Niki shrugged. "I imagine his physicality might have something to do with it."
"It doesn't play as big a role as you might think."
Bobby stopped talking immediately when Taylor strode to where they stood.
"You guys have some skills," the tall redhead admitted as he packed the rest of his equipment. "I’m fairly sure I threw everything I had at you and you walked away under your own power. That's fucking impressive. All of you."
Vickie looked a little more exhausted than the others and he picked her hand up and lifted it to bump her closed fist against his.
"I'd flip you off if I had the power and energy to do it," she complained.
He pulled her closed fist toward him and tugged the middle finger out until it was upright and directed at him. "There we go."
Even she couldn't hold the laughter back. "You’re the best, Tay-Tay."
"I know." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Eat tons of protein to rebuild all those muscles and you'll be back at it in no time, I promise."
"Thanks."
He turned to where Niki and Bobby stood, and the agent could almost feel that the two of them needed to talk about something on their own.
"I'll see you later?" she asked, not sure what she was hoping for but it popped out before she could stop herself.
"Yeah, I'll send you a message," he answered and patted her on the shoulder. "You guys are good to head back to the hotel on your own, right? In the SUV?"
"Sure, but Maxwell will have to drive. He's the one who’s more or less alive at this point."
"Don't think I missed that."
Taylor dragged his gaze away from Niki's SUV to where Bobby studied him carefully.
"Missed what?"
"You might be decent enough with sleight of hand, but at your size, there are some things you can't do without it being noticed. Slipping a note into Niki's pocket is one of them."
He drew a deep breath of the cooling desert air. "Yeah, I guess. Leonard and even a certain consultant manning our phone lines at the moment—"
"Desk."
"Right. Even she thought it was a good idea for me to make my move with Niki—which, unfortunately, includes not fucking up by keeping her in the dark about the fight that's coming up."
Bungees folded his arms in front of his massive chest and tilted his head to the side. "So let me get this straight. You'll wine her, dine her, get on her good side…and then tell her that you're setting up a fight."
"Pretty much."
"A fight with two mob tough guys."
"You are correct, sir."
"With no suit or protection."
"Yep. That's about the plan in a nutshell."
Bobby stared at him for a few seconds before he broke into laughter. "I hate to say it, but you will never get laid, dude."
Taylor opened his mouth to reply but ended up with a simple nod. "You're probably right about that, but at least I'm being up-front and honest about it. She's said that it's important for people to be honest with her."
"Well, the sex—if you ever get any—will probably be over the top."
"I don't want her feelings to get hurt, you know? I can live with blue balls. Hell, we all had to live with them when we were still in the military. But I can almost guarantee that having a .45 emptied into said balls is a whole lot fucking worse."
"You make a fair point." Bungees couldn't help but laugh at the comparison. "You know it takes crazy to know crazy, right?"
He shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure. Are we working out tonight or what?"
"Yeah, if you're not too tired from today's training. I think I need more focus on my footwork since it'll give my ribs a chance to recover from that hook you caught me with."
Bobby shook his hand firmly. "Sounds good. I'll see you after I drop everyone else off."
Niki sank into the bath with a drawn-out sigh. It didn’t escape her that this was the second in as many days and she had begun to feel like a cliché, but she couldn't help the fact that it would help to circulate more blood to her sore muscles. The Epsom salts the Aria had provided her with were also known for their anti-inflammatory properties.
A selection of choice chocolates rested on one of the surfaces next to her as well as a couple of sports drinks to help replenish all the liquids she'd lost out in the desert. At that moment, she felt like she could simply lie and soak for days.
Things probably wouldn’t work out that way, but she felt less annoyed with Taylor about the harsh training he'd put them through. The guy did know how to get on her good side as well as he knew how to get on her bad side.
She picked up the remote and turned on the tv in front of her. A handful of drama shows and police procedurals were unappealing so she changed the channel repeatedly until she came onto a show called Say Yes to the Dress. She was too old and gave too few fucks for her to feel anything like shame over enjoying her favorite shows, guilty pleasure or not. While she wasn't particularly proud of it, the shame factor had gone a long time before.
Besides, it had sentimental value. She used to watch it with her mom when they spent time together. Despite all the difficulties she had gone through with her family, watching a group of women try dresses on in Manhattan with her mother and Jennie was a memory she held close to heart.
Of course, it meant that the show had been going for fucking ever, but that wasn't the point.
"Sorry, honey," Niki muttered with a cube of Belgian chocolate in her mouth. "But the bride isn't supposed to show that much cleavage on her wedding day. It’s so tacky."
The showrunners agreed, and the dress was exchanged for something a little less revealing, although not by much.
"Okay, that's more skin than I'm comfortable showing." She popped another piece of chocolate into her mouth. "But hell, if I had a body like that, I would probably flaunt that shit too."
