by Teagan Kade
I smile at that. It’s true. I probably smoked a pack a day myself just in second-hand smoke when I was a kid. “That’s why he spent so much time in the gym. Mom never liked him smoking at home.”
Sam smiles, big and wide. He claps a hand on my shoulder. I’m surprised how firm his grip still is, but then again Sam was always strong.
“So, you going to tell me how you knew I was here or what?” I ask.
He taps his ears. “You know me, Max. I’ve still got eyes and ears around this town. You think you could come back home and no one would notice?”
“That’s what I was hoping for.” I swipe the bottle of Turkey off the top of the tombstone, handing it over.
Sam takes it, looking at the label. “Your father always liked the cheap stuff.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“You know what Raymond Chandler used to say.”
I do. “There is no bad whiskey. There are only some whiskeys that aren’t as good as others.”
Sam takes a swig, coughing. “Terrible. Fucking terrible.”
I take the bottle and throw it back. He’s right. It is fucking terrible. If there’s anything Saul has taught me, it’s an appreciation for fine whiskey. All I buy these days is single-malt, but something about the taste of Turkey makes memories of Dad clearer, more vivid. It’s like he’s standing here with us berating me for not getting back into the gym. ‘The bags aren’t going to tenderize themselves, are they?’ he’d say.
Sam licks his lips, hands on his hips. His breathing is heavy and labored, far from the boxing legend I remember. “You’re not here for the slots and pretty women, are you?”
“Pretty women?” I laugh. “You have lived in Vegas too long.”
He pans his hand around. “It’s the only game I know. Business then, and what’s it to you?”
I kick at the dirt. “The usual.”
“I heard you were working for Saul Barnes.”
“You heard right.”
Sam shakes his head. “You enjoy working for a fucking animal like that?”
I shrug. “As you said, it’s the only game in town. NYC’s not exactly brimming with job opportunities for ex-cons.”
Sam chews on it. “You here alone?”
“There’s a girl. I’m helping her out.”
Sam punches me in the gut. “You dog. You always were a sucker for a fine woman, and she is fine, isn’t she?”
I think of Dawn, of her long legs and tight ass, the way her smile turns my dick hard, some semblance of life runs through my veins again. She’s the very antithesis of who I have become, nothing but hope and joy and vitality. “Yeah,” I say. “She is.”
Sam jerks his head. “Twenty questions was never my style. You got time for a stroll down memory lane?”
I check my watch, Pop’s old Chopard. I’m probably the only person left in Vegas who still wears one. ‘But a good watch is more than a timepiece, Max. It’s a statement.’ Pops knew that much even if he did dress like a hobo most days. “I got time,” I reply.
We’re silent as we walk around the block. The neighborhood hasn’t changed much in the last ten years, but Vegas has.
Sam points at the high rises looming over us, the city slowly swallowing this neighborhood whole. “Fucking casinos cast a big shadow. Soon there will be no sunlight at all down here.”
He stops outside a derelict building I know all too well. “Here she is.”
The sign is still in place. It still reads ‘Davis’s Gym.’
Sam laughs, hacking halfway through. “Not exactly an original title, was it?”
I smile. “Originality wasn’t Pop’s style.”
Sam takes out a set of keys. “Sure as hell wasn’t. Come on.”
He unlocks the door and uses his shoulder to push it open. A wave of dust rolls out as we enter, cutting through the beams of sunlight channeling from the pock-marked ceiling above. It’s abandoned, falling apart, but it’s the gym Pops and I bought fifty-fifty all those years ago, our mutual dream.
I walk over to the ring and run my finger along the ropes. It comes away black. Still, there’s a muted beauty about it in this state. I can still smell the sweat.
Sam leans against a wall, fishing for a cigarette. He lights it, breathing it in deep before puffing out a series of wraithlike rings. “It’s a shame it never saw any real action, right?”
I walk around the ring, picturing what we’d planned to do with the place. We got as far as the sign outside before Pop passed. After that, everything went to shit. All the renovation plans we had were shelved. It decayed and never came to life. “It is.”
“You’re just like him, you know.”
“Impossibly handsome?”
“A man of few words,” replies Sam. “Though I don’t recall you ever cracking jokes. Maybe this lady friend of yours is more than you’re making out.”
I hang on the ropes. “Maybe.”
“So what? You’re going to fight for her or let her slip through your fingers?”
I’ve only known her days, but already I’m certain I’d go to hell and back to make Dawn mine, especially after what happened earlier. That was sex like I’ve never known. “I’ve got a fight tomorrow. O’Neil.”
Sam pushes off the wall, approaching me with a limp, flicking his cigarette into the corner. “I know. He’s a tough prick. You going to be right?”
It’s been since years since I was in a proper fight, and even then it was off the books, the kind of hillbilly sideshow you’re paid for in grubby bills and free booze. “I’ll be fine.”
Sam takes hold of my arm, squeezing. “Too much of the good stuff, if you ask me.”
“Says the man smoking his way to the grave,” I smile.
“Smart ass.”
“Old bastard.”
Sam gives me another jab in the gut. “It’s good to see you, Max, really.”
