Escaping Vegas (The Inheritance Book 1)

by Danielle Bourdon

  “You’re just destined to be in the way tonight, aren’t you, gypsy girl?” he said near her ear.

  He was so tall that she almost felt smothered by his looming presence. At the same time, the devil on her shoulder insisted she secretly loved it. Loved the brush of bodies, his forthright manner. That he knew what she was drinking shouldn’t have surprised her at all. Her confusion over whether he meant to stay rather than return to his seat vanished when he draped his blazer over the back of her seat. His stack of chips clattered lightly onto the green felt two inches from her own.

  “I aim to please, buddy.” He was drinking Budweiser from a bottle; she thought it suitable to return the namesake favor. Madalina couldn’t tell if the quick breath he released was from straightening up or from humor.

  She glanced discreetly down at her top, reassuring herself he wasn’t getting a bird’s-eye view of her breasts. The scooped neckline didn’t show anything more than the barest swell. Hardly worth hovering over.

  “What numbers are you playing? Your birthday? No, wait, don’t tell me. Your measurements,” he said.

  Madalina glanced at the 23, 34, 36 she’d chosen and scoffed. Rearranged into womanly measurements, it should read: 34, 23, 36. She wished her waist was a twenty-three.

  “Better than playing my IQ,” she said with a smug look at his 8, 13, 15.

  That time, he laughed. The same sensuous sound as before. Maybe he always laughed like that. Madalina finished her second drink in record time. The effect of the first had started to settle in, adding a comfortable buzz to the swirl of thoughts in her head.

  “Feisty. I like it,” he said.

  “Are you going to stand behind my chair the whole night?”

  “I might.”

  “I don’t recall issuing an invitation.”

  “Sure you did. With every look you sent my way.”

  “You’re imagining things. How many beers have you had?” she asked.

  “If we’re measuring alcohol content, about a fourth of what you’ve hastily inhaled.”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m drinking fast because of your presence?”

  “No. But now that you mention it, that must be the reason. Alcohol affects some people like a truth serum.” He tipped his mouth closer to her ear to add, “If you wanted me closer, all you had to do was ask, gypsy girl.”

  Twisting in the seat, she looked back . . . and up. Heat curled through her loins at the directness of his gaze. Whatever smart remark she’d been about to deliver evaporated under the sudden and intense surge of lust his presence inspired. What was she doing bantering with him, anyway? Wasn’t this the same man who had gotten snippy with her earlier? Turning to the table, she cleared her throat and stiffened her spine, sending silent messages for him to back off. It wasn’t that she didn’t find his immediate presence pleasurable—she did. And that was the problem. The Grouch and men of his ilk didn’t interest her. She’d wanted to find a gentleman to flirt with, not a silver-tongued devil.

  The instant she felt his heat leave her back, Madalina was almost sorry she didn’t go for the rakish, disarming type. She sent a quick, curious glance over her shoulder. The Grouch stood with a waitress, smiling down into her beaming face while he dropped a few bills on her tray in exchange for another bottle of Budweiser. It was easy to see how infatuated the waitress was and how his effect on her would assure that his drinks were delivered in a timely manner.

  By the time she returned her attention to the roulette game, she realized they’d both lost the last spin. Feeling adventurous all of a sudden, she pushed a stack of chips onto black. It had brought her luck before, and she could do with another win. Wishing for a fan to reduce the flush on her skin, Madalina watched the ball roll around the rim of the roulette wheel.

  The Grouch leaned against her shoulder once more, sliding a pile of chips next to her own.

  “Do you mind?” she said with just the faintest amount of irritation. Whether it was at him for his potency or herself for her weakness, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Not at all. I’m doing you a favor, you know. You’re weaving on your seat—too many drinks, too fast—and it’s my duty to make sure you don’t topple onto the floor. What would people say?” he retorted in a dry tone.

  Was she weaving on her seat? The drinks were catching up to her rather quickly. “I’m not weaving. I’ve only had two Gypsy Girls—as you probably know.” The tart reply earned a rumbling chuckle from the Grouch.

  “You should have a care how you word things,” he said, settling his body between her seat and the next.

  Madalina, fascinated by the broad knuckles and tapered fingers of Grouch’s hand, studied the pattern of veins running under the skin and contemplated whether he had soft palms or the rough ones of a man used to hard labor. As if he had caught her looking and guessed what she was thinking, he turned his hand over. A row of calluses greeted her questing gaze, which she diverted as soon as she realized what he’d done and what she was doing.

  The ball landed on black, she realized belatedly. She smiled in triumph. Reaching over at the same time as the Grouch, she bumped her arm into his by accident. An awkward rearranging of limbs ensued until she exhaled in exasperation and pulled her stack of winning chips closer. For all her bluster, Madalina admitted to herself that the Grouch wasn’t all that bad to be around. She could be standoffish all she wanted, but the stark reality was that she eagerly awaited the next lean of his body into hers when he placed his bet.

  It’s the alcohol talking, she argued with herself.

