Sinning in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #2)

by Sam Mariano

  Sinning in Vegas

  (Vegas Morellis, #2)

  Sam Mariano

  Contents

  Untitled

  1. Laurel

  2. Laurel

  3. Laurel

  4. Rafe

  5. Laurel

  6. Laurel

  7. Rafe

  8. Laurel

  9. Laurel

  10. Sin

  11. Rafe

  12. Laurel

  13. Laurel

  14. Rafe

  15. Sin

  16. Laurel

  17. Rafe

  18. Laurel

  19. Rafe

  20. Laurel

  21. Laurel

  22. Laurel

  23. Sin

  24. Laurel

  25. Sin

  26. Laurel

  27. Laurel

  28. Sin

  29. Sin

  30. Sin

  31. Laurel

  32. Laurel

  33. Laurel

  34. Sin

  35. Laurel

  36. Laurel

  37. Laurel

  38. Laurel

  39. Laurel

  40. Sin

  41. Laurel

  42. Laurel

  43. Laurel

  44. Laurel

  45. Laurel

  46. Laurel

  47. Laurel

  48. Laurel

  49. Laurel

  50. Sin

  51. Laurel

  52. Laurel

  53. Rafe

  Untitled

  If you haven’t read the original Morelli family series yet…

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis, #2) Copyright © 2018 by Sam Mariano

  There are two brief quotes from Jane Eyre used (and clearly credited) in the text of this book. Those do not belong to me, but they are public domain. Regardless, those two passages are not mine, they belong to Charlotte Brontë.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Thank you for not being a pirate!

  Cover Design: Covers by Combs

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Laurel

  Four: the number of days I spent with Sin in Las Vegas.

  Three: the number of times he has called me since realizing I did not, in fact, call Rafe to come get me, but instead booked myself an Uber, bought myself a plane ticket, and flew away from Vegas like a bat out of hell.

  Two: the number of days I have spent in Chicago to legitimize the lie I told my sister.

  One: the number of nights I have to survive until I can board my flight from Chicago to Connecticut and finally go home.

  On one hand, I really wanted to go straight home to my sister from Vegas. My heart is busted up, and no one nurses you through heartache quite like Carly.

  On the other hand, I don’t want Carly or Vince to know I went there. My lies in Vegas may not have been any good, but the truth is so much worse. My brother-in-law, while wonderful, has a tendency to be overly protective and a bit of a loose cannon. I don’t want to ignite his hot-headedness toward anyone in Vegas because I’m realistic, and I understand that’s dangerous, whether my heart is broken and my womb has been invaded or not.

  I don’t need Vince or Carly to handle this for me. I’ve handled it myself. Now I just have to recover from the unexpected pitfall and get my life back on track.

  First things first: I am done with the Morelli drama. I’m done with all of it. The boring life is looking better and better now. Maybe my dinner dates from now on won’t be dangerous or exciting, but they won’t break my heart and ruin my life in less than a week, either. Underwhelming is underrated. Who needs soaring passion and pulse-pounding excitement all the time? Not me, that’s for sure. Nope. Sign me up for Mr. Boring and Predictable. The biophysicist whose biggest point of contention with me is thinking his work is more important than mine? Totally fine with that now.

  I need to detox, wallow, mourn my losses, and then go back to Connecticut tomorrow and remember how to be a normal person. No more padded cuffs to keep me tied to the bed while the psycho I’m falling for beats the shit out of people to collect money for my baby daddy. No more kneeling and basking in the glorious power exchanged between us in those moments…

  I groan into my pillow, losing steam. God, I miss that feeling. The electrical current that pulses through me, the intimacy of opening myself up for him, giving myself to him in any way he wants me.

  Of course, that’s the moment my roommate is walking by and hears my miserable, bereft groan.

  Sailing into the dark haven of our shared bedroom, she demands, “Okay, that’s it. I’ve tried minding my business, but I can’t anymore. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I sigh, peeking out from the comforting fort of pink blankets and pillows I constructed around myself to block out all the light. I’m like a vampire, hiding from the sun’s harmful rays in a cocoon of comfort. “I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone right now.”

  Ignoring me, she takes a seat on the edge of my bed. “This looks, smells, and sounds like a break-up, but I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone. Tell your roomie what’s up. Is this about that Kevin guy? I thought you didn’t even like him.”

  It’s laughable that she thinks this is over my last coffee date. Sin could snap my coffee date in half and use a sliver of his broken bones to pick his teeth.

  Dammit, that’s not helpful. It should horrify me, but it just makes me sigh mournfully. I really liked that stupid, sexy monster.

  Patting the bed to get my attention, Daphne says, “Earth to Laurel. Hello? Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “You can leave me alone and let me be miserable in peace.”

  With a perfunctory nod, she says, “I’ve been doing that. Give me something else.”

  I sigh, squeezing the pillow closer and trying to think of some menial task for her to do so she’ll feel like she’s helping. I would send her for ice cream, but the thought of eating makes me want to throw up. “How about break-up songs? Can you make me a playlist?”