“And you.” I look around. “Who owns the joint now?”
Sam rattles his pocket, the keys jangling. “You think I keep these for kicks? I do, you prick.”
“You were the anonymous bidder?”
“I couldn’t let anyone else have it, you know?”
“But you’re…”
“Poor?” he finishes. “Broke? Son, I might look like I don’t have two dimes to rub together, but I did okay in a previous life. I’ve got enough.”
“But you can’t hold onto this place forever, right?”
Sam nods. “The city’s closing in, yeah. I get a developer a week trying to get me to sell this place. We all do around here, and it’s big money. Most of the folks in these parts, folks you knew before you pissed off to Jersey, have already gone, but I can’t let this place go, even if it’s the last fucking gym standing in Vegas.”
But I know how these things go. “They’ll make you. If you don’t sell, they’ll just send in—”
“The heavies?” laughs Sam. “I can handle myself.”
I look him over. “You sure about that?”
He waves it off. “Let them come. I’ve still got friends around here, friends who know a left from a right. Hell, we could use a bit of action, but fuck that, all of it. I brought you here for another reason.”
I thumb the ropes. “You want a fight? See if you’ve still got it? Because I’ll lay you flat, cripple or not.”
“Like I said, you’re a smartass, but no, call it a business proposition.”
“A proposition?”
He looks me dead in the eyes. “You win the fight tomorrow, you can have the gym. It’s yours.”
It takes me a second to process what he’s saying. “Why?”
He throws his arms wide. “I’ve got maybe three, four months tops. What the fuck am I going to do with this place?”
“Okay. Fair enough, but what’s the catch?”
He raps on the side of his head with a closed fist. “You always had brains, Max, whether you wanted to believe it or not. The catch? The catch is that you can’t sell this place. You have to pro
mise me that.”
“I promise.” And I mean it. Things are coming full circle. I’m looking at a dust-ridden gym but I’m seeing possibility, a way out from Saul’s iron grasp. I see kids sparring and people working. I see bags waiting to be beaten, a water table, a framed picture of Pops smiling over it all. I see what we always wanted before my ego got too big for this neighborhood and I left. Biggest fucking mistake of my life.
Sam takes my shoulder again. “Thank you, Max, but a word of advice: you know what’s sexier to a woman than a bad boy?”
“An old man who dresses like a bum?”
“A grown-ass man who’s got his shit together.” He prods me in the chest to drive the point home. “And don’t lose the fucking fight.”
“I won’t.”
“You still remember my phone number?”
“I do.”
He starts to walk away. “Call if you need me. Otherwise, get out of my fucking gym. It’s not yours yet.”
I start to follow him out. “Whatever you say, Sam.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DAWN
I step out of the elevator into Suite 608. I walk through room after room, floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the older part of Vegas below, the neon glow of New Vegas a shimmering borealis in the distance.
I lean against a golden grand piano in the middle of the lounge, imagine Max taking me on its glossy surface, driving deep and whispering my name in my ear, commanding me to come, to cream over his cock.
I step away. Cool it already, but I can’t shake these thoughts, the need to feel his hands on my body again, his lips pressing against mine.
I’m looking directly at a landline, the phone—gold, of course—waiting.
Noel. I have to let her know I’m safe. That’s all. Max will find out, but he’ll just have to live with it. Besides, I’m here of my own free will now.
Keep telling yourself that.
I pick up the handset, dialing Noel’s cell.
She picks up on the first ring, voice strained. “Hello?”
“Noel?”
“Dawn. Jesus, where are you? Are you okay?” The words rush out.
I pull in a breath. “I’m fine.”
“God, I’ve been worried sick. I put in a missing person’s report, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s okay.”
Her tone borders on anger. “It is far from okay. Where are you?” she repeats.
I hate doing this to her. “I can’t say, but I just called to tell you I’m not being held against my will or anything like that. It’s all to do with Rick, but it’s going to be sorted out soon.”
“Rick? What’s that motherfucker done now?”
“You don’t need to worry about it, or me, but he’s going to pay and this will all be resolved. I’ll be home before you know it.”
I’m trying to stay composed, but her voice threatens to break me.
“I told you he was bad news, Dawn.”
“I know, and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it.”
“You’re not there with that guy are you, Mr. Muscle?”
I look around the corner, sure Max will be waiting there. “Not at the moment, but he’s here, yes.”
“Oh god, Dawn…”
“It’s not like that, Noel. He’s okay. He—”
“He’s okay?!” she bellows. “You haven’t got Stockholm Syndrome, have you, because I’ve heard—”
I roll my eyes. “I have not got Stockholm Syndrome. In fact…”
“In fact what?” she presses.
“I think I have feelings for him.”
“Dawn!” she shouts. “I know that in some weird, twisted way this could be exciting, maybe, hormones-something, but… You. Are. In. Danger. Do you understand that? You can’t trust him.”
“I can.”
“Dawn,” she pleads. “Listen to me. I’m begging you.”
A tear falls from my face. This wasn’t how I wanted this to go down at all. “I have to hang up now, Noel.”
“Dawn!” she screams.
“I’m okay, Noel. I’m okay and I love you.”