It felt a little too judgmental, but it wasn't like the girls would hear her. Plus, they were being paid a fuck-ton of money to try on dresses to be judged by their peers around the world. It was her job to enjoy it by judging the quality of the dresses.
"It’s not like I'll ever spend that much money on a dress I'll wear for one day. The dudes get to either rent or keep their tuxes for a hundred other occasions, but the bridal gown is the most expensive and is then put away somewhere for the rest of my life. Fuck that."
She was talking to herself and the realization made her chuckle. The commentary was simply part of the experience, whether there were people to watch it with her or not.
The show continued until her skin began to prune. If she stayed any longer, she would spend the night in the water that was still warm after almost an hour. She pulled herself out with a low, guttural groan as her muscles protested being moved after spending so much time prone. She decided she’d simply watch the show to its conclusion when she got into bed—and maybe after some room service.
Niki wrapped herself in a robe and picked her shirt up from where she left it. She had a bad habit of tossing her clothes into a pile on the nearest surface or the floor, and Jennie had tried all their lives to get her out of it. The old habit remained, however, and she brushed some of the dust off that had collected on the article of clothing in the desert.
Something slipped out of the pocket and she immediately reached to try to catch it before it landed on the floor. She regretted the impulse almost instantly as every muscle up and down her back screamed in protest.
"Oh…fuck me." She gasped and stretched gingerly to pick the envelope up from where it had fallen. "I'll kill him—slowly and painfully. Put ice picks into his arms to pin him down and beat his ass to death."
The envelope was small, the kind used to hold a gift card or something. Taylor had slipped it into her pocket at some point, but she had no idea when.
She withdrew it and frowned at the contents for a few seconds before they made sense around her bathtub and exhaustion stupor.
Will you
join me at the MGM Grand L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon this Friday night? She recognized Taylor's handwriting. It wasn't terrible or sloppy but it was still plainly written by him. There wasn't anything pretty and no frills were added. If your answer is yes, a car will arrive to drive you there at 8 PM.
"How the fuck…" she muttered and shook her head. The dumbass had forgotten to tell her how she could accept the invitation. Did he expect her to talk to him about it beforehand or would the car simply arrive at eight regardless of her answer?"
He had probably put considerable thought into this but it was very clearly not his forte.
"Fine," she answered and placed the card on the bedside table. "I’ll kill you Saturday and eat with you Friday night. There’s no sense in letting a good meal go to waste."
Chapter Three
"Mr. Marino, the conference call you wanted to set up is waiting for you."
Rod looked up from his computer screen. His current task was to check the reports for the evening before, mostly so his pit bosses could say he had looked at their take for the evening. They were in something of a dry spell so there was nothing of real interest. Three weeks remained until the next big fight and it would be a while until a holiday would justify having a poker tournament that would draw the casual gamblers in.
They were still making money but not enough to catch and hold his attention.
He tapped the place where he had to sign and scribbled something beside his finger before he flung it into the out tray. Other people were paid to pick up whether someone was trying to cheat him, after all.
"Sure…ummm…"
Dammit, which secretary was this? The last one had been sent to work for someone else after she had forgotten about a couple of his golf appointments. They had sent a replacement in but he couldn't remember her name for the life of him.
"Stephanie, Mr. Marino. Should I connect you to the call?"
"Yes, thank you, Stephanie."
Marino needed to work on having someone long enough that he didn't have to learn a new name every other fucking week.
His screen connected to the conference call that was cast quickly to his tv instead. This gave him a full view of the group of men he had tried to connect with over the past week or so. They were all as busy as hell, and he wouldn’t hold it against them for not having the time to be at his beck and call. That said, he expected them to at least honor an agreement they had made to meet when they said they would.
All seven of them were present. La Cosa Nostra wasn't known for its civility, even among its ranks, but the kind of respect each of the men commanded was something he aspired to.
"Good afternoon, Don Marino," an older man with a second chin and a bald spot on his head muttered and straightened in front of his screen.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen, and thank you so much for taking the time to speak to me. I know we're all busy men and I don't want to take up too much of your time."
"We appreciate that." The second man was younger and looked like he had once been a model many years before. "And while you need not clear any of your casino business with the rest of the family, the favor you have shown in keeping us in the loop of those fights you do host is a favor that will not be forgotten."
"I do have questions regarding the conditions of this fight since it will likely not be sanctioned by the Nevada Gaming Commission," another added.
"You don't need to worry about the NGC," Rod assured them. "The relevant authorities have been notified and paid to turn a blind eye to what happens in my casino on the night in question. You don't have to worry about that."
"That was not what I meant. We know you are capable of keeping the local authorities under control. My point is that if the rules are not the kind that would be found in a sanctioned fight, they need to be laid out before any of us would be willing to put any money down on it."
"Oh, right." He pulled up the rules that had been drafted for the fight beforehand. "It'll be a fight between two of my men and an outsider who I've worked with over the past few months. You should already have the details, but it will be a bare-knuckle fight with as few rules as possible. A cage match, if you will.”
