High Roller (Sin City Suits #4)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Gracie

“Come on, Cam Cam. You just got serviced. Don’t do this to me. Not here. Not now.”

Cam Cam is my pride and joy, and I do my best to take care of her. I paid off the bright red Toyota Camry a few months ago and now I’m able to save money again. Her coughing protest and refusal to start? Rude. And also just my luck.

The parking lot is dark, the kind of dark that has you looking over your shoulder a dozen times as you walk to your car. The kind that seems to be barely fazed by the flickering streetlights at the edges of the lot. I shift in the driver’s seat, adjusting the rearview out of habit, but it’s too dim to see much behind me. I’ve been out with friends, and all I want now is to get home, take off these torture devices they call heels, and scrub off the nightclub sweat. The air inside my car is stale and smells of the perfume of three other girls and a cocktail one of them snuck into my backseat after we left the last place. It’s going to take forever to get rid of the stench.

This isn’t a part of Las Vegas I usually end up in, but I let Sabrina and her friends talk me into one more stop before we headed home for the night. Of course, once we got inside and I realized what a seedy club we’d ended up in, I wanted to go home right away. The one sad cocktail I ordered wore off hours ago, and I’m cranky, overtired, and regretting every time I said yes to Sabrina tonight.

She’s my roommate, and I’m grateful for the help with rent, but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it with the way she likes to drag me into her nights out.

I turn the key again and Cam Cam jerks and coughs just enough to give me hope—then dies again.

“Damn it.” I dig my phone out of my purse and scroll through recent texts. Who the hell can I call at this hour? Roadside assistance is a luxury I can’t afford right now.

With a sigh, I tap Victor’s name. He’s not my first choice, but he’ll answer. We’ve been friends since high school, and even tried sleeping together a few times, but his family was dead set against our relationship, so we always kept it friendly.

College put a strain on our relationship for… other reasons, but when I dropped out and found myself in a tough situation, he convinced me to move to Las Vegas with him and his friends, and I’ve been here ever since. Moving here was the right choice. Vegas has been good to me, but sometimes it still feels like my life is stuck in the wrong gear.

A shadow moves across the car, catching my attention. Someone leans against the brick wall, a man in a dark hoodie. His face is mostly hidden. He lights a cigarette and the spark of his lighter is just bright enough to catch the outline of his cheekbone and the stubble on his jaw.

The phone rings in my ear as the lighter goes dark.

“Come on Victor. Pick up.”

“Butterfly? Are you OK?”

“My car won’t start, and I’m not sure where I am. I followed Sabrina and her friends.”

Victor is quiet for a moment, and I think we’ve been disconnected. This neighborhood’s signal is trash.

“Share your location with me. I’ll get you and we’ll call a tow truck if we can’t jump start the car.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and open the location sharing app Victor insisted I install a few months ago when I went hiking on a new trail. He wanted it on twenty-four-seven. Yes, he’s a paranoid, overprotective bastard. But the idea of someone always having my location creeped me out. Tonight? I’m grateful for the option of sharing it.

I flip the toggle to share my location, and tap Victor’s name when the list of contacts pops up.

“It’s sent. I’m really sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mariposa . You know I’ll always rescue you.”

I blush at his sweet words. Sometimes I think he’s sweet with me on purpose because he cares about me, and if he realized he was being sweet he would stop. Victor has a reputation for being a grumpy asshole at the BDSM club he is part owner in. But he’s called me butterfly or the Spanish variant, Mariposa, since we met in high school, and it still gets to me every time I hear the endearment come out of his mouth.

“I’m about twenty minutes away. Tell Sabrina to stop dragging you to shit holes. If you want to party, let me set you up with one of the VIP lounges Matteo oversees.”

“OK dad,” I tease.

“Watch it, Butterfly. Your ass is mine Friday night.”

My thighs clench. “Yes, Sir.”

The honorific isn’t just a habit. It’s survival instinct. He’s right. I am his on Friday night. We’ve got a needle scene scheduled, and if he’s so inclined, he can make it less than pleasant.

Needle play isn’t for everyone. Like most kinks, it takes trust. But it also takes skill. Someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. Victor is an artist with his tools, and it’s the artistry that appeals to me.

“I’m already on my way.” His stern tone interrupts my pokey little rabbit hole and I sit up a little straighter. “If the nightclub is still open, go back inside. Otherwise, keep your doors locked until I get there.”

I’m tempted to ask him to stay on the phone with me because the smoker is still watching me, but I don’t want him to think I’m scared.

Going back inside means walking past smoker guy, and something about him creeps me out. So I check my locks twice, then hit Play on my audiobook. The narrator’s voice pulls me in, but I can’t quite relax.

When I glance up again, the smoker is gone, and I consider going back inside. But a car pulls up beside me. Two people climb out, laughing too loud, and the club door swings open long enough for the bass to thump through my car.

The club door slams just as a car door thunks closed behind me. I jerk around, but it’s just more club-goers arriving.

Why the hell am I so jumpy tonight?

Finally, a car I recognize pulls up behind me, headlights sweeping across the back of my car just before he shuts the engine off. Victor Serrano steps out, crisp and lethal in his perfectly tailored suit and my breath catches the way it always does when he walks into a room. As if for half a second, my lungs forget what they’re for.

