by Mia Knight
She picked up an iron poker and swung it at a statue. The statue weighed a ton and didn’t move when she attacked. She felt the impact reverberate up her arms, but she didn’t stop.
A sharp, stabbing pain broke through her rage. She whirled to kill her assailant. The poker was wrenched from her hands with such force that she landed on her hands and knees. She panted as her limbs went numb. As if from a long way off, she heard the burble of voices but couldn’t make out the words. She stared down at her hands, at the diamond ring on her left finger. No Vinny. No husband. No future. Nothing.
“He can’t be gone,” she whispered. “I can’t live without him.”
Gentle hands stroked her face. “I’m so sorry,” Lyla said.
Her eyes slid shut against her will. She felt herself being lifted. She tried to fight, but her body wouldn’t obey. She forced her eyes open and saw Blade’s ugly mug instead of Gavin’s and let her eyes slide shut again. He set her on a soft bed. Her limbs flopped around her, unresponsive and lax. She lay on her side, staring straight ahead as tears leaked out of her eyes. Vinny was dead. She would never see him again. How did he die? No, she couldn’t handle that. Did she kiss him before he went to work this morning? She couldn’t remember. She and Lyla went shopping for a wedding dress today and now… now, Vinny was gone.
A warm, wet washcloth wiped her sweaty, tear-streaked face. Fresh tears replaced the ones Lyla wiped away. As the full ramifications hit her, she began to shake. Lyla climbed into bed and hugged her tight. She grabbed fistfuls of her clothes because she needed something to hold onto and began to sob. Lyla’s voice was soothing, but it couldn’t penetrate the pain that engulfed her.
Vinny was gone. She killed him.
20
She woke, face wet with tears, heart threatening to explode. She lashed out and heard something crash to the floor. She threw her head back and screamed before she dropped her face on her knees and sobbed as hard as she had the night she lost him. She rocked as she tried to contain her emotions. The sound of her pathetic whimpering filled the room.
Vinny was her everything. Aside from her parents and Lyla, no one had ever accepted her as she was. Vinny understood her moods and impulses better than she did. He handled her far better than her parents ever had and didn’t try to curb her wild ways. He allowed her to run free, knowing she would come back to him. He was her anchor, her everything, and he was gone along with her father, the only other man who loved her unreservedly.
She reached for her phone to call… who? A glance at the clock revealed she’d only been asleep two hours. Mom was out dancing, Lyla was with her family, Maddie had no clue how to handle her, and Alice would give her a pint of ice cream and suggest they watch HGTV. She wanted to rage, scream, and destroy. She wanted to jump out of a plane, race headlong at another car to see who would swerve out of the way, or strip on stage to cast out her demons and give them to someone else. She needed something to draw her out of the darkness or it would forever consume her.
It took her several tries to find Marcus’s number since her fingers were trembling and she couldn’t see through the tears. When the phone began to ring, she rolled out of bed and paced with one hand fanning her face to keep her from completely losing her shit.
“Hey, babe,” Marcus said.
Just the sound of his calm, soothing voice made the pain lessen. She clutched the phone with both hands. “I need a purge.”
“What?”
“I-I need…” What did she need? She needed to lose herself in something, anything to take her mind off the memories stabbing at her. Sex was the best antidote. Touch, adrenaline, oblivion. Yes, sex. She needed it so bad, she was shaking. She wanted it rough and dirty. “I need a fuck.”
There was a short pause. She stopped in the middle of the room and closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, silently pleading for him to say what she needed to hear. She couldn’t be alone right now. He couldn’t leave her like this, but if she told him how fucked up she was, he would definitely avoid her at all costs.
“Can you come to me?”
Relief so heady that she became lightheaded made her bend over at the waist. She attempted to sound normal as she said, “Yes, I can.”
“There are several events going on tonight, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be. You can attend with me, and we’ll leave when we can.”
Knowing ecstasy and oblivion were in her near future allowed her to think past the pain. “Yes, I can do that.”