  “What numbers or colors are we playing this time?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Just as she opened her mouth to deliver a cunning little retort, a gentle yet firm pair of hands landed beneath her other elbow. Instinctively clutching her purse, Madalina glanced over her right shoulder. A man of Asian descent, attired in a sharp suit of black and white with an ice-blue tie, eased her from the seat with a cordial smile and gleaming dark eyes.

  “Pardon, Miss. There’s been a slight problem with your room,” the man said in a quiet voice. “May I have a word for a moment?” Not as steady on her feet as she hoped to be, she started to mention her forgotten chips. The Asian gentleman seemed to understand her hesitation.

  “The dealer will hold your chips and your place at the table. We’ll just be a few minutes.” With momentum on his side, he escorted her from the table.

  Madalina cut a quick look back at the Grouch, who stood near her empty seat, posture alert, eyes glinting with curiosity.

  I’ll be right back, she mouthed. Madalina thought she imagined the way his curiosity shifted to displeasure.

  “You see,” the Asian man said, drawing her attention back, “we are doing some remodeling on the room erroneously rented to you. Workers begin tomorrow at six in the morning, so we would like to relocate you to a suite—if that’s acceptable to you.”

  Madalina walked at his side, forced to take small, quick steps to keep up. The casino was a blur in periphery while she focused on her escort. They wanted to upgrade her to a suite? She wouldn’t have been able to afford such luxury on her own.

  “Well, that’s fine. Where are we going?” she asked as they left the gaming area. She recognized the tall archway leading to the foyer—the same foyer where she’d bumped into the Grouch earlier in the day.

  Another Asian man appeared at her other side, a similar cordial smile preceding his answer. “Upstairs to finalize the arrangement, Miss Maitland. The entryway is right up here.”

  The pace quickened once they passed beneath the enormous arch into the foyer, until she had to trot to keep up. Guests trickled in through the glass doors leading outside, barely paying the trio any attention. Madalina figured there was a hidden entrance to the interior of the casino where the employees gathered in break rooms and where elevators whisked those in higher positions to upper fl
oors.

  When they aimed for the front doors, Madalina frowned. She wished, just for a moment, that her thought process wasn’t clouded by alcohol. Something didn’t seem quite right.

  “Wait—we have to go outside? I thought we were going upstairs?” she said, glancing aside to one man, then the other. Security, she guessed, though she didn’t see any logo on their suits or name tags on their lapels. They were security, right? Neither man held walkie-talkies, although one did have a device in his ear, the kind used to talk hands free to someone else.

  Instinct demanded she bring the marching party to a halt. She slowed, applying pressure on the hold to her elbows.

  “Our office entrance is just outside,” one man replied. The doors opened to a hot gust of arid, desert night.

  Madalina twisted in their grasp, exerting more pressure, to which they responded by tightening their hold on her elbows. A sleek, shiny black sedan sat next to the curb beyond the sidewalk, a back door open as if awaiting their arrival. A well-timed hand over Madalina’s mouth cut off a shout of alarm, and her purse banged against her legs as she actively resisted their hold. Fear latched onto her spine, sending fissures of shock through her body. This couldn’t be happening.

  Impossibly, it seemed as if the men meant to stuff her into the backseat and abscond with her to destinations unknown. She struggled in the tight grip of her abductors, who, she realized far too late, were not casino security at all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Strobe-like imagery flashed across Madalina’s vision while she fought for her life: sharply creased pants, the carved button on a jacket, perfectly manicured nails on a masculine hand. A gold necklace, the glint of a dark brown eye, the edge of the curb.

  Moonlight gleamed off the silver trim of the sedan, shoes scuffed concrete, and locks of loose hair swung wildly around her cheeks. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed in the few seconds since leaving the casino. She writhed and jerked and twisted, not about to be taken without a fight. The open door of the car was the portal to hell, a gaping hole of darkness from which she was sure she would never return.

  As if driven forward by some unearthly force, the man on Madalina’s right slammed into the car, cheek bouncing off the metal frame. A fist flew in out of nowhere, landing a blow to the side of the man’s head.

  Madalina figured security—real security—had finally arrived.

  Yanking against the hold on her other arm, and thinking to take advantage of the sudden disruption, she yelped in surprise when the Asian man shoved her into the backseat. Into the black hole she so desperately wished to avoid. Instead of fighting it, she went with the momentum, scrambling forward while ignoring a terse Chinese command. Catching the opposite handle, she opened the door and all but fell out onto the asphalt. Her purse, straps tangled around her forearm, landed next to her head.

  Surging to her feet, the world spinning dizzily, Madalina shot a hand out to brace against the car.

  “Run. Right now. Run!” the Grouch said, scooping a strong arm around her waist and rushing her forward toward rows of cars in the parking lot.

  “But . . . wait . . . ” She couldn’t catch her breath. Madalina, forced to use small, quick steps to keep up with his longer stride, allowed him to bear the brunt of her weight. Behind them came the sound of running feet. Hard soles slapped down in quick pursuit.

  “Trust me. Go to the black Jaguar straight ahead. Right there.” He pushed her forward just as two men jumped him from behind.

