All In (Caldwell Brothers Book 5)

by Colleen Charles

  “How’s the security tech here at the Armónico?”

  Nixon frowns. “I didn’t know you cared about technology. And to be honest, I don’t know. Ford developed most of it.”

  Yep, another brilliant Caldwell. “Oh.”

  “Why? Something going on that I need to know about?”

  “No.” I shake my head. The motion sends me into a spiral of pain, and I can’t help wincing. “I mean, I was just thinking about the future, you know.”

  “Well, Ford’s a really great developer. I hope you’re not suggesting I replace my own brother with someone else. I mean, Ford is the one who designed this technology in the first place. I know it was years ago, but it’s still top-notch.”

  Shit. This isn’t going the way I want it to.

  “Troy? What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing,” I say lamely, getting to my feet and stretching. “I should get back to the floor.”

  “Right.”

  When I turn around to wave goodbye, I see his eyes are already glued back to his computer.

  I leave Nixon’s office, check in with Jack, and spend a couple of hours prowling the gaming floor. The casino isn’t as packed today – there’s some new show opening a few doors down – and I’m relieved that work isn’t as stressful as normal. At lunch, I chow down on a double-bacon cheeseburger.

  Joslyn would like this place, I think as I look around. Goddamnit, why does everything have to remind me of her?

  Despite not being able to push Joslyn out of my head, I feel a lot better after eating and sucking down a cold-brew coffee. My headache eases away, and although I smell musky and sweaty from skipping a morning shower, I feel much more alert by the time I get back to the Armónico after lunch.

  Thankfully, the rest of the day passes without incident. By the time my shift ends, I’m ready to go home and plant face-down in my bed for the next twelve hours. And finally, Joslyn has disappeared from my head. The only things I can think about are sleep and guzzling as much water as my stomach can hold. I whistle under my breath as I walk to the parking garage.

  “Hey, asshole!”

  Warily, I turn around and see Joslyn standing there. She’s wearing a pair of cropped black workout pants, a black top, and an expression like she’s about to open up a can of whoop ass on me.

  “I can’t get rid of you, can I,” I mutter, turning back around and unlocking my car. As soon as the words escape my mouth, I regret them. Fuck it, I think bitterly. She’s the one who’s always antagonizing me…it’s time to bite back. Just who in the hell does she think she is anyway?

  Joslyn storms over to me and grabs my shoulder, yanking me away from my car with surprising strength. Her lips twist in a scowl and her eyes narrow into furious slits.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?” Joslyn growls.

  “Nothing,” I mutter. “Look, I’m going home. I’ve had a shitty day, and–”

  “Well, I’ve come to tell you that I don’t need you anymore,” Joslyn says in a voice I don’t recognize. It drips arrogance and something else. Something like…hate. She tosses her head and inhales deeply, her nostrils flaring with purpose. “In fact, I don’t want you anymore, either.”

  “Well, good.” I cross my arms over my chest, my headache returning full force. “Because I don’t exactly want you right now, either. And I was going to tell you myself–”

  “Oh, no.” Joslyn expands her tiny stature and shoves her pointer finger into my chest. It’s like a nail impaling my skin, but I don’t move to slap it away. In spite of my piss poor upbringing, I’m not my fucking wastoid father. I’ll never raise my hand to a woman, no matter how many times she comes at me looking for a pound of my flesh. “Don’t try to act like this was your idea, shithead. I’m not afraid of Dante Giovanetti. He’s a bully, and he’s not going to do anything to hurt me. He’s just trying to scare me and my father.” She puffs out her chest like a gladiator. “And I can take care of myself. I always have, and I always will. I don’t need some big lug who’s afraid of spiders and nightmares.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I mutter, not wanting to get into yet another explosive argument with Joslyn.

  A passerby stops to stare. He even opens his mouth, but I spear him with a death glare, so he clamps it shut and walks on.

  “What the fuck? You don’t even care?” Joslyn cries in a shrill voice. “And you know what? I don’t need your help training for American Ninja Warrior, either. You’ve already shown me just how useless you are with that! Not only can you not get over cannonball alley, you can’t even fuck me right!”

