Sinning in Vegas

by Sam Mariano

  I brought my phone with me out of habit, but it’s too late to call anyone. Carly is asleep, Mia is asleep, my roommate is… well, if not asleep, then she’s doing other things I would feel icky interrupting.

  Sin is probably asleep. Probably with that fucking waitress. If she makes him happy, I guess I can’t kill her, but if she doesn’t, I’m going to grind her up into dog meat. Dumb whore. I hate her face.

  I roll out my shoulders, trying to shake off the blanket of sadness those thoughts bring with me. It’s selfish not to want Sin to be happy with anyone but me, but dammit, that’s how I feel. I don’t believe she could make him as happy as I could. He’s just some man to her. He’s more than that to me. Even though I have no basis on which to decide this, I don’t think she deserves him. I think he would be much better off with me.

  Sure, the pregnant baby mama of his boss—how could he score higher than that?

  In an attempt to take my mind off Sin, I mess around on every app on my phone that stands a chance at holding my attention. They all fail within a few minutes, and I find myself opening up my text messages. His message from a few days ago is still there, telling me to go to the bathroom. There are too many things to get lost thinking about—his concern for my safety, regardless of his insistence that he only cares because it’s his job to. The way he held my hand and looked at my nail polish disproves that bullshit claim. Why would he care what color nail polish I picked out if he didn’t inherently care about everything related to me? He wouldn’t. I reject that logic. Marlena is just a stand-in, a placeholder, what he’s rebounding with since he can’t have me.

  Or, since he thinks he can’t have me. The fact that I want him and he wants me should be all that’s required for this to happen, but this family is so fucking weird. I want to take matters into my own hands and tell Rafe I want to leave his house and go stay with Sin, but every time I tell myself I’m going to have that conversation, I get scared. What if I’m wrong? What if Sin’s right? It’s not like Rafe has never tricked me before. No, he hasn’t made any new threats about me getting over Sin, hasn’t pushed for sex even though we’re sleeping in the same bed. I don’t know exactly where Rafe stands, and the thought of asking is nerve-racking because the stakes are so high. If I strut into this conversation, certain I can pull it off and everything will be fine, and then Sin ends up dead and Rafe casually reminds me he warned me, I will be destroyed. That guilt will follow me for the rest of my life, and just the thought of a Sin-less world makes me unfathomably sad.

  Just thinking about it now makes me softer on him. What if something happened to Sin and the last thing I ever said to him was to basically get out of the bathroom and leave me alone? It’s too hard to stay mad at him. I’ve never encountered that before—an absolute inability to stay mad at someone, no matter how much he pisses me off or hurts my feelings. Even when I try to hold it against him, it wears off. Being mad at him only lasts so long, and then it evaporates, and trying to prolong the grudge feels unnatural. That has never, ever happened to me before Sin, and I find it intriguing.

  Sin seems like the sort of man who rubs people the wrong way more than the kind you can’t stay mad at. He doesn’t have Rafe’s easy charisma. He’s no one’s definition of a charmer. I can’t imagine anyone else who knows him struggling to stay mad at him—in theory, he makes it so damn easy—but I can’t. I realized in that bathroom, when I felt myself giving just because we were in the same room, that I lied to Rafe. Finding out Sin slept with Marlena should be enough to turn me off him, but I don’t think it would be. When he inevitably throws that in my face, it’s going to hurt like hell, and I’m going to be pissed off and hurt, but somehow it won’t last. I think the mean bastard could marry Marlena, and I would be mad at him for a week, sad at him for a couple more, and then like a rubber band snapping back, I would go right back to wanting him.

  I don’t know if there’s something that wrong with me, or something that right with us. A new attachment shouldn’t be so unbreakable. I’ve had relationships much more serious than this one, I’ve had my heart broken before by people I invested much more time in, but I have never encountered whatever this is. It’s like we’re connected by something deeper, something I could study for the rest of my life and never understand. Maybe from the first moment Sin walked through Rafe’s front door, my soul recognized its other half, and now it won’t let go for anything. Every little hurt, every major offense, somehow all of it feels insignificant by comparison. Like teardrops of pain falling into an ocean of love. There’s so much of the good stuff, you can’t feel the bad stuff for long.

