by Renee Rose
“Bellissimo.”
She cocks her head to the side.
“You, not the casino. And what club are you referring to?”
She shrugs and grabs a pen. Isn’t there a nightclub in this place?
I grin at her. “Yeah, but it’s probably not happening. It’s just a place for drunk guests to hook up, not a rave hall or anything.”
She flips to a new page. Spread the word. DJ Pepper is playing tonight.
I grin, suddenly getting it. She wants to create a scene like she did at the Paramount here, in the Bellissimo. Get some social media play and hype the concerts.
I pull her against me and slam my lips down on hers. It’s a long, thorough kiss. “Excellent idea. I’ll get it posted around the casino.”
Two hours later, the Bellissimo nightclub is way over fire code capacity, bodies spilling out into the casino, jamming up in lines.
Pepper’s playing a killer set—an eclectic mix of punk, electronica, and pop—old mixed with new, all at a driving beat.
Her band members and Izzy are out on the floor, dancing with the crowd. Sondra and Corey are out there, too, which means I’m on strict orders not to take my eyes off them. Nico, especially, is protective and possessive as fuck.
Like at the gig the other night, people are videotaping Pepper, holding their phones up. She has a driving beat going now, but seems to have experience with blending tracks, getting the beats to match up.
She turns down the bass and overlays a sample of the last verse of Radiohead’s Karma Police.
The crowd eats it up, first screaming, then singing along. And then she brings them back up, hitting the pop, smacking them with one of the songs from her latest album. It’s pure genius.
The girl clearly knows music inside and out. Her love for it—for all kinds of songs and styles—shows, even though she’s playing dance music. She also has a gift for performing. For playing to a crowd. By the time she’s finished, the people on the floor are gushing about her, the social media posts are off the charts and ticket sales to her concerts double.
I pull her out of there at two in the morning, because I can tell she’s starting to fade. Corey and Sondra already left, so I’m free to escort Pepper back to my suite. I want to strip her and tie her to my bed and keep her up for the rest of the night, but she looks so damn tired, I just pull back the sheets and tell her to hop in.
Are we sleeping? she writes on her notepad. Her eyes already half-closed.
“You are, songbird. You need all the rest you can get.”
I should go back to my bed.
I cup her nape. “Fuck that, baby. I may have taken mercy on you tonight, but I’m going to have my way with this enticing little body of yours in the morning.” I squeeze her nipple between two knuckles. “And I need you naked and in my bed to do that.”
Her smile stretches from ear to ear as she crawls willingly into my bed.
For a minute, I just stand there and look at her. Absorb the image of her platinum hair spread out on my pillow, her lashes fanned over her cheeks. The satisfaction I get is beyond sexual.
I want to keep her.
I want to wake up next to her. Fall asleep beside her. Listen to her snore.
I want Pepper Heart to be my girl.
Except it’s all impossible.
She’s good and pure. She has a life mapped out for her—a career in high gear. This time at the Bellissimo is a forced break from that life, but she will return to it. And she won’t think twice about leaving behind the man who acted as her jailor.
Chapter 10
Pepper
My parents show up the next morning without warning. I’m still warm from Tony’s bed, my body languorous from the three orgasms he treated me to this morning. The man can do amazing things with his tongue.
But my mom texted to say they were on their way from the airport and they wanted to talk.
“We had to find out what’s going on here, Pepper. You wouldn’t answer our calls,” my mom says when I meet them downstairs, Anton a few feet behind me at a respectful distance.
I write on my notepad, What part of I’m resting my vocal chords do you not get? Yeah, I sound a little pissy, but as abandoned as I may have felt by them in the last few years, I have absolutely no desire for their help, advice or tutelage now.
I’m a grown up. I made a grown up decision. They’re going to have to deal with it.
“Knock it off, Pepper. We need to talk.”
A hot wave of anger rushes through me. First I have Hugh and Tony giving me orders not to use my voice, now I’m being ordered to speak. I’m pretty much sick of other people trying to run my life. I shake my head. Doctor’s orders, I write and underline it three times.
“Come on, dear. Let’s go sit down somewhere where we can talk. Have you had lunch?” my mom says.
I shake my head and lead them to the casino’s Mexican restaurant where I discovered yesterday that they have the best jicama and mango salad on earth. I order it again—using the notepad of course—and sip my lemonade.
“Hugh tells us you’re having a bit of a meltdown,” my dad says.
I cock my brows. No, I write. I fired Hugh. He got us nine hundred thousand dollars in debt to the mob.
“The debt isn’t Hugh’s fault. Your album didn’t perform as well as projected. No one can help that.”
I tap my nails on the table. I don’t really want to go into all the reasons I disagree, starting with the fact that Hugh forced that lame regurgitated pop album out of me when I had zero inspiration, to it being his idea to leave our major record label and self-produce, to him thinking he had the chops to produce and publicize an album with no prior experience. And that’s ignoring my first point, which I think is reason enough—he borrowed money from the mob.
And then there’s how happy and free I’ve felt since I cut him loose. How happy the band and Izzy are for me.
There are many, many reasons, I write instead. Bottom line—I’m done with him.