  “Absolutely,” she says, with enthusiasm. “What’s the break-up vibe? I take it he’s the one who fucked up? You’re too boring to fuck up.”

  I can’t help smiling. If only she knew. “He’s evil. Beautiful to look at, but a soul-shattering demon from the depths of hell. Is that a strong enough vibe for you?”

  “Definitely.” She holds out her hand, palm up. “Give me your phone. I’ve got you.”

  “It’s on the night stand,” I tell her, burrowing back into my pillow fortress.

  A moment later I hear her awe-laden voice as she says, “Holy hell. Is this him?”

  I peek back out of Fort Softness. “Seriously? You’re supposed to be making me a playlist, not going through my phone.”

  Daphne thrusts the phone at me, eyes wide. I look at the screen and see the picture of me and Rafe in the Grand Canyon. “Girl, I don’t know how you managed this, but let me help you out. I don’t know what he did—I’m honestly sad it wasn’t me—but forgive him. A guy that looks like this is gonna fuck up from time to time, but if curling up next to this every night is an option? You take it. And if you won’t, can you put in a good word for me? I’ll cr
y a few tears for him if that’s the price I have to pay to get my hands on all this.”

  “That is terrible advice. You give terrible advice,” I inform her.

  “One girl’s terrible advice is another girl’s mantra. If you don’t want him anymore, will you give him my number?”

  “He lives in Las Vegas.”

  “I’m open to relocating,” she states. “I can be packed up and ready to go in an hour. This suit looks expensive. Is he rich, too?”

  “Your loyalty to me is astounding,” I deadpan.

  “Hey, I’m suggesting you forgive him first. I’m just saying, if you don’t want him anymore, I call dibs. Don’t leave this beautiful specimen running around free in the world. Some thirsty bitch is going to take your place while you’re here wallowing. Go take a shower and get your ass on a video chat with this motherfucker before he gets away.”

  “I didn’t even say that was the guy,” I tell her.

  “No, but I see the way he’s holding you in this picture, and I know you’re not an idiot. If a guy that looks like this is on the table, why even bother looking at any other ones?”

  Sighing miserably as memories of Sin’s hands locked around my wrists in a vice grip resurface, I tell her, “You haven’t seen Sin.”

  Her eyes widen and she taps my screen, going back to my photos. “Show me. And then tell me where I go to find this bevy of sex gods, because I want to apply for a visitor’s pass.”

  “Trust me, you do not want one. I know where you’re coming from. I was on the outside looking in just a couple months ago, wowed by all their beauty. But they’re beautiful for a diabolical reason—so they can lure you in and suck out your soul.”

  “Literally anything of mine Mr. Grand Canyon wants to suck, he has my permission.”

  I throw a pillow at her. “Go be a ho somewhere else. I’m trying to be sad while I still have a few hours left to indulge. I can’t do this tomorrow when I’m back in Connecticut. Carly did everything in her power to stop me from getting involved with these monsters, and I dove head-first into the pit, anyway.”

  Grabbing the pillow and whacking me with it, Daphne says, “Bitch, I want to dive in, too!”

  Bringing up a hand to block her pillow assault, I demand, “Are you going to make me a playlist, or keep snooping through my phone?”

  “I’m sending myself this picture. I’m going to Photoshop you out of it and put myself in your place. Full disclosure.”

  “You’re a psycho.”

  “I’m a connoisseur of fine-looking men, and this one is aces. Show me this Sin guy.”

  “I don’t have any pictures of Sin,” I tell her, hit by a swell of sadness as I hear that truth for myself. I want a picture of him, but I’m also sort of glad I don’t have one. If I can forget his face and wipe him from my memory completely, that would be much better. “He looks like danger and shadows and passion and power—but sexier.”

  Daphne’s eyes widen. “Damn, you’ve got it bad.”

  I nod unhappily. “And I have about 18 hours to get rid of it, so if you’re not going to help, can you just leave me to wallow in peace?”

  Apparently not, because she fires another question at me. “What’s the deal with Mr. Grand Canyon?”

  “He got me pregnant,” I state.

  Daphne’s eyes widen to approximately the size of saucers.

  Raising my eyebrows, I ask, “Anything else? Can I be alone now?”

  “Do you have this whole secret life I don’t know about? I’m so confused.”

  I sigh, burying my face in the pillows and shutting out my roommate. “Go away.”

  “Fine,” she says, standing, and now looking at my abdomen as if it might have popped in the last 30 seconds. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Ignore you until you go away.”

  “I meant about the pregnancy,” she specifies.

  Sighing, I say, “Ignore it until it goes away?”

  “That won’t work,” she informs me.

  “I’m going home tomorrow. I’ll work it all out once I have my sister. Now, I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

  When she thought it was just a break-up, she wasn’t willing to let me sleep, but now that she knows a pregnancy is involved, she respects that it’s more serious.