“You okay?”
No. “Yes.”
“Come to me.”
“I will. I’ll get ready now.”
“See you soon.”
She hung up and flipped on the bedroom light. A lamp with a gold base lay shattered beside the bed. She ignored it and went into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and sprayed a cooling mist over her face. Her desolate reflection was familiar. Too familiar. She hated herself. The empty wineglass was filled with ice and Crown Royal this time. She sat at her vanity and placed the chilled glass against her swollen eye.
No! Don’t say it.
She flinched as the memory of her heartbroken voice echoed in her ears. She shot to her feet and tore through the bedroom until she found her earphones. Noise cancelling earphones blocked out everything but the sound of her racing heartbeat. She blasted the most “don’t give a fuck” music she had. Cardi B was up first. She clung to the dark beat with the desperation of a drowning woman. She said the lyrics with an intensity Cardi B would have been proud of. She ignored the agony and forced herself to move to encapsulate the mood.
She planted her hands on the vanity and examined the woman in the mirror. The chilled whiskey helped with the swelling and redness. Her mouth was set, eyes glistening, but she refused to let another tear fall. She suffered every day for almost three years. It had to stop. She tipped her head up when she felt tears crawling up her throat.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she chanted but couldn’t hear herself over the music.
She blew out a breath and let Eminem’s attitude seep into her. When she had herself under control, she sat on the vanity bench made up of two snarling lions she had rescued from storage. Through the power of makeup, she could become whoever she wanted. She painted herself into a character who showed no sign that she possessed a hemorrhaging heart with a busted a stitch that was bleeding out with every beat. With every layer of makeup, she became less herself and more the character she wanted to emulate.
Forty minutes later, the sultry badass bitch in the mirror bore no resemblance to the out of control one who wanted to curl up in a ball and die. She wore a crimson velvet sleeveless dress with a high neck. It was skintight, rode high on her upper thighs, and showed off her slight curves. She was decked out in diamonds from her glittering stilettos to the bracelet and rings decorating every finger. It was extra as fuck, but that’s who she was. Her smoky wing tipped eye and matte, wine-colored lip was perfection. She was so deep in character that she didn’t feel anything. It was a relief, but she knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Hopefully, Marcus worked his magic before the stroke of midnight and she became herself again and fragmented into a million pieces. A black velvet clutch completed the look. She filled it with necessities—cell phone, lipstick, gun.
She walked out the front door and turned to lock it. It took less than thirty seconds for Frederick and Mickey to breathe down her neck.
“What’s going on?” Frederick asked.
“You’re taking me to The Strip,” she said as she turned to face them.
Mickey and Frederick surveyed her in silence before they exchanged a look.
“I don’t think that’s smart,” Frederick said.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she said on her way to the SUV.
“I’m calling it in,” Mickey said.
She ground her teeth as she slid into the backseat. “I’m meeting Marcus.”
“Fletcher? Oh, that changes things,” Mickey said as he climbed i
“Angel and Gavin haven’t killed all the Black Vipers yet? It’s been almost two weeks.”
“They’ve killed a bunch, but the Black Vipers allies have come to play as well.”
If she wasn’t buzzed from whiskey and high on rap, that might have worried her. Instead, she clung to the beat playing in her head that kept her focused on her role. She balanced on a knife’s edge. One push and she would topple into the endless depths of self-loathing, guilt, and depression. She hoped Marcus was able to fuck her out of the past and into the present. It was the only course of action she could think of. If that didn’t work, she had no idea what she would do.
It took too long to reach The Strip. The lights and manic energy didn’t penetrate her armor. She texted Marcus as they waited in Friday night traffic. He was at Lux, which was hosting a wealthy businessman’s thirtieth birthday. Apparently, the businessman had the dough to fly in the hottest celebrities to help him celebrate. Due to the high-profile event, the wait to reach the valet station was taking forever.
