Her lips part in surprise.
I shrug. “I wanted to know if you were just… unhinged. Or if you had reasons. Turns out, you had more than reasons. You had a whole fleet of them, women who the system ignored.”
Her throat works like she’s swallowing glass. I can tell she didn’t expect this, not from me.
I lean back, exhaling slowly. “So no, Willow. I’m not turning you in. Because frankly? I think you did what needed doing.”
The words hang between us, heavier than any curtain.
She swallows hard, then narrows her eyes. “And what about you? You’re really not worried I’ll out you?”
My laugh is hollow. “Every day of my life I’m worried someone will out me. You?” I lock eyes with her, willing her to see the truth. “You need me quiet just as much as I need you quiet. These secrets? They die with us.”
Something flickers in her expression—fear, relief, and something warmer.
Trust. Fragile, dangerous trust.
I can’t help softening my voice. “I don’t want to ruin you, Willow. And I don’t think you want to ruin me. So, we keep each other’s secrets. That’s the deal.”
She studies me like I’m another spread of cards on her table, trying to read between the lines. Then, finally, she exhales.
“Okay,” she says, though her voice cracks slightly. “These secrets die with us.”
The air feels different after that. Like someone finally opened a window in a sealed room and there’s oxygen again.
“Let me walk you home.” I offer before I can stop myself.
Willow tilts her head, suspicious as hell. “What, worried I’ll stab another guy in the street?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “Or maybe I just don’t trust Vegas after dark. Half the people out here are drunk enough to think they can take on God.”
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction. Still, she doesn’t say no. She jerks her chin toward the door. “Alright. Keep up.”
I yank on some shoes and follow Willow down the dark hallway that leads to the private door. We look a little ridiculous right now, me in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Willow in that damn dress that was almost my downfall tonight. But we fall into step. Neon light spills over us, flickering across the pavement. A group of bachelor cowboys in cheap hats howl at a showgirl working the sidewalk for pictures.
Vegas, baby.
I break the silence first. “How long have you lived here?”
She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Since I was thirteen, so, fifteen years. We moved around for a few years before that, so, I guess Vegas feels like home now. You?”
I hesitate. “A few years.”
“Do you like it?”
I think about the Strip, the noise, the constant attention, the flashing bulbs. Then about the quiet nights when it’s just me and my ghosts in the penthouse. “Sometimes,” I answer. “Other times… it feels like the city’s trying to eat me alive.”
“That feels accurate,” she replies with a knowing smile. “You’re being vague, though. Which is kind of annoying. You could tell me how old you are. I at least gave you a simple math problem.”
She’s twenty-eight. I did, in fact, catch onto her math problem. “There’s a reason I have to be careful, Willow. But I can give you that. I’m thirty.”
She smiles like she likes my answer. “What else can you give me?”
I take a breath, turning my eyes to the crowded sidewalk in front of us. “I don’t like red apples. Only green ones. Red is for liars. It’s the same for grapes.”
“That is ridiculous, and also weirdly specific,” she says with a huff of a laugh.
I shrug, feeling mighty pleased with myself for making her laugh. “You asked. I also like my coffee either black or drowning in enough cream it’s a sin,” I confess. “No in between. I can hold my breath for two and a half minutes. And I’ve broken twelve bones in my life. Half of them weren’t for fun.”
