jase continues to head toward the direction of the music. Male voices blend with the occasional girls, no different from a typical Vegas party.
We turn the corner into a large living space filled with partygoers. I scan the area, noting the distinct mix of people. Most of the guys look similar to Drake or me, dressed in some variation of the west-coast semi-casual attire of loose-fitting plaid and Dickies. But the rest are distinctly different. Denim, leather, and in desperate need of a razor, bikers are sprinkled throughout the room.
It’s a damn sausage party in this place, although there are women, but they’re heavily outnumbered. And most of them seem to be of the working variety. A few lean in to men and talk close, and there’s another moving to the music and—holy fuck.
Strippers.
My eyes frantically bounce from a familiar redhead who’s in nothing but her bra and underwear to a brunette who is topless and—dammit, it’s Angel.
Hesitantly, I move deeper into the room to a back corner that’s lined with couches and a small crowd of people. I hear my brother ask where I’m going but wave him off as my feet carry me forward.
The music throbs in my head, matching the pace of my pulse as I push through bodies. My steps falter, and I take in the view before me.
“No fucking way.” Drake’s voice mumbles at my shoulder, surprising me that he followed. “Is that . . .?”
Motherfucking shit.
“Trix.”
Thirty-two
Trix
Stupid fucking lemon drops. How many did I have? Five. No six? I retrace my steps and count in my mind while I rock my body against Hatch. He’s basically ignoring
me, talking to the guy next to him, but he keeps a firm grip on my hip to keep me from toppling over.
If only I could feel my legs, then maybe I’d be able to hold myself up from Hatch’s lap rather than falling into it every time I try to dance. I didn’t intend to drink so much, but the only way to tolerate what I have to do is to be inebriated. Not so much that I can’t think, just enough to go numb.
I’ve been eavesdropping on every conversation I could get close enough to, and all I’ve learned is that this is some kind of celebratory party thrown by some bigwig dude who has his hands in more illegal shit than I could keep up with.
Apparently, his guys are going into business with Hatch’s guys, and they’ve all gathered in Vegas to shake hands, toss out threats, and kiss each other’s asses.
Nothing new. Total waste of my time. And damn, I’m so sick of being drunk.
As if on cue, my ankle twists, and I drop into Hatch’s lap. A giggle bursts from my lips, and Hatch grabs my hair and pulls my face to his.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking for something.” He flexes his hips, grinding his hard-on into my ass.
“No, Hatch.” I pull my head for him to free my hair, and he does. “I’m not.”
Whipping my hair around, I give him my back and sway my hips along with the music. If I weren’t so drunk, I’d be asleep out of sheer boredom.
A firm grip pinches my thigh. “Ow!” I move to slap the hand away, but meet Hatch’s glare that brooks no argument.
He pulls me to him, turns me around, and pulls me down to straddle his crotch. His hot breath pants in my ear. “You’re pissin’ me the fuck off.” Strong fingers bite into my side.
I close my eyes, locking down my jaw to avoid whimpering. His hand tangles in my hair, burning my scalp. “You’re . . . hurting me.”
Where the hell did this come from?
He growls against my neck. “Lying little bitch.” He emphasizes his words with a firm tug that wrenches my neck.
My heart races with panic.