But King said nothing more, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. This time, I was unescorted to and from the elevator and unbothered on my way to my car and the entire ride home. The pit of anxiety in my stomach had grown. Something was going on that I couldn’t see. King was a mastermind magician that kept you occupied on the distracting coin trick so he could rob you blind.
I arrived at my apartment; the homeless guy was long gone now. I looked at the clock on the dash of my car. It was already almost six. Groaning, but grateful to finally be home, I got out of my car and went inside the building. I climbed up the stairs to the third floor, legs burning from exhaustion and my feet sore, and walked into my apartment and locked the door behind me.
I kicked off my shoes and threw my purse and keys haphazardly onto the table. The TV was still on from when I left hours ago, still scrolling through the channel guide. Too weary to care, I scuffled over to the couch and flopped down on my stomach. My eyelids were heavy—my eighteen-hour shift had turned into a twenty-two-hour shift.
The sun was already peeking over the horizon. The sky was turning different shades of orange and blue, mixing with the receding night. But I couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. I was exhausted. As I closed my eyes, one thought drifted through my mind.
What did I just agree to?
Crush
Irode to the Bellagio the next morning, appreciating the purr of the bike beneath me. It had been four hours since Asher shot me, and the wound already felt better. Thanks entirely to a sexy doctor that I couldn’t get my mind off of since she left. Which had the internal alarm system in my brain going nuts.
I walked into the Bellagio, the casino having a few stragglers. It was early in the day, and most of Vegas’ clientele was still sleeping off their hangover or drug binge from the night before. However, it wasn’t quiet, the ringing of the machines still going even if the chairs were empty. I took the elevator up to the penthouse and saw Prince waiting outside the grand mini-mansion his father owned.
Prince was a few years younger than me, somewhere in his late twenties. He looked like the spitting image of his father, except his blond hair was short. Despite appearances, Prince couldn’t be farther from his father. He wanted a club, sure—but not an empire. He detested his father and wanted his freedom from under him as much as I did. Before all the shit hit the proverbial fan, Prince was actually friends with some of the Black Reapers. But even he, despite his father doting on his heir, was not immune to his father’s antics.
He met my eyes.Let’s get this over with, his face said. No one spoke. You don’t speak when King might hear you. We walked into the penthouse, the important officers gathered around the large boardroom table, with King at the head. The man was intimidating to everyone—but Prince and I knew the truth. He was all bark and not a single goddamn fucking bite.
King’s Bellagio penthouse was a little more retro than the one at the Cosmo. He kept his more expensive items here—artwork, furniture, and whatever suited his fancy. Usually, the Bellagio was his choice for meeting with political associates and other scum. It made him look…human.
There were two large paintings by some big name in New York City that hung on the deep maroon walls. A bust of King himself that he had commissioned from a sculptor sat on a pedestal in the corner of the room, the sunlight bouncing off of it like he was a god. There was a large Persian rug on the floor, one that no one walked on but King and his important guests. And this was only the lobby area.
We sat down at the large mahogany table, and King wasted no time getting things underway. His white suit almost glowed in the sunlight, and he was really trying to hold on to his Miami Vice persona. His long blond hair was slicked back, and he looked like one of the bad guys from that vampire movie that was all the rave a while back. His eyes were dark and tiny like pinpricks, adding to his vampire-ness.
“The bust on the Chinatown warehouse is putting a damper on things,” he started, making a temple with his fingers. “We’re putting the sex dealings on hold. I don’t need the fucking Feds breathing down our necks. We have plenty of other revenue. Speaking of other revenue, my boy, why don’t you give us an update on the drug trade?”
“Can’t complain,” Prince shrugged, looking nonchalant but serious. “Been steady, the regulars in Chinatown are making their way back to us. Chef cooked up a good batch of the shit, though, so we’re running through it like water.”
King nodded, seemingly satisfied with his son’s report. He turned to me, a wicked smirk on his face.I could shoot him now, I thought.Be quite the mess, though. There was a dark glint in his eyes—something told me I was in for it today. Whatever he thought he had on me, he was going to use. I was low on sleep, in pain from getting a fucking bullet in my leg and daydreaming about a drop-dead gorgeous woman who had me wagging my tail after her.Today is not the day, fucker.
“Crush. You know, as sergeant-at-arms, your job is to obliterate threats,” he drawled easily, taking a soft front. But then his small eyes narrowed and he almost looked like a snake. “Hence thearmspart of the title. We have the arms, we have the men, we have the leader. So would you care to explain to me why the Black Reapers are not being eliminated, and in fact, are growing stronger? What about the clubhouse and blowing it up?”
“Clubs are led by men, not buildings,” I responded coolly.This was not the leverage he thought it was.There had to be a strategy when taking out men, not so much with buildings. “We’ve got to go after their leaders, kill one of them. The Black Reapers are blind in their fellowship. The leaders die, they’ll dissolve naturally. The hit on Satan was supposed to—”
Suddenly, King erupted into a rage, “Don’t fucking tell me aboutsupposed to; just fucking get it done!”
I bit my lip. I could end this man right now—I knew I was a faster draw and more accurate shot than he was. The daydream of taking his head and smashing it into the table was also satisfying. It at least curbed the rage that was inside my head right now. But with too many witnesses, and not knowing how loyal they were to King, it was a death wish at this point.
Not to mention his own personal bodyguards that were stuck to his side like glue. They were like wrestlers on steroids. One of them looked at me with a glare that I could feel even through his dumb-looking wraparounds as if reading my mind.
“I am fucking sick and tired of this,” King seethed. “You take your men down to Phoenix this weekend and do something. If you don’t come back with one of their officers’ heads, I’ll have yours.”
With a wave, he dismissed us, and King stormed off into his office. There was the notable slam of the door that echoed through the penthouse, and I felt bad for the poor schmucks on the floor below. I felt the bodyguards’ eyes on my back as I walked out of the room. The two just appeared randomly one day, and no one knew where or how King got them on the payroll. But they took their jobs seriously.
Two street walkers can come in and make more money from the club than I am, I thought bitterly.And I actually do productive things rather than just stand there all day.Prince and I rode the elevator from the penthouse in silence, walking through the bustling casino in the same fashion. It was wise to wait until we were out under the baking Vegas heat before we even dared to speak. King had ears, eyes, and guns everywhere.
We walked over to our bikes, and Prince paused. His ride was a barely legal Ape Hanger, studded out in deep purple accents. The resemblance of the color and his name with the music legend never ceased to make me chuckle. My chopper was all black like the night, and I took a seat on its comfortable leather. The pair together were intimidating enough—if you knew our bikes, and saw them parked on the street, you knew you were walking into some tough shit.
“I haven’t seen him that mad in ages,” Prince said quietly, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He put it between his lips and took a drag. “He’s cracking.”
We were silent as he took another hit from the cigarette.At least Prince is in agreement, I thought. But he was hesitant. And hesitancy is what gets you killed in this line of work. But the picture slowly started to become clearer. I could appease King and jump through his hoops, all while making a plan and constructing the alliance that would bring him down.
“I’ll go to Phoenix,” I said plainly, breaking the silence. “There’s a few that I wouldn’t mind sending to their makers.”
“Need some help?” Prince asked, the cigarette dangling between his lips. “I got some going on a run down that way. We can make a pit stop.”
“I can handle it,” I shrugged. “No need to have both of us out of town in case he bursts a blood vessel.”