  I hate pining in theory and in practice, but the rules of ordinary relationships don’t apply to my thoughts of Sin. I tap the message box on my phone and the straight line begins blinking, preparing to receive my message. Only it’s 4 in the morning and I don’t have anything to say. I just want to connect.

  So, I open my recently used emojis, select the dolphin, and push send.

  Since it’s the middle of the night, I don’t expect him to be awake. I don’t even want him to be awake. If he’s awake, that probably means he is with her, or he was with her, and I don’t need to feel angry right now. I don’t need more reasons to want to murder this cotton candy bitch.

  I need to get Virginia’s number. She may be one of Rafe’s minions, but I think I could be friends with her.

  My phone grabs my attention, vibrating on the surface of Rafe’s island countertop.

  “Why are you awake?” Sin typed back.

  Lifting an eyebrow, I reply, “I’m pregnant. What’s your excuse?”

  “Some crazy person just sent me a dolphin in the middle of the night.”

  “Well, you better hurry up and get it in some water. Dolphins like water,” I reply.

  “Great, now I have a to-do list. I’m gonna have to find out what they eat too. I didn’t ask for this.”

  Grinning, I type back, “Dolphins eat fish. Haven’t you ever taken a science class? I need to take you to an aquarium or something and fill in the gaps of your aquatic education.”

  Less than a minute later, he sends back, “I just looked it up. Some dolphins eat squids and whatever the fuck a cephalopod is. Take that, know-it-all.”

  “Well, the one I sent you is named Wilbur and he eats fish. I asked him. Cod is his favorite.”

  “Great, so you sent me a high-maintenance fucking fish.”

  Grinning again, I send an emoji of a monkey hiding its eyes and tell him, “Dolphins aren’t fish!”

  “I know, they’re mammals. I wanted to see if you’d correct me. See, I did take a science class.” The trio of gray bubbles moves for a few seconds, then he sends back, “I could quiz you on shit you wouldn’t know about too, you know.”

  “Oh, I know you could. Someone just asked me, where is Sin right now and is anyone with him? And I had no idea what the answer was.”

  The gray bubbles move for an eternity. Definitely long enough for me to imagine him either lecturing me for asking about his sex life when I do not want to know, or telling me horrible things about said sex life in an attempt to make me hate him. I’m braced for the worst when a large, dark rectangle that is clearly a picture shows up on my screen. Do I want to look? I don’t, but I have to. If it’s the waitress, I’m gonna throw up.

  It’s Sin’s bed. More specifically, the empty spot beside him where I used to sleep. My entire being lightens and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  His accompanying message reads simply, “Mystery solved.”

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  I click on the picture to make it bigger. The picture is dark given the time of night and Sin’s blackout curtains. There’s not even any moonlight spilling in. I can still see the empty space where I should be, though. I long to pour out my feelings, to tell him I wish I could be there with him, but I don’t have the heart to be rejected again, and I know I will be.

  “You’re welcome,” he sends back. “Now get some sleep.”

&
nbsp; “I will. You too. Sorry I woke you.”

  “Nah, I was awake. Goodnight Laurel.”

  “Why were you awake?” I ask.

  “Goodnight Laurel,” he sends again.

  I sigh. “Fine. Goodnight, Sin.”