“Well, that’s impossible, Pepper,” my dad says. “We have a contract with him and it’s not so simple as firing at will.”
We’ll get a lawyer. Make that I’ll get a lawyer. I make a mental note to ask Tony for a recommendation. And to get copies of the contracts. Fuck. I’ve been way too passive in my career. I trusted the people around me, and I’m no longer sure they know better than I do.
My dad starts lecturing about all the things I don’t understand, and how Hugh has handled them all, and what a disaster my career will be without Hugh.
He and Hugh go way back to the days when my dad was in his twenties and played in a band that Hugh managed. He quit the band when my mom got pregnant and they never got bigger than a self-produced album and playing small gigs across the west coast. He could’ve gone back and resurrected his own career, but instead, he dumped his energy into me. Teaching me everything he knew about music. Getting me on stage at a young age. Pitching my talent to Hugh.
I eat my salad and pretend I’m listening, grateful once more for my inability to hold a conversation. In my head, I’m composing lyrics to a new song. One I started the day I fired Hugh.
“… and what’s this I hear about you dating one of the mobsters?” my dad breaks into my thought process.
I set my jaw. I’m sure Hugh told them all the same things he told me about Tony and his criminal record. I don’t give a shit. I’m not saying I think we can have a long-term relationship, but my life thawed out when I met him. Blossomed, even. I refuse to hear any crap about him from anyone in my life.
I shove a whisper of fear to the back of my mind: what happens when you leave? I’m not ready to look at that question yet. Is it too much to just enjoy the moment for once in my life?
“We’re going to stay here and get this figured out,” my dad said. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to tour with you, but we can definitely stay until your obligations here are through and we get the Hugh situation sorted out.”
I suppr
ess an eye roll. I want to tell them it’s not necessary. Actually—that I don’t want them here, but I don’t want to be rude. It seems wrong considering how much I missed them these last couple of years.
I bob my head instead, and tell them I’ll catch up with them later.
“Wait, where are you going?” my mom asks.
I have plans, is all I write. Plans with Tony, my sexy tour guide.
Anton trails behind me and I run into Izzy in the lobby. Seems like that’s where all the action is today. She looks like her usual sullen self, her earbuds in her ears, a scowl on her face, but when she sees me, she makes a beeline over. “I saw your parents.”
I make a face of acknowledgement.
“Tell me they’re not here to change your mind about Hugh.”
I fish out my notepad. They are.
Izzy looks away at nothing, stewing on something that’s unclear to me. “Pepper, you can’t.”
I shrug and nod. I agree. I’m figuring it out. Not really your business.
“I’m serious. He’s a shit bag.” Her forehead’s furrowed like there’s something really eating at her, but whatever it is, she decides to swallow it. “Promise me you won’t hire him back.”
I hold out my pinkie and a relieved chuckle comes out of her. She tangles pinkies with me, but her brows are still down. I take my finger back and write. Gotta go.
“Hot date with the Italian Stallion?” She knocks her hip into mine and I smile. “Ooh you do have a date. I’ll bet he’s a machine in bed. Am I right?”
I jab her with my elbow, but I’m laughing. I waggle my brows to let her know it’s true.
“I knew it! I need to find me a dangerous man. I’m so sick of these pasty-faced musician-boys.”
I ignore the unease the word dangerous inspires.
But she’s right. Tony is a dangerous man. Why, then, does being with him make me feel safer than I’ve felt in years?
Tony
It’s insane, Pepper writes. We’re standing at the overlook, staring down at the giant, toilet bowl structure of the Hoover Dam.
“I know, right?” Something about the enormity of the concrete formation makes your stomach drop.
It’s horrifying.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Built into the beautiful red rock face of Black Canyon and capturing the clear blue water of the Colorado River, the dam changed the very forces of nature.
My parents showed up today, she writes on her notepad.
I scratch my face. I’ve been waiting for her to tell me what my security guys had already reported. “Yeah, I heard. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She shakes her head, disgust marring her features. It’s a pain in my ass. They don’t think Hugh should stay fired.
I have to work to unclench my fists because I still think the man deserves a beat-down. And because her parents are on my shit list too. But this isn’t my business and she has enough people telling her what to do.
“Parents are by nature a pain in the ass.”
A smile flickers over her face. Is your mom?
“Ugh, God. Don’t get me started. The woman won’t leave the house. She’s a slave to my stepdad and she’s totally miserable, but won’t let me do anything to change things for her.”
Because I’ve already done enough.
Pepper lays her small hand on my arm and squeezes. I cradle her head with one hand and lean down to kiss her. I’m not sure how I managed to win her affection, but I treasure every moment while it lasts. I’m not under any delusions of keeping her.
She picks up her pen again. What about your dad? She looks up at me, the autumn sun making her squint.
“Dead.” My voice is hard.
She looks down at the pad. Is that a good thing?
“Yeah. He was an abusive prick. He beat my mom and me, probably would’ve killed one of us if—” I stop. I don’t even know why I’m telling her. I never talk about this. But it’s Pepper, and the desire to let her in, to get even closer than we have shoves me forward.
If what?