  Pushing up off the bed, she says, “I’ll make you some of that tea you like. How about that?”

  “That would be perfect,” I say, jumping at an excuse to get her out of my room. “Thank you.”

  2

  Laurel

  The Chicago streets feel grayer today, devoid of the hustle and bustle, devoid of the color and noise. It’s a gray day to match my mood, I guess. I can’t believe I let Daphne talk me into coming out of my mourning fort, but she guilted me, saying since it’s my last night in the city for God knows how long, I needed to come meet her and some friends and actually spend some time with them before they forget who I am.

  I already knew it was a terrible, no-good, bad idea to leave the sanctuary of my bed, but it solidifies to a gut-deep certainty when I hear a vaguely familiar voice call out, “Laurel?”

  I hate running into people I know even when I’m in a good mood, but after Vegas, I am exhausted. The ache in my heart makes just walking around require more energy from me than it should, and now I have to deal with some girl I have barely even spoken to in class out in the real world. Why do people do this? I didn’t see her, so she could have easily pretended not to see me.

  Forcing a more welcoming smile onto my lips, I turn around to greet her.

  My smile falls along with my heart, because that is not a girl from one of my classes. The well-dressed, smiling blonde beauty heading my way with a scarred up bodyguard on her heels is Mia Morelli, the woman whose house I went to for Easter. The woman whose diabolical husband ultimately opened the Morelli portal and invited all these awful people into my life.

  Why does she look happy to see me? I haven’t seen her since Easter, and to be honest, would not have thought she could pick me out of a line-up. But here she comes, a deep crimson shopping bag dangling from her fingers, a big smile on her face.

  God, I’m a mess, too. I didn’t put make-up on. Did I even brush my hair? I want the sidewalk to swallow me whole and save me from this interaction, but it doesn’t happen.

  “It’s Mia,” she says, in case I don’t remember her. “My husband and Rafe are cousins.”

  “Yes, I remember you,” I say, nodding my head.

  “What are you doing in Chicago?” she asks, cocking her head. “I thought you were in Vegas.”

  “I was. Just for a few days. Now I’m back.”

  Her gaze drops ever so briefly to my stomach, then returns to my face. “Where are you headed? We can give you a ride. It’s hot out here. We were just heading back to the car.” Now she holds up the shopping bag with American Girl printed in white lettering. “We had to make an emergency doll replacement trip. Westley and Rosalie were playing doctor, and he inadvertently decapitated Willa.”

  At that, I crack a smile. “Oh, man. That must have been traumatic.”

  Mia nods. “Ju was quick on her feet and got the doll to the ‘recovery room’ before Rosalie noticed, but, yeah, real heads were going to roll if she found out.”

  Gesturing to the bag, I say, “Mom to the rescue.”

  Mia smiles and nods her head for me to follow. “Come on, we’ll give you a ride.”

  I notice her bodyguard doesn’t turn to follow her, but instead keeps an eye on me, waiting to see if I’ll follow. I had no intention to even before that, but now I’m damn sure not going to. I’ve been too trusting with this wily family, and while I got a certain amount of enjoyment from Sin kidnapping me, I also got my heart dinged up. I would rather sweat my ass off walking than get in their air conditioned car and risk ending up entangled with their family again. I haven’t even cut the last of the vines from last time they pulled me in.

  “I’m okay, actually. It was nice to see you, but I really have to get goi
ng or I’ll be late.”

  “You won’t be late if we give you a ride,” Adrian counters, sensibly.

  I smile, considering another polite dodge, but I decide just to be honest. “You know what? I’m not going to get into a car with you because I don’t trust you. Every time I get into a car with anyone associated with the Morelli family, my life hits a brick wall. It was fun the first couple times, don’t get me wrong, but I’m over it. I would like to get back to boring, if it’s all the same to you.”

  A strong arm settles around my shoulders and my gaze snaps to the wall of man suddenly standing beside me. “It’s not all the same to us, or we wouldn’t be here, now, would we?”

  I narrow my eyes, staring at the dark-haired, dark-eyed devil beside me. “You.”

  Alec Morelli nods his head, dragging me along with him toward Mia and Adrian. “Me. Long time, no see.”

  I try to shrug his arm off me, but his grip is too tight. “Get your hands off me.”

  Instead, he places the other one on my waist, on the inside of this unwilling embrace so no onlookers would think anything of it. “Why don’t you make this easy?” he suggests. “Obviously you’re going to get in the car and come with us. I mean, if you don’t, I’m going to have to follow you all the way back to your place, knock out your roommate, break into your apartment, and drag you out all by myself. You’re on the ground floor, which is nice, but since you’re pregnant, I’m disinclined to drug you. That means I’m going to use all my restraint on you and your roommate, so if you struggle and catch the attention of any other helpful onlookers on the way out, I’m just gonna have to shoot them. I’m not in the mood to shoot anybody today. If you would just get in the car with us now, I can avoid all that and take the night off. It’s Sunday. I really hate working hard on Sundays.”