  I leave the messages open while I finish drinking my tea, just on the off chance he decides to tell me why he’s awake, but he doesn’t. I wonder how many of the other nights I’ve spent sleepless and alone I could have spent talking to him instead. I’m not sleeping because my hormones are all out of whack, but why isn’t he sleeping? I try not to think about it as I head upstairs. I try not to entertain the lamest, most mundane fantasy ever—the simple ability to be lying in bed next to Sin if we are both unable to sleep. We could fill that time much more pleasurably. I could relax him and at least help him get some sleep if the baby doesn’t want me to sleep. We could cuddle and talk—or I could talk, and he could listen to me until he drifted off. I would look up when I noticed him no longer responding. I would snuggle up against him, and even if I couldn’t sleep, it wouldn’t matter, because I love the feeling of his arms wrapped around me. It’s worth staying awake for. Then the next morning when he has to get up and go to work, I could catch up on my sleep in the bedroom with the blackout curtains. Rafe’s room lets in too much light to sleep peacefully during the day.

  It’s crazy that my most unattainable fantasy involving the dark, dominant murderer is just the ability to have a normal life with him.

  I sigh at the sight of Rafe in bed, sleeping. I don’t know why it annoys me that he can sleep. I don’t want him to be awake, because I’m always worried he’ll start pawing at me when we’re both awake in the same bed. Still, he’s ultimately the reason I can’t sleep since he’s the one who fucked up with the condom and put a baby in me.

  Now that I think about it, I wonder why he isn’t pushing for sex. I don’t want him to, but the night at the hotel he was relieved when I told him as soon as I found out Sin slept with Marlena, I would be good to go, but it hasn’t really come up again. I haven’t seen him with Sin outside of the morning I made them both breakfast, and Rafe is overall calmer about everything than he probably should be.

  Climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over me, I look over at him. Should he be so calm? Where is this sudden well of patience coming from? He never even addressed that bizarre morning when he made me cook for Sin.

  Why haven’t I questioned any of this before now? This is not the behavior I have come to expect from him. Things have been pleasant and friendly between us at the house over the past few days, but sexless and unromantic, and he hasn’t once attempted to turn the tides in a different direction.

  I turn over on my left side, yanking my pillow and blanket, attempting to get comfortable. I’m facing Rafe, so I notice his eyes open as soon as they do.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He smiles faintly, closing his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I should let him go back to sleep, but now this is weighing on my mind. I try to think of what I could ask him without coming off as guilty and suspicious. The night I think things shifted was the night Sin came over to help me with Skylar. The night Sin took his shirt off and mauled me on the couch. When Sin was there the next morning, Rafe made a point of being affectionate and kissing me in front of him, but I think it was only to piss Sin off, because he stopped once he was gone and hasn’t really done it again since. I’ve been so relieved, I forgot to wonder why.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  Rafe’s eyes open again. “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  He shifts, readjusting his head on his own pillow. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

  “How come you haven’t been…” I stop, trying to figure out how to finish this question. I’m thankful for the darkness in the room, because I can feel my face flushing as the words find their way out of my mouth. “How come you’ve stopped trying to kiss me?”

  A faint burst of masculine laughter shoots out of him. “Listen to the way you framed that question, Laurel. How come I’ve stopped trying to kiss you,” he repeats. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

  My stomach sinks. Of course that question plunges me into an icy pool of awkwardness, because the answer is an apologetic no, but I don’t want to say it.

  He doesn’t make me. He simply nods, his gaze dropping briefly to my neck, then back to my face. “There you go. Why should I keep trying to kiss you if you don’t want me to?”

  “Are you kissing anyone else?” I ask.

  “Are you?” he shoots back.

  My face freezes. I shake my head no, but flashes of Sin on top of me on Rafe’s couch flood my brain. He asked present tense, so I’m not technically lying. I am not currently kissing Sin. Hell, I didn’t even get to kiss him that night, because apparently the man doesn’t believe in kissing on the lips. It would definitely fall under the umbrella of what I mean to ask with this question, though. If Rafe is getting his needs met elsewhere, I’d like to know about it. Then we could end this whole charade of giving each other a shot, and each have the relationships we’re actually interested in pursuing.

  Since it’s the most honest thing I can think to say in this moment, the most vulnerability I can offer him right now, I tell Rafe, “I don’t ever want us to hate each other.”