  As much as I want to resist it, anger brews in my stomach, and I can feel myself about to snap. I may not fight back physically, but I’m not above partaking in the vicious war of words.

  “That’s right,” Joslyn says, her face a mask of solid granite. “You’re nothing but a pussy and an asshole and a stupid lunkhead!”

  “Fuck off,” I snarl.

  “No, you fuck off!” Joslyn yells. Her unrecognizable voice shrieks at a volume so high, my headache returns with a vengeance. “I’m independent and strong, and what are you? You’re nothing, Troy Cass! You’re nothing but Nixon Caldwell’s lackey. Second best!”

  I stare into her bright blue eyes, and for a moment, I can feel something still there between us. Something hanging as fine as gossamer thread, something threatening to destroy us both if we let it. Joslyn licks her lips, and her angry face melts away, and suddenly, I know that she feels it too. But I can’t give in – I can’t let this woman control my life. Not when she’s spent nearly every moment of our acquaintance insulting me. She doesn’t respect who I am as a person. As a man. In fact, I can’t believe I ever thought there was anything more to Joslyn than her selfish, tempestuous, ignorant nature. She doesn’t know how to let anyone in, and she doesn’t know the first thing about intimacy.

  “Fine.” I curl my hands into fists to keep from touching her. “I’m fucking gone.”

  Joslyn’s jaw drops as I climb into my car and slam the door. She pounds on the windows with her tiny fists, glaring inside. Whatever touch or trace or lingering hint of tenderness I saw in her eyes flees the scene, and I can tell that she’s filled to the brim with hot, quaking rage.

  “You’re just going to leave?” Slam. Slam. Slam. “Again? You’re not even going to argue with me?”

  I shove my key into the ignition and slam my foot on the brake, trying to ignore the pounding sound of Joslyn’s fists against the window and the windshield as my car rumbles to life.

  This is it. I pause before shifting my car into gear. I can decide right now. Do I stay and talk with her, or do I leave?

  I look into her face one last time. It’s time to put her behind me.

  But first, I roll down the window, grab both of her hands as she flails at me. “After I ran from your cage, I was able to find a phone and call the police. How do you think your father found you?” Her face grows pale and I go on. “After that, my father beat me nearly to death and I ended up in a coma for almost six weeks. Once I woke up, I went into the foster system, met Nixon and his family, and the rest is history.” I let go of her hands. “You’re not the only one who owns pain, Joslyn. But you’re the only person I know who hits people over the head with it.”

  Pushing my foot on the gas pedal, I drive out of the garage, leaving a shell-shocked looking woman staring after me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Joslyn

  As I stand there in the parking garage, staring at Troy Cass’s taillights, a feeling of sorrow and rage unlike anything I’ve ever known comes over me. It makes me want to rip things apart, to destroy them, to set the entire fucking world on fire.

  As anger eats away every positive emotion I possess, part of me expects Troy to come zooming back, ready to fight and take me on like a man. Instead, I just stand there with my mouth hanging open. Somehow, I thought confronting Troy and fighting with him would help fill the aching void in my soul that he ripped open with the d
evastating news of his youthful betrayal.

  It didn’t.

  It didn’t help at all.

  Because I’d been wrong all this time.

  After a few moments, I realize he’s not coming back. So why does that bother me more than anything? My heart thuds in my chest and my face flushes hot with anger, but I could be feeling one hundred times worse and still not expect Troy to come rushing back just to fight with me.

  It’s time to grow up. I’m an adult, and I have to work out my anger in a healthy way.

  Pressing my lips into a firm line, I storm out of the parking garage. Darkness is falling, and the Vegas Strip is lit up with the best, brightest, and wealthiest crowds. Normally, seeing people buzzing over my hometown cheers me up – it makes me think that, somehow, Vegas will survive exactly the way I want it to. It reminds me of my father and his position of power – without him, Vegas would be completely different.

  But not tonight. Tonight, all I can think about is how much I want to put my hands on Troy Cass’s shoulders and pull him against me. And he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve my love…he doesn’t even deserve my desire.