  Madalina glanced back with a gasp. The Grouch might have been self-serving and arrogant, but he had a mean punch. One man went down; the next got slammed into the nearest vehicle.

  The blip of an alarm sounded on the Jaguar, taillights flashing red to denote the deactivation. She ran for all she was worth, panting breathlessly. Adrenaline caused the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Inside the Jaguar, she fumbled for the safety belt and wrenched a look out the back window. The Grouch was already falling into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, movements quick and efficient.

  “Who the hell were they?” he asked as he sped through the lot toward the nearest exit.

  “I don’t know! Why are you asking me? The next thing I knew, two men were politely guiding me through the casino, then to the doors, and then into a strange car—”

  “That was a swift move, by the way. Crawling all the way through. They didn’t expect you to do that. You’re lucky the doors weren’t locked.”

  The seat belt finally clicked into place. Madalina faced forward, hands over her tingling cheeks. Shock made it difficult to think. With the Grouch’s compliment ringing in her ears, she realized that she was still in a strange car with someone who was technically a stranger. The only difference—and it was an important one—was that the Grouch had come to her rescue.

  “Why are you here? Why did you come to my defense? I mean, I don’t even know your name . . . ” Madalina glanced away from the busy street to the man she’d silently called the Grouch from the moment she’d met him.

  “Cole. Cole West. What’s yours? I came to your defense because I could tell after a few seconds that something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but when I saw you resisting outside, I took matters into my own hands. If I had to guess, I’d say they were about to abduct you.” He didn’t look away from the road. Handling the elegant car like a professional driver, Cole swerved in and out of traffic, glancing in the rearview mirror often.

  “They were! About to abduct me, I mean. I have no idea why. One of them said they wanted a few minutes of my time, something about my room being remodeled and that they were upgrading me to a suite. I thought it was hotel security or management, you know? Then suddenly we were outside, and someone put a hand over my mouth, and they wouldn’t let me go.” She closed her eyes against the blur of neon lights, willing away another bout of dizziness. Of all nights to have sucked down alcohol like it was water. Two drinks wasn’t a devastating amount and she wouldn’t have a hangover come morning, but the content was enough to set her balance on edge and leave a streak of wooziness behind.

  “You didn’t tell me your name,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Your name?”

  “Madalina Maitland.”

  “Tell me something, Madalina. Why would anyone have cause to try and abduct you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There has to be something. Some reason. Have you been robbed recently? Attacked coming out of a store? Your bank card went missing?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “A pissed-off coworker?”

  “My coworker is my best friend. She wouldn’t do anything like that. She has no reason to have me abducted.”

  “What about other coworkers?”

  “It’s just me and Lianne, a few part-timers, and a manager. The part-timers are high school students. You can’t find sweeter girls. There’s no way this has anything to do with them.” Madalina rubbed her temples, then clutched the purse in her lap when Cole took a right turn a little too fast. “Where are we going? All my things are back at the Luxor.”

  “I don’t advise going back. They knew where to find you, and if you return, they’ll probably try to take you again.” Cole approached a stop sign and rolled right through the intersection when he saw no cross traffic.

  Madalina didn’t berate him for not coming to a complete stop. He was acting in her best interests, which meant putting as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible. She glanced in her side mirror often, terrified that whoever had tried to abduct her would show up unexpectedly. “But all my clothes and everything are in my suitcase. My makeup, my—”

  “Do you really think makeup is worth risking your life for?” he asked with an impatient edge to his voice.

  “But I can’t just leave it there.” She’d brought many of her best outfits, some of which she used for
work. Unlike the apparently rich playboy with the new Jaguar, Madalina had to spend her pennies wisely. She remembered the money she’d left behind at the roulette table and groaned. At least she’d gotten away with most of it.

  “Why are you making that noise?” he asked with a frown, glancing at her as if he thought he’d find blood or bruises on her person.

  “The money. At the roulette table—”

  “I grabbed it. It’s in my front pocket.”

  She glanced at the denim encasing his thigh and the flex of muscle beneath. No way was she reaching her hand in there to dig the chips out. It wasn’t that important. “Thanks for thinking ahead.”

  “Well, at first I thought you knew the man, or that security at the hotel had perceived a threat for you. Someone trying to rip you off or whatever. Then I realized something else was wrong and snagged your chips just in case. I didn’t have time to cash them. Sorry about that.” Cole turned right into the L-shaped parking lot of a busy restaurant. The one-story eatery, with indoor and outdoor seating, shunned the usual glitz of Vegas and had gone, instead, with an Italian theme of stone fountains, trailing ivy, and two separate pergolas that loomed over the enclosed patio. Darkly tinted windows refracted the shapes of customers and briefly gleamed from the glare of Cole’s headlights as he swung into an empty slot. He put the car in park, left the engine running, and scanned the area as if he, too, wanted to keep an eye out for a tail.

  “Don’t worry about the money right now. Should we be stopping? What if someone followed us?” she asked, peering out her window, then twisted in the seat to stare out the back.

  “I haven’t seen anything suspicious. Doesn’t mean they’re not back there. If they want you that bad, then it’s likely we haven’t seen the last of them yet.”