I should have said it, I thought.
There were never enough opportunities to tell people how you felt in life. And the last phone call with my parents had ended with acall you right backthat never happened. My heart pounded in my ears as I got to my car and drove home. I didn’t work tomorrow, which was a blessing, because there was no way in hell I was going to get any sleep tonight.
* * *
I gavemyself a once-over again in the mirror. I had to admit…I looked pretty fucking hot. The gold dress King bought for me covered everything I wanted it to, and I checked in the mirror to make sure there weren’t any lumps or bulges. I curled my hair and did my makeup, and I looked like any other woman in Vegas who was trying to get some.
Tonight was the night.
My palms were cold with sweat, and my feet felt cramped in the sparkly heels that I had bought just for such an outfit as this dress. It felt weird to be wearing such a contraption as this, with my boobs almost entirely on display, and getting into a beat-to-shit Chevy. The irony of the act didn’t escape me.
I wove through traffic to the Cosmopolitan, and I found a place to park after laps and laps around. As I walked down the street, there were odd looks and some catcalls, and a man even walked up to me and put a hundred-dollar bill under the strap of my gown at my collar bone. Any other time, I would have been offended, but this just made me feel…confident. And besides, it was a hundred fucking dollars, and my modesty was still intact.
Crush will lose his mind if he ever finds out, I thought.
Just thinking about the man had me all smiling and giddy. But if everything went according to plan, then we would be free tonight. And if it didn’t, well…I had a good backup plan with King’s name on it chilling under my dress. If and when the time came, it would be really easy to cock it back and pull the trigger.
I walked into Cosmo, and the din of gambling and the machines were low. It was a weeknight, after all. There wasn’t much to be had on these kinds of nights. The AC—which usually was a relief against the heat—had my skin pebbling with goosebumps. I went to the elevator, the curious looks and catcall whistles felt normal now. I got in the elevator and took a deep breath.
I am Brianna fucking Gold,I kept repeating the mantra.
The elevator felt like it took forever to arrive at the penthouse floor. The doors parted, and I was greeted with an empty space. My heart skipped a beat, and I contemplated calling out. But then one of the club guys popped out from around the corner. His eyes drank me in, and I stifled a groan at his leery stare.
I recognized him as being there at the warehouse when Crush was shot. He was the one that I followed after fixing Crush up. The club member stood tall but was all wiry muscle rather than burly or built. He had a faint scar on his face, now that I got a good look at him, and his green eyes were things of women’s nightmares. He was dressed in the black denim and boots of the club, but in lieu of a shirt, instead wore just his cut.
“What can I do you for?” he crooned. “Seriously, name your price.”
“I’m here for King,” I said with confidence. “And besides, you couldn’t afford it anyway.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” the guy shrugged. “Boss ain’t here. Or the Bellagio, for that matter.”
Fuck, I swore in my head. Well…of all the scenarios I imagined, there wasn’t one that accounted for a situation where KING WASN’T IN THE FUCKING BUILDING. Flustered but trying not to show it, I pretended to fix my hair. Maybe I could weasel out some information, nonetheless.
But there was little to be gained until I found out King’s location. If King was loose on the town, Crush needed to know ASAP. But there were very few places King ever went outside of his penthouses. That’s why he had prospects—so that he didn’t have to leave his comfortable mansions. There had been a time some poor fuck had to go get him a coffee from the neighboring development because he hadn’t done something right.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I managed, glad that I had come off as rather annoyed rather than frantic. “Or where he is staying? We kinda had plans for the night.”
“Nope,” the man said, popping thep. “Are you sure I can’t keep you entertained until he returns? I’m sure he won’t mind sharing such a pretty whore like you.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to seem indifferent. With as much confidence I could muster, I turned and walked back to the elevator. The doors parted almost immediately, and I got in. I slammed the door close button, and when I was finally alone, I went into panic mode. I choked on tears, but I was trying to at least keep composure until I was in the safety of my car. Nothing screams “vulnerable!” like a woman dressed in scraps, crying on the phone.
King was anticipating a trap, I figured.I’ve got to warn Crush. My hands shook as I dialed his number on my burner phone, and I waited for him to pick up. But he didn’t answer. I tried again with the same result.No, no, no, I thought. The elevator arrived on the ground floor. I all but ran as much as I could in my shoes. When I got outside, I knelt down and undid the little buckles.
Sliding my feet out of the heels, I picked up the shoes and beelined to my car. I was a little shocked at how well everything stayed in place, though I had suffered a minor nip-slip more than once. But I didn’t care. My main priority was getting in my car and hoping Crush answered.
Third time’s a charm, I thought. I called him again, the ringing noise pissing me off beyond all measure. I wanted to hear his voice, to warn him. But there was no answer. I threw my phone on the passenger seat and screamed, hitting the steering wheel with my hands like the women do in the movies. It was shockingly therapeutic.
But I couldn’t waste more time. I started my car and merged with the traffic. I wove through traffic, breaking at least three different laws. If a cop decided to pull me over, I was going to be facing jail time guaranteed. Luckily, there was no such police officer on patrol tonight. I slid into a parking space and grabbed my burner phone from where it had fallen on the floor. The screen had cracked, but the thing still worked.
My heart was pounding, tears in my eyes. I dialed Crush’s number again, but there was no response. I ran up the three flights of stairs, hoping beyond all reason that he would be making a meal for me just like before. I dialed him at least twice more on my way up the stairs to my place, but I lost count after.
I was greeted by an empty apartment. My hands shook, and I dialed his number again. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. But it was no use. The line connected to voicemail, and I sobbed harder as I waited for the tone.Something is better than nothing. I left a message, and I hoped that he would get an opportunity to hear it.
Crush and the Black Reapers were en route to war. And all I could do was sit in the living room of my shithole apartment and hope that Crush made it out alive. The voicemail seemed silly now, and even then, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I loved him. The tears fell down my face, and I put my head in my hands.Say your prayers, sweetheart,his voice echoed in my head.
And that’s exactly what I did.
Crush