When her patience snapped, she stepped out of the car. Mickey followed and grasped her arm as she slipped through the crowd. This time, the press of bodies didn’t make her feel better. The excited tourists flocking the sidewalks irritated her. She was tempted to shove and elbow her way through. As if he sensed her volatile mood, Mickey stepped in front of her and cleared a path while she pressed against his back. It was marginally better once they entered the casino. She took the lead while Mickey scanned their surroundings. He didn’t look so young and bright-eyed now. He was tense and alert. She welcomed an attack right now. She was armed and good to go.
The crowd in front of Lux was ridiculous. She hadn’t seen such a crush in a while. Once again, Mickey cleared a path. When they reached the front, she stepped up to security. The club manager spotted her and waved her forward.
“Mrs. Pyre, Mr. Fletcher told me you would be attending,” he said and glanced at Mickey.
His address caused a hairline fracture in her shield. Her body locked and she turned up the rap in her head. “This is my security guard, and I have another, Frederick. He’s ripped and looks like he works for the FBI,” she shouted over the sound of the crowd.
The manager nodded and waved her through. “I’ll make sure he gets in.”
Lux was built like an amphitheater with five levels. It was a grand club that hosted the largest events on The Strip. The DJ booth on stage was wreathed in gold lights, as were the dancers being spotlighted on high platforms. The club was bursting at the seams. A quick look at the amount of security in the VIP sections told her it was a star-studded night. No wonder Marcus couldn’t get away. He had a ridiculous amount of high-maintenance celebrities and their entourages to accommodate.
The last time she visited this club, she’d been with Vinny, Gavin, and Lyla. Lyla tried to set Gavin up with another woman that night. That felt like a lifetime ago. The hyped crowd should have improved her mood, but it did nothing for her. Every beat of her heart flooded her with such agony, she was surprised she could walk. It felt as if there were nine-inch nails in her body. The urge to do something reckless made her temples pound. She was locked down so tight that she didn’t feel the bodies brush against her, didn’t hear the music, and didn’t register the smell of alcohol, lust, or excitement in the air. She needed something cataclysmic and powerful to cancel out the feeling of impending doom. She hoped sex would wash away her raw fragility and replace it with something else. She hoped Angel was wrong—that it wouldn’t take blood to cure her. If that was so, her mother would lose her because she would do anything to stop herself from feeling like this.
Using her phone to get in touch with Marcus would be impossible. No one would hear their phone above the deafening music, and with the floor jolting beneath her, he wouldn’t feel his phone vibrate either. She had no choice but to circulate. A server wearing pink bunny ears offered a glass of pink champagne, which she declined. She headed to the VIP section where she figured Marcus would be. Despite her absence, the staff acknowledged her with respectful nods. Her face was intrinsically linked to Pyre Casinos as surely as Gavin’s was.
Celebrities greeted her. She allowed hugs and pecks on the cheek. She had no idea what they were saying or how she responded, but they left with smiles and waves. She was so used to her role as hostess that she could have a discussion without needing to think about it. She felt Frederick press in on her other side as he joined them.
The fourth and highest VIP tier had alcoves set far back from the railings for privacy. One U-shaped alcove could sit up to thirty people, so VIPs could have their entire entourage around them while watching the action on stage or the crowd of thousands rock out below. She passed a popular talk show host and an elderly politician doing body shots off a server in a bikini, a bunch of rappers popping Dom Perignon as if it was Coke, and a boy band who wasn’t old enough to be in the club being fawned over by a hoard of women. She scanned the security in each section, trying to figure out who was the highest profile by the amount of guards.
Eli Stark stood near the last alcove closest to the stage. He turned as she approached and didn’t look pleased to see her. He wore jeans with a navy button up that looked good on him. She suspected he only wore the jacket because he was packing.
“You shouldn’t be in public,” Eli said.