I hang up, cutting her halfway through the next “Da—”
I place the handset down carefully and slump to the carpet, wiping my eyes and trying to calm myself down.
At least she knows now.
What if they trace the call?
I doubt we’ll be here long enough for anything to come of it. Max will fight tomorrow and then we’ll have Rick. There’s no reason things shouldn’t be back to normal by noon, no reason I can’t get on with my life.
Without Max.
I struggle against the thought. I’m not ready to let him go; quite the opposite. I’m sure he has his demons—what guy in his line of work wouldn’t?—but I want him and he wants me. It’s obvious.
You need a man, not a project.
I stand and breathe in again, exhaling slowly. I’m not going to sit here and sulk. I’m in a freakin’ penthouse, and soon an impossibly gorgeous man who clearly cares for me will be back. I can’t let that opportunity slip. This might be the last… I don’t want to finish the thought.
It dawns on me how much Max has stuck his neck out for me here. All the risk has been on him. He had no reason to help me, to go along with any of this. I’ve got to reward him, in some way, any way I can.
Another image of our bodies twisted together flares in my head, my pussy growing hot and heated with anticipation. You’re in Las Freakin’ Vegas. Live a little.
So I decide it.
“Tonight, Max Davis,” I say aloud. “Tonight is going to be the best damn night of your life.”
*
The girl at the desk discreetly directs me to a lingerie shop around the corner. I know Max told me not to leave the casino, but I doubt he’d argue with this excursion, not when he sees what I walk away with.
It feels very Vegas, paying with a wad of bills.
I take the bags and return upstairs, upending them on the monstrous master bed and laying each set out carefully. This kind of couture is not cheap, but as I finger the fabrics I can already feel the way my body begins to melt with expectation.
I look between the two sets—one white silk, the other black lace. I’ve wanted to buy underwear like this for the longest time, but never had the money… or the reason. Now I have both I’m so excited I can barely think straight.
I go with the white set first, a simple thong with matching teddy, a patchwork of white ribbons doubling as ties for the back. “Bit like a gift.” I giggle.
I try it on and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, hardly able to believe how different I look. The awkward assistant is gone. Dawn the sex bomb is in.
I try the black set next. I like the lace. It’s almost see-through, my nipples a dusky pink through the gauzy lace of the bra. I turn around, the cut showing off my butt. It’s more in-your-face than the white set, but that’s kind of what I’m going for here—a knock-out blow.
Besides, the white set looks like something you’d wear on your wedding day.
I take a moment to pause and wonder what a wedding with Max would be like, the kinds of characters that would show up. Noel would be over the moon, of course. She’d probably organize the whole thing if I let her. I’d wear white, because tradition, but I’d design it from the ground up, source the finest fabric and make it my own. Max would be in a suit, maybe Tom Ford, slate or navy, and he’d look incredible. We’d laugh during our vows, go to Hawaii for our honeymoon where we’d have passionate, insatiable sex everywhere like two horny teenagers.
I stare back at myself. Are you for real right now? You’ve got to stay alive first.
The thing is, I can’t picture that suit on Max as hard as I try. I think it would probably strip itself off and go running away, his body a natural repellant to high fashion.
I place my hands on my hips, tilting my head to the side wondering if my breasts look too small in this bra when I hear the front door open.
Shit, he’s
home earlier than expected.
“Dawn?” he calls.
Suddenly, this whole thing seems insane. What if he doesn’t go for it? I’ll be standing here half-naked looking like a fool.
I grab a robe off the hanger and wrap it around myself, tying it off. “One second.”
I come out pretending to dry my hair. “Oh, you’re back.”
He looks around. “Did you make it downstairs?”
I sit awkwardly up against the piano. “I did.”
He looks at me suspiciously. “And?”
“It was great. How was your, um, Dad?”
He approaches me. “Full disclosure, he’s dead. I went to visit his grave, but I bumped into an old friend there. We talked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“About Pops?” he smiles. “Don’t be. He died years ago. Did you just get out of the shower?”
“Um…”
“Your hair’s not wet.”
Damn. “I…”
“You…?”
Here goes nothing. I untie the belt and let my robe open. “I wanted to surprise you, say thanks for everything you’ve done.”
His eyes are wide. “Wow.”
I step forward. “Is it okay?” I ask sheepishly.
The question hangs. I can’t read anything from Max’s expression.
And then he reaches forward and takes the robe from my shoulders. It falls, puddling around my feet, and I’m exposed, completely and utterly, beautifully exposed.
I go to cover myself up, but he holds my hands by my side. “No, leave them.”
“Well?” I query, mouth dry.
He begins to smile. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life.” He comes against me. I feel his erection hard between us. He reaches behind my back, a single snap causing my bra to hang between us.
I can’t breathe. I can’t do a damn thing I’m so nervous, and why? It’s only been a couple of hours.
He kisses me. Again, it’s softer than I expect. My tongue goes between his lips. Together, they meet, timid at first and then pressing against one another with abandon.
Help me.
We break apart and he pulls the bra away, drinking in my breasts with his leonine eyes, and I know I’m perfect in them, everything he’s been dreaming of.