“Then say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
“Come on, Sarah, get it together,” I said out loud. I wasn’t so young anymore, so foolish anymore. If Cassius was to be a part of my life again, it would be more equal, more mature.
Even if the idea of him claiming me so forcefully… no, no.
I pulled into the valet section of theRuby.An attendant greeted me quickly, and I handed him the keys to my Lexus. I almost wondered if he would recognize me, if someone would buzz to Cassius that I was here. I could just so easily envision him on the top floor of this high-rise casino and hotel, overlooking Las Vegas as if it belonged to him. Well, better him and his brothers than the King’s Men and the Black Reapers.
The attendant, however, got in the car and seemed to make no move to a phone or to an earpiece. Telling myself I needed to get control of everything, act professionally, and smile, I walked through the doors.
TheRubylived up to its name. Red and gold coloring decorated the entirety of the ground floor, from lush carpeting to chandeliers overhead. What looked like Roman paintings adorned the archways dozens of feet above me, suggesting a timeless elegance to the place. The cheers of patrons victorious over various card games rang through the halls, as did the ding-ding-ding-ding-ding of slot machines paying out some small chunk of change.
It brought a smile to my face. I was not a gambler, but you couldn’t call yourself a native of Las Vegas and not have some pride in the luxury and grandeur that its gambling halls provided.That the Vale family provided.
I brushed aside the thought and followed the signs for theAlluregrand opening. It was only five p.m. on this November evening, and the actual opening for the public was not for another two hours. But the artists had to get set up by their paintings—the ones who wanted to, at least; there were a few toofamous or notorious to be seen in public—and I wanted to make sure I made it with plenty of time.
I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if Cassius saw me and only me, too.
Nerves swept over me as I saw theAlluresign, a subdued cursive word, just by the entrance to the exhibit. There were two security guards, thick, large, bald men with earpieces in their right eye. I wondered how well they knew Cassius, or if they might have once worked for King’s Men or the Black Reapers. Anything was possible with the harder side of town.
“Hi,” I said as warmly as I could to one of the guards.
“Can I help you?” the one on the left said brusquely. They both looked the same, and though they wore enough clothing that no tattoos were visible, I didn’t think they had worked for the Reapers or King’s Men. Call it a gut intuition or just crazy, but men in those circles were a bit more obvious. This was a more professional protection.
“I’m one of the artists presenting her work tonight,” I said. “Sasha Carter.”
I needed a second to remind myself that was my name. Not Sarah Carter, Sasha Carpenter, or, God forbid, my actual name, Sarah Carpenter. The guard nodded to the other guard, who pulled out a touchpad and scanned through some names. I stood there quietly, my hands folded under my chest, trying to convey warmth but urgency. Not that I was lying about my name. Not that the nervousness was only increasing by the minute.
“Ms. Carter?”
It took me more than an instant to reply the way someone would hearing their real name. I prayed they wouldn’t think anything of it.
“Yes, Sasha Carter,” I repeated.
“Come on in.”
I thanked the guard, walked in, and let out a sigh of relief. From there, it was not difficult to find my paintings; I used a lot of red and yellow color in my work, an intense yet pained color, and few other artists at this venue did so. That was the fun thing about art—you could present something so raw and potent, yet do it with a smile at a cocktail party for the rich and richer.
But now what? I’d gotten here so early, there weren’t even any other artists here yet. There wouldn’t be any guests for a couple hours, maybe a little less. Maybe if I got lucky, there was an early VIP section for someone who would pay five figures for my work. I wasn’t above hoping for such an outcome.
Fortunately, there were benches strewn out inAllure,and I gladly took advantage to sit and stretch my feet out for a minute. I wondered what would happen ifhecame in, but laughed the thought off. Cassius had too many things to attend to, even ifAllurebrought along great wealth. What I considered great wealth and what Cassius considered great wealth were frankly two very different things, and his time?—
Footsteps.
I sat up, quickly slid my sliders on, and stood at a nearby exhibit, as if taking the artwork in. I hoped whoever was coming wouldn’t ask me about it, or better yet, that they wouldn’t say anything at all. I didn’t even have time to read?—
“Hello,Sasha.”
That voice.
That deep, baritone, ice-cold voice.
It had been years since I’d heard the voice in person. There were plenty of chances to hear the voice on video, but even in HD and 4K, the voice never came through the same. There was something about hearing that voice directed at you versus being captured by a microphone.