She ignored him and waded through the milling security guards to get into the alcove. Frederick blocked a guard who tried to grab her while Mickey stuck to her like glue. What she found in the VIP area stopped her in her tracks. Angel sat with retired football star (and douchebag) Carter Raymond and Phillip Marquee, Nevada Attorney General. Angel was getting a lap dance from a Hispanic woman wearing a barely there dress that couldn’t contain her boobs, which were hanging out. The woman on Angel’s lap had her arms around his neck and was riding him as if she were on a galloping horse. Having a big ass drop on his crotch like that could be dangerous if he had an erection. The woman whispered something in his ear, which made him smile. The woman did a reverse cowgirl and braced her hands on the floor, planted her knees on the seat and began to twerk, exposing her ass and black G string. Angel put one hand on each cheek and squeezed.
A hand wrapped around her arm. “Let’s go find Mr. Fletcher,” Mickey said.
Angel looked up and spotted her. His hand paused in its caress over smooth tanned skin. His gaze skimmed her and lingered on her breasts, thighs, shoes, and then fixed on her lips. The girl on his lap air humped as if her life depended on it. Angel’s mouth curved as his hand slipped under the woman’s ass. The woman’s body jerked as Angel inserted his finger in one of her holes.
“Carmen,” Mickey said and tried to drag her back, but she stayed where she was.
Angel’s arm moved as he fingered her. When the woman tipped her hips up, Angel smacked her ass hard enough to make her yelp.
“Don’t move,” Angel ordered, voice barely audible over the music.
The woman hung her head and nodded as she held her position, legs splayed on either side of him, giving him access to everything. She was at his mercy.
Carmen kept her eyes fixed on his. He stared at her with an amused, faintly cruel expression that put her on edge. Was he trying to shock her? She couldn’t deny that something inside her stirred at the lewd act. She’d seen him in many moods. This one was melded to the darkness in him. He was unaffected by the woman whose movements became increasingly frenzied. He was getting off on controlling her, on exploiting her. He cared nothing for the woman begging him for release.
The attorney general and Carter Raymond were staring at him, transfixed by his ability to make the woman his bitch. The woman moaned and clawed the carpet. Her hooker heels bounced as she fought her pleasure. Angel licked his lip and winked at her as the woman jerked and screamed.
“You want some of that, Carmen?” Carter Raymond asked, reaching for her.
Even as Mickey stepped forward, Angel said, “Don’t touch her.”
Carter’s head whipped around. “What?”
“Don’t touch her.”
“Carmen and I go way back,” Carter said.
Angel shook his head. “Not Carmen.”
He was just like Gavin. He thought because she was part of the family that he could call the shots in her life. He, on the other hand, could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The woman on his lap did push-ups to shove herself against his hand. He laughed, well pleased with her out-of-control state. He did something with his hand that made the woman shriek and collapse on the ground, shuddering as if she was having a seizure. The attorney general laughed and beckoned to her. The woman crawled to him. He unzipped his pants, and she took him in her mouth.
Angel raised a mocking brow, eyes gleaming dangerously. “You need a release, Carmen?” He beckoned with a glistening hand and patted his lap. “I’m free.”
The guards behind her were shuffling like a bunch of teenage boys. She could smell their lust. She needed something to get her off, but she wasn’t so far gone that she’d allow herself to be used in front of a crowd for his amusement. His eyes dared her to come to him, silently promising her that he would banish the darkness he knew festered within her. He saw too much and would use his knowledge to destroy her. Luci’s voice drifted through her mind. Angel likes you. The man waiting for her capitulation wasn’t the brother Luci knew and loved. This was the crime lord, the one who didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. High on power, pitiless, and shameless.
She’d never been able to walk away from a dare.
She handed her clutch to Mickey. Angel’s eyes gleamed and his mouth began to curve in victory, but he stiffened when she walked toward Carter. She perched sideways on the footballer’s lap and looped an arm around his neck. Carter was looking at Angel, so she cupped his face and turned it to her. Carter was good looking. Unfortunately, he was one of the most self-centered, arrogant men she knew. He thought he was God’s gift to women and had been hitting on her for years. It was time to make him her slave.
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