  Or maybe he does. Was he really the one who saved me after all?

  I push my way through the crowds, ignoring the indignant cries of tourists until I stand in the lobby of the Armónico casino. It’s only when I’m there that I realize why I came. I storm through the floor up to the arcade and grab my keys from my bag. Tribe of Amazons is dark and closed for the night, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lock myself inside and beat a punching bag with Troy’s face on it until I feel nauseous from the effort.

  As soon as I step into my lair, a calm feeling of relief washes over me. Being in Tribe of Amazons calms me – hell, it’s almost better than being home, to be honest. The smell of the freshly-waxed floor and the bleach used on all towels wafts a delicious perfume to my flared nostrils, and I take a moment and breathe in before turning on the lights and locking the door behind me.

  Taking my iPhone from my purse, I plug it into the stereo and put on the angriest album I can think of – At The Drive-In – and slick my hair back behind my ears. As soon as the screaming vocals and thumping bass fill the room, I start throwing punches and kicks like my life depends on it.

  Closing my eyes, I pretend I’m attacking Troy. I don’t even know why I’m so focused on being angry at him. He saved me. Did he?

  Instead of focusing on Troy, I pretend I’m beating the shit out of my own anger, and I channel the pure rage in my heart into something usable. After only a few minutes, I’m covered in sweat. My adrenaline starts pumping as the song changes, and I spin around, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to the punching bag that leaves my whole body shaking.

  I punch, kick, swing, and thrust to the entire album. By the time the first song rolls back around on repeat, I shake from head to toe. Sweat pours off me, and my hair clings to my scalp. When I look in the mirror, my normally-pale face resembles a bright red beacon of pissed off flesh. But I don’t care. I don’t have anyone to look good for. And while I don’t feel better, exactly, I feel drained and pleasantly exhausted. I know that now, I can go home and get some rest while figuring out what to do.

  I take a long shower in the locker room, standing under the hot water and pressing my forehead to the tiled walls. The water flows like a soothing balm over my aching muscles, and by the time I towel off, I realize just how tired I’ve made myself. A quick glance at the Fitbit app on my phone shows me that I’ve burned over eight-hundred calories. Normally, I’d be over the moon about such a high-intensity workout. But right now, I want to forget about the horrible day I’ve had and go straight to sleep.

  When I lock up Tribe of Amazons, the Armónico bustles with guests. It’s getting late now, and the older crowd plays blackjack and slots. The college kids have all left for the clubs, and now it’s bachelor parties hollering at cocktail waitresses and old, rich men with gorgeous young gold diggers hanging off their arms. Rolling my eyes, I push past the crowd and outside onto the Strip. I want to grab some greasy to go food before I drive home.

  Outside, the hot and arid air hits me like a punch to the gut. It feels good compared to the humid gym, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I need a carb fest. I walk slowly down the sidewalk, avoiding the inevitable piles of frat-boy vomit. Yeah, maybe I can curl up and watch something stupid to distract myself from the ache in my heart. The ache that just won’t let up. I don’t normally let myself veg out, but after such a hard workout – and the horrible day I’ve just had – it feels like just what the doctor ordered.

  The din grows quieter as I walk away from the more populated parts of the Strip. I’m almost to my car when I see a collarless dog with no leash dart into an alley.

  “Hey, wait,” I call. “Puppy, it’s okay! Come back!”

  The dog doesn’t emerge, and I have a sinking feeling that if I don’t do something now, the poor thing is going to either wind up on the pavement or with animal control by morning. Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I jog quietly into the alley, checking out all the dark corners as I do so. The dog stands there, shaking with fear.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly, stepping forward and holding out my hand. “It’s all right – don’t worry, buddy, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The dog backs farther into the alley. A haunted memory of my childhood dog, Boots, overtakes me, and I start to cry. I can’t let this dog meet a fate worse than death. I won’t. I may not be able to control my own shit show of a life, but I can save this defenseless animal.