  He watches me for a moment, but doesn’t say anything. I’ve been overlooking him for days, distracted by my feelings for Sin and my relief that Rafe was staying more or less out of the way, but now it’s all I can think about. Now it’s twisting up my nerves that Rafe Morelli, a man dangerous enough to steal a criminal empire from at least two men who should have inherited it before him, is sitting back passively, not making any visible moves in regards to this situation. That doesn’t seem like his style. Is he making moves I just can’t see yet?

  After a long pause, he finally asks, “What would make you hate me?”

  “I’m too afraid to say,” I admit, honestly.

  He nods faintly, like that was more or less the answer he expected. “Your hatred might be more enjoyable than your indifference, kitten,” he says, simply.

  My heart stalls. That could mean so many different things, but given the line of my current thoughts, it only leads me to one thing. The thought that he is doing or planning something that will make me hate him. It may be my fear talking, leading me to jump to that conclusion, but what if it isn’t?

  “What does that mean?” I ask, flushing with even more embarrassment when I hear the unsteadiness of my own voice.

  “Why don’t you just go back to sleep?” he suggests. “You’re safe. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “No. Tell me what that means. Am I going to hate you, Rafe?”

  His lips curve up in a faint smile, but his eyes aren’t smiling. His amber eyes are sharp, almost predatory, glistening with something unpleasant. Something angry. He reaches a hand out and runs it along the curve of my jaw. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “You don’t care if I hate you?” I ask sharply.

  “I didn’t say that. But it won’t change anything for us, will it? Look where we are now, essentially locked into a marriage of convenience. Hell, maybe making you hate me will wake you up. If you show me your fire, I’ll show you mine. That would be much better than this polite bullshit we’ve been doing.”

  I can feel the thundering of my pulse in my neck. “I don’t know what that means. If you’re going to threaten me, can you be more explicit?”

  His hand drops and he rolls over, turning his back to me. “Go to sleep, kitten.”

  27

  Laurel

  I lie there for a moment, processing his words and staring at the muscular expanse of his back. I can’t let him go to sleep like that.

  “Rafe.”

  I scoot closer, my nerves twisting up inside me. Reaching out a tentative hand, I wrap an around him until my fingers are skating down the muscles
of his abdomen and I’m tucked snugly against his back. I’m not sure what the threat is, but I know there is one, and I’ve been too distracted to see it. I need to disarm him. I need to dissolve the need for the threat.

  “Do you want to kiss me?” I whisper, my voice as tentative as my touch.

  He’s silent for so long, it makes my stomach hurt. Then he says simply, “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Swallowing down the lump of nerves lodged in my throat, I pull him until he rolls over onto his back. He watches me, but doesn’t move another inch. I shift my weight, moving half of my body on top of him. My fingers move through his hair and I bend down to brush my lips against his, but it feels so hollow. Everything I feel right now is rooted in fear, not desire. Surely he can feel the difference. Surely it doesn’t feel the same when a woman kisses you because she wants you, and when she kisses you out of sheer desperation.

  If there’s a difference to him, I can’t tell. He deepens the kiss, his big hand moving behind my head to cradle it and guide me closer. My heart seems to flip over in my chest. Rafe shifts my body until I’m fully on top of him. I close my eyes, but all I can see is the empty spot in Sin’s bed. As if my lungs are shrinking, it becomes harder to breathe. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

  What happens if I don’t?

  How am I supposed to abandon Sin in Vegas and go to Chicago? I don’t know if he’s safe. I don’t know if Rafe is vengeful. I don’t know the man whose bed I sleep in every night, and I’ve been so busy missing someone else, I haven’t made much of an effort to change that. I don’t owe it to him to do that, but it could be a grave misstep. I’ve heard stories about the twisted men in this family—what if he is one of them? What if I just don’t know that yet? What if I won’t find out until it’s too late to change anything, and my whole life becomes a nightmare?