His scowl says he’s not thrilled to be on this particular rescue mission. Before I can open the door, he taps his knuckles on my window, sharp and efficient. I roll it down and try not to stare at his perfectly angry face.

“Always getting into trouble, aren’t you, Butterfly?”

“It’s not my fault the car won’t start.”

He shakes his head, his mouth tugging into something almost resembling affection, an he reaches through the window to tousle my hair.

“Pop the hood.”

I pull the lever as he goes to his car and pulls a small box with cables hanging off of it out of his trunk.

“Portable jump starter,” he says, catching my confused look. “You need one.”

At the front of my car, he opens the hood and props it open then goes to work hooking up the device.

“Try it now,” he calls.

I turn the key. The engine still sputters and coughs, refusing to turn over.

“This battery looks new. It’s definitely dead, but something else is wrong. I’ll check a few things while we let it charge a bit.”

He shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to me through the window, then rolls up his sleeves. I subtly sniff the jacket before I put it in my front seat. The cologne he wears reminds me of the redwood forests my family used to go camping in.

He disappears behind my raised car hood again for several minutes. I see light from his phone’s flashlight, but otherwise I have no idea what he’s doing.

“Did you have work done on this recently?” He asks after a few minutes.

“I had an oil change earlier today.”

Victor comes out from behind the hood holding a dirty rag that looks like it could have caught fire at some point.

“Have you had any issues with your car since you left the oil change?”

I chew the inside of my cheek as I remember the engine sputtering a few times. “A little? Some weird sputtering when I was driving to work after the oil change. And then again when I was driving here. There was a kind of burning smell.”

Victor looks angry as he balls the rag up, and I cringe when he stuffs it in the pocket of his expensive suit pants.

“Tell me where you had it done. This could have caused major damage to your car. We caught it in time. The rag was interfering with the alternator, keeping it from charging your battery. Try the engine again.”

When I turn the key this time, it starts, and my shoulders relax. I didn’t realize until the relief kicked in just how worried I was about the possibility of a major repair expense setting me back for months. “Follow me, Mariposa. I’ll make sure you get home safe.” As he walks away, I hear him mutter. “I’m also going to have a word with that crazy roommate of yours.”

As Victor pulls away, I back out and ease into the flow of traffic behind him. It’s silly for him to come home with me, but there are times when it’s pointless to argue with him, and I can tell tonight is one of those nights.

At my apartment complex, I pull into my assigned parking place, and Victor parks in an open space a few cars down.

He’s at my door before I can open it, and he offers his hand to help me from the car. My ankle gives out as I stand up on five-inch heels. Another terrible idea Sabrina talked me into.

“Do I need to carry you, Mariposa?”

“No, Sir,” I mutter.

He chuckles at the honorific. “We aren’t at the club, Gracie.”

I shake my head. “Sorry.”

We walk to my door in silence. “You know you don’t have to see me all the way inside.”

“Of course I do. You’re a danger to yourself. Have to make sure you get inside safely.”

The apartment is dark, which means Sabrina hasn’t made it home yet.

When I flip the light on, a fresh bouquet of roses is sitting on the counter, and I groan.

“What is it?” Victor asks.

I go to the counter and pick up the card. Sure enough, it’s addressed to me with no name and a single letter written in the message spot.

“This is the second one of these I’ve gotten. No clue who is sending them.”

Victor plucks the card from my hand and turns it over. “No florist name. That’s disturbing. Bring me the other card.”

I stare at him, and he narrows his eyes. “Now, butterfly. Or I’ll momentarily forget we aren’t at the club and bend you over this counter.”

With a roll of my eyes, I go to my bedroom where I have the other card.

At the club, I’m a submissive, and Victor is my Dom. But we aren’t dating or sexual. Sometimes I think I’d like to be, but we both agreed in high school that it was a bad idea. Though lately I’m failing to remember why.

Back in the kitchen, I give Victor the other card and he lays both down on the counter. The letters are B and T.

“Do they mean anything to you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. And it doesn’t spell anything yet.”

“Anything unique about the flowers?” He picks up the vase, examining it.

“Nothing unique other than they’re my favorite color of purple.”

His eyes fly to mine. “That’s meaningful. How many people know they are your favorite?”

“Kara and Sampson. Any ex-boyfriend who actually lasted more than a month? My parents. You.”

His facial expression darkens. “When was the last time you heard from Kara or Sampson?”

I shake my head. “Not since we came to Las Vegas.”

His expression is pensive, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “This is nothing, Victor. Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“Gracie, it’s absolutely something. You need to be careful. Now text me the name of the place where you got your oil changed. Keep your doors locked and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’m off tomorrow.”

“Whenever your next shift is, then.” His voice is tense, and I wonder what has him so spooked. But I don’t have time to be afraid of some flowers and shoddy mechanic’s work on my car. He’s just being overprotective.

I point at the door. “Go home, Victor.”

He flashes me a stunning smile that few get to see and kisses my cheek. “Only because I know you’re safe for now. Goodnight, Mariposa.”

When he’s gone, I double check the lock and take the roses to my room. Just because they’re from some mystery person doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them.