  How come I can save anyone and everyone around me, but I can’t even come close to saving myself? I brush the question away as I creep forward, careful not to scare the poor animal further. I croon low and soft to him, and he stops shaking. Within a foot, he turns his head toward me, staring at me with liquid brown eyes.

  “It’s okay, puppy,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m here to help you.” So much for my quiet night home alone, I think, wondering how I’m going to accommodate a stray who probably isn’t even housebroken.

  That’s when I feel a pair of strong hands gripping my shoulders.

  “Hey.” I jump back and whirl around. “Is this your do–”

  It’s the last word out of my mouth before the man presses a rag to my mouth and I crumple to my knees.

  ***

  “I think she’s coming to.”

  “She fell for the stray dog thing, huh? Dumb bitch.”

  “Shut your mouth, she’s awake!”

  My head pounds and throbs while my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. In spite of that, my senses tingle around my twisted stomach. Knots have formed in every available space. Letting out a strangled moan, I open my eyes to see the inside of what appears to be a warehouse. Bright fluorescent lights glare from the ceiling, only adding to the pain in my head.

  Dante Giovanetti steps in front of me, a smirk on his fat face. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty. You were asleep for so long you missed dinner. I’m sorry to say that we didn’t save you anything.” He points to a crumpled fast food bag on the floor. “But maybe Rocco will share.”

  I glance down to see the dog happily munching kibble out of a silver bowl.

  “Let me go.” My voice sounds much stronger than I feel. “What are you doing, Dante? You’re not going to get away with this.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s what you think. But really, Joslyn, haven’t you learned anything? Don’t you know it’s a bad idea to go into dark alleys by yourself?”

  “Let me go, and you won’t regret it.”

  “Ha.” Dante throws his head back and laughs. “And just tell me – what would I regret?”

  “Kidnapping me because you didn’t get a chance to keep your damn casino.”

  Dante gives me a strange look. “What, you think I lost the Mona Lisa? Are you insane, young lady?” He steps forward and shakes his head. “Maybe that chloroform fried a few of those brain cells.”

  I blink, not
following him.

  Dante snorts, holding up a pair of garden shears in his right hand and flailing the dull blades through the air in front of me. “What, you don’t know?”

  A strange, paranoid feeling seeps into my stomach, and suddenly, I feel like I’m going to be sick. The nausea is powerful and intense, and I take slow, deep breaths through my nose until it passes.

  “Your old man lawyered up.” Dante gives me a big, cheesy smile. “He’d finally had enough of my threats. So, he didn’t retire after all. What, he didn’t tell you?” When I don’t reply, Dante whistles and shakes his head. “That lawyer was very expensive too. Cost me a pretty penny.”

  The news is a punch in the gut, but I bite the inside of my cheeks, so my expression doesn’t betray my true feelings.

  “Of course, I didn’t lose the Mona Lisa. And the Caldwell brothers were foiled, yet again, by the great Dante.” He puffs his chest out, clearly proud of his blackmailing scheme. “Thanks to your daddy.”

  “So…”

  “You want to know why I bothered to kidnap you, right?”

  I lift a brow. “A little hint would be nice.”

  “Dear, if you haven’t come to understand me yet, I’m afraid you’re dumber than I thought.” Dante stops his arrogant pacing to give me a little chuckle. “I couldn’t possibly just win, could I? No. I wanted my cannoli, and I wanted to eat it too.”

  “What?” I squint at him. “You’re not making any sense. Let me go, Dante. This isn’t funny.”

  “No, but you know what is funny?”

  I give him a blank stare.

  “I managed to kidnap a female defense trainer who runs a support group for other women.” As Dante cackles, a maniacal grin spreads across his face. “Isn’t that the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever heard? Your career is over, bitch. Over.”

  “You only kidnapped me because you wanted revenge?” I ask warily. “Are you serious?”

  Dante’s grin fades, and I shiver as his face grows completely blank. “I wouldn’t be so flippant if I were you.” His voice drips liquid nitrogen, and as much as I want to stay strong, the very sound conjures the worst kind of fear in my gut. “After all, you’re the one tied to a chair. And you’re not getting out of here, not until I’m ready to let you go.”