"If two of your men are involved, how can we know this is an even match? No one wants to watch a stream of an outsider pummeled into unconsciousness by your men. There is little interest or money in such demonstrations."
"The man they will go up against is former army and straight out of the Zoo besides," Rod explained. "His complete military history is part of the info package I sent you all—although most of it has been classified, which says enough on its own. You'll find this man is no walkover, and…well, suffice it to say that I will invest considerable capital in this and I expect there to be adequate return."
"Even so," the oldest of the group, a lean man with a hooked nose and almost no hair, retorted with a thick Italian accent. "We will need more information on all three fighters before we commit our resources to transmit the fight online. You understand, yes?"
"Of course." He made a note of the suggestion on a nearby pad. "You already have the details on my two fighters, but if you need more information on the newcomer, I will provide it."
The rest of them looked more or less satisfied with his response, and he drew back from the screen. “If there are no more questions?"
"We will contact you when we have more information, Don Marino," the fossil of a don replied and tapped the screen a few times before one of his assistants hurried forward to end the call for him.
The others dropped out and Marino took a moment to rub his temples which throbbed for some reason. Talking with the dons located across the country always gave him a headache.
"Stephanie?" he asked over the intercom.
"Yes, Mr. Marino?"
"I'll need a list of the people I have available for a side project. Nothing too dangerous or too exhausting, merely gathering information from people who probably won’t be overly welcoming."
"Will do, sir."
The woman worked quickly enough and was the kind of calming presence in his office that he needed. He hoped it lasted and she became a regular around him. Maybe then he would be able to focus on his work instead of trying to remember the secretary-du-jour's name.
Chapter Four
The MGM Grand was only a couple of blocks away from the Aria, and Niki wasn't so debilitated by the training that she couldn't walk that far. Still, it was nice of Taylor to want her to have the best treatment from door to door and so made sure there were always people helping her and making her feel like a lady as much as possible.
Besides, from what she could see on her maps app, it didn't look like the walk was that pleasant, even by Vegas standards. There was no way she would waste the outfit Desk had helped her select while jostled by the crowd of random tourists who made their way home after a long day of sightseeing in the unbearable heat.
And making the walk in heels was not what she would ever consider, no matter how great they made her ass look. The shoes weren’t something she wore often enough to justify heading out for a half-mile walk simply for the hell of it.
The limo was already waiting for her when she reached the door and the driver opened the door as soon as she stepped outside. That was the kind of thoughtfulness she doubted Taylor had in mind. It wasn't in the man to treat anyone like a delicate princess, so this had to come from the car service. They probably asked the receptionist to give them a heads-up when the person they were waiting for came down.
"Shall we?" the man asked with a passable attempt at a posh British accent.
"We shall indeed," Niki replied and stepped into the car, careful not to let the dress gape and reveal anything compromising in the process.
The drive was predictably short, and the driver was quicker than she expected. He was already opening the door for her before she had finished shoving one of the bagged snacks into her purse. The man showed no sign of being surprised or even that he had seen her doing it, but it was impossible th
at he hadn't.
Still, if he didn’t make a fuss, maybe it wasn't that big a deal.
Niki stepped out of the limo and she immediately saw Taylor standing at the door, waiting for her. Him wearing something overly fancy wouldn't feel right and he knew it so instead, he’d chosen something classy and relaxed instead. The gray suit jacket and slacks complemented his powerful frame, and the white shirt matched his paler skin. She couldn't help but let her gaze drift over the two buttons he'd left undone to reveal his collarbone and a sliver of skin beneath.
She straightened her dress before she finally spoke to him. "Well, well, well. Don't you clean up nice? You’re rocking the professional-casual look there, aren't you? Did you have this outfit laying around somewhere for a special occasion, or did you have to go shopping for it?"
He laughed and for the first time, she realized he felt a little nervous over the date. The vulnerable look about him was oddly endearing and certainly more attractive than the Neanderthal-esque confidence he usually wore like a suit of armor.
"I plead the fifth," he responded after a moment. "Shall we? I hear this restaurant has the best gourmet French Tapas served in a modern space with counter service in Las Vegas."
"Did you read that in the Google reviews?"
"Maybe."
"Well then." Niki extended her hand and Taylor took it and tucked it in the crook of his elbow as he led her inside.
She liked the more cultured look he had worked on, and from the attention the rest of the women in the restaurant gave him, so did they. It wasn't anything too obvious or overt. Most of those present were on dates or attending business dinners with husbands or boyfriends, but the subtle glances were all she needed to see. And the fact that they repeated the hasty study every few seconds when they thought no one was looking made it worse.
"What do you think of these stilettoes?" she asked as the Maître D' prepared a table for them.
He tilted his head back to study her and nodded. "They make your ass look great, I won’t lie."
Monster In Me (Cryptid Assassin Book 8) Page 3