I swallow. Once I tell her, she’ll know what I am. I mean know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m a monster. I tainted my soul at a very young age. She’ll push me away, as she has every time I’ve let her see that side of me. And then it will be over.
But keeping it from her?
Feels like a bitter lie. And I’ve never been a liar.
I stare out at the glittering blue water. I can’t look at her for this. “I was fourteen. I couldn’t get my ma to leave him—she was too scared. And things were getting worse. His drinking was worse. The episodes more frequent. He was less sorry afterward. So, I figured I’d better man up and do something.”
I don’t dare look at Pepper, but I feel her eyes on me, wide and riveted. I think she’s holding her breath.
“I went to Don Tacone. I was friends with Nico from school, and everyone knew who his dad was. I told him my problem and asked him for a gun. I don’t know what I thought—that I’d threaten my dad with it the next time and he’d back down. Don Tacone gave me the gun. Took me to a shooting range and showed me how to use it. Made me practice until I had it down.”
Pepper reaches for my arm again. Her fingers tighten around the cords of taut muscles.
“And a few weeks later I came home to find my dad straddling my mom, punching her in the face. I ran for the gun. I told him to get off her. He didn’t back down. I guess he didn’t think I’d do it. So when he came after me, I shot him.”
My mom’s bloodied, horrified face swims before my eyes. “My ma screamed, Tony, what have you done? After all that, she didn’t want him dead. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me. She continues to pray for my soul.” I give a humorless laugh.
I still don’t look at Pepper, even though my story is done. I don’t want to see that same horror on her face.
“And then what?” Her voice cracks from lack of use.
I turn and put a finger to her lips. Stroke her soft cheek. “Cops came. I got tangled up in social services for a bit, and then Don Tacone sorted it all out. Got us a new place to live. Paid our rent, gave me a job.” I chuckle, remembering. I’d thought it was a real job back then, but the old man was just preserving my dignity. “My job was to be Nico’s bodyguard—not that he needed one. But from then on, I was his shadow. Stuck to him like glue. He may not have wanted a best friend, but he got one.” I lean my head against Pepper’s. “I didn’t want to tell you that story. I already know what you think of me.”
Pepper reaches her hand to cup my cheek. We stand there, heads together, each of us touching each other’s faces. “What do you think I think of you?”
Pain ratchets up in my chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me. “I’m soulless.” It’s hard to speak. The words shudder out of me. “A monster.”
Pepper chokes and I realize she’s crying—for me. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what else you’ve done, Tony, but what happened then—that was self-defense. You were a scared boy who did what he had to do to save his mom’s life.” Tears run down her beautiful face, killing me. I want to crush her in my arms, consume her. “Stop judging yourself.”
I do crush her now, gathering her up against me like she’s the life force keeping me breathing.
And she is.
“Pepper.” I pull away and interweave my fingers with hers. “You’re the only one I’ve told that story to. You’re the only one who’s ever asked. Or cared.”
She points at my chest and holds her finger there, then turns her hand to touch her own breastbone. You’re that for me, or something like that. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need words. We communicate on a much deeper level. A beautiful, healing level.
I take her hand and we walk back to the car and that’s when I see him.
A pair of sunglasses and ball cap. The wink of binoculars looking right at us. Someone’s watching. Could be a fed. Could be a hitman. Hard to say for sure, but I’m not sticking around, especially not wh
en Pepper’s involved.
I unlock the car and open Pepper’s door, trying not to show the changes in me—the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I get in and start the car, gunning it. Behind us, the sunglasses gets in a gold Lexus SUV and follows. It speeds up on me until it’s just a couple cars behind, and when we’re crossing the giant Memorial Bridge, the Lexus shoots forward and tries to slam into the side of my much smaller BMW.
Hitman, then.
I shoot forward and it only catches my tail end, spinning us to the side, but not over the edge. Pepper screams, which scares me almost as much as the attempted murder.
“No screaming, baby. Hang on tight, I’ll get us out of this.” I zoom around several cars, shooting forward, braking hard, swerving.
The SUV follows closely behind, right on our tail.
“Who is that?” Pepper shrieks.
We get off the other side of bridge and I take my shot at speeding around the traffic on the highway. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him close up yet. Someone who wants me dead, apparently.”
“Why?”
“Good question.” I keep driving like a madman, creating a little distance between me and him. Would Junior have put a hit out on me?
Seems unlikely. I don’t think we reached that point. Besides, he’s more of the do-it-himself type, especially if something’s personal. But maybe he wants me dead without Nico’s blame.
I don’t know who else it could be, but in my line of business, enemies crawl out of the woodwork. Just months ago someone showed up and tried to kill Stefano at a poker game.
I keep screaming down the highway, pushing it over one hundred miles an hour. Pepper hangs onto the door handle, gasping and whimpering.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry this happened with you. But I promise, I’m not going to let you get hurt.”
She doesn’t answer, just huddles against the door, leaning away from me.
I keep my eyes on the rear view mirror. When we hit the Vegas exit, I lose the guy.
Which is good, except I’d rather have my eyes on the guy who wants me dead than wait for him to pop out at me.