King of Pain (Lords of Las Vegas #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Luke

The trunk of a fucking car is no place to get my bearings.

Bleeding from a bullet wound doesn’t help.

I blow a frustrated breath through my nose, but I don’t pound on the lid of the trunk no matter how much I’d like to vent my rage.

It won’t help and it will just burn up my energy. This is a moment for control if I’m going to escape.

I should have known this was coming. The shit my family has been in lately…

Just to get this out there, and in case it wasn’t clear, I’m not one of the good guys.

The car, a Lambo, and yeah, trunk space is tight in those fuckers, takes the corner at full speed and I crash into the wall.

That fucker Vincent did that on purpose.

Vigo and Vincent Vendetti are the reason I’m stuffed into the trunk of a car with a bullet wound. They are the reason for a lot of my family’s problems lately.

I grit my teeth and try to brace myself.

The car takes another corner, but I hear the engine downshift before the clank of a gate fills my ears.

I catalogue the details as the car finally stops. We’ve been driving for at least thirty minutes putting us well outside of Vegas. I think.

One, two doors open and close before I hear a third and then… the whimpering of another person.

Fuck. That isn’t Vigo or Vincent, that’s for damned sure. The sound is high and clear like the cries of a woman.

The trunk opens and Vincent hauls me out. It’s got to be two in the morning, the darkness thick and inky beyond the ring of the house lights.

Just to my right, a woman kneels on the ground, a curtain of long, dark hair covering her face. But it doesn’t hide her shivering, or the pretty dress she wears. What the fuck?

I just get my feet under me when he pushes me to the ground, waving a gun in my face, as he spits out the words, “Here is how it’s going to go, you murdering piece of shit.”

Now there is the pot calling the kettle black. I’m no saint, but I’ve never put a woman in a dress like that on her knees. All right, that’s actually bullshit. But I haven’t done it to hurt her. If she’s on her knees, we’re both enjoying it.

“You…” he points the gun at the woman, “are going to patch him up. Fortunately for him, and you, we need him alive.”

She doesn’t say a word.

“To what do I owe this unexpected show of mercy?” I ask, spitting on the ground right at his feet.

Vigo bends down, looking me right in the eyes. “I had the best date tonight. Gorgeous woman with a very interesting piece of real estate right in the heart of Vegas. I hear it’s the perfect location to vent an underground tunnel meant to connect several casinos.”

Fuck. Of course, I’m here because of the tunnel. And if I were better at my job, we’d already be in the final phase of construction. “You need me alive to date some chick?”

“No, I need you alive so that your family stops chasing permits and starts chasing you instead.” He grins right in my face. “And when those permits don’t go through, you can sign over the unfinished project to me.”

I didn’t think Vigo was that smart. He’s gotten several details right that I wouldn’t have given him credit for. I am the one in charge of the tunnel project, and without me, my family will scramble to close the deal. They never should have left me in charge in the first place.

The only thing I can do now is make this fucked-up situation right. Which means getting the fuck out of here.

The woman next to me has her chin down, little sobs escaping her lips. I can see her bare knees digging into the stone of the drive.

“And you, cutie,” Vincent uses the hand not holding the gun to lift her chin and force her gaze to his, “are going to fix him up and then you’re going to join me for the rest of the evening. We’ve got a date to finish.”

She whimpers, shrinking as I push up onto my knees. She looks over at me, a quick glance in my direction is all it takes. “No. Please.”

Her voice is small and scared, the tone of it skating down my spine. I catch her eyes, and I have the strangest thought. He’s not touching her.

I give my head a little shake. Where the fuck did that come from?

Maybe she doesn’t notice my gaze, or maybe Vigo and Vincent scare her too much to lift her head again. I’m not sure she’s hearing or seeing anything the way she’s trembling. But I shift closer, gritting my teeth.

Vigo points a second gun at my temple. “Don’t move, asshole.”

Vincent gives me the barest glance before he bends down, getting right in her face. “I paid for fucking dinner, you put out.”

The Vendetti twins wear matching bad suits, their V-neck T-shirts clearly visible under their open jackets.

Vincent crops his hair short, making his large nose even more prominent, while Vigo wears his longer, slicked back from his face.

They both look like pricks to me, but my cousin, Arabella, once told me they hold a certain appeal. I don’t see it.

And my guess is, if this girl ever found Vincent handsome, she doesn’t now…

Vigo hauls me to my feet, wrenching my injured arm, as Vincent wraps a hand around the girl’s upper arm, half dragging her up and onto her stilettos.

We don’t go up the massive front steps, the gaudy McMansion so in keeping with everything else about these two Italian gangsters.

Instead, we’re dragged around back. My legs are starting to work again, the cramping from the car receding.

And despite the bullet wound, my muscles twitch to fight. Vigo walks just behind me with a gun to my back. Vincent in front of me as he half drags the woman, her heels wobbling as she tries to keep up.

My eyes survey the large brick wall that encloses the property and sweep back to the iron gate with a guard.

This isn’t the moment.

They pull us toward a small guest house on the edge of a massive pool. Vincent goes first, dragging the woman inside, Vigo, with a gun still to my back, shoves me inside next.

“Supplies are in the back. You’ve got an hour,” Vincent snarls before the door closes and locks.

I stare at the door.

What the fuck? They’re just leaving us here? I’m still on my feet. “What is that guy on?” I mutter, looking at the woman who has sunk to the floor once again. She’s got her arms around her middle, small sobs escaping her lips.

Fuck me. Two crazy fucking twins, a bullet wound, and a hysterical woman I’ve already half decided I’m taking with me when I go. Could this night get any worse?

“Hey there, love?” I run my hand over the bloody mess of my shoulder.

She doesn’t say a word.

“Why do Crazy One and Crazy Two think you can patch me up?”

Fuck me, she whimpers again looking so frightened and so fragile. I’m going to have to calm her down. I do not have time for this.

But also, not leaving a massive blood trail would be helpful. I crouch down. “I’m Luke. Nice to meet you.”

Her head lifts. There’s only the dimmest light from the glow of the pool just outside, but I see the shine of her dark eyes, the tiny nose, the full lips. She’s also got a fair bit of really gorgeous cleavage on display. “Kate.” No wonder my first reaction was lust.

And now we’re getting somewhere. “Hi, Kate. What brings you here this evening?”

She stares at me like I’m the crazy one. Probably valid. So, I try again. “How did you end up in the Vendettis’ car?”

“You know them…” is all she says as she shrinks away, beginning to scoot backwards on the floor.

“Love,” I murmur low and gentle. “There is no need…” But I stop as she vehemently shakes her head, sliding back until her back hits the couch.

I sit my ass on the floor too, trying again. “Judging by the dress, you were on a date?”

“I…” she swallows, her voice cracking. “I just wanted a nice dinner. I…”

I’m going to have to negotiate this one very carefully. “Kate,” I say even more softly. “I’m going to try and get us out of here. But first, I’m going to need you to look at my shoulder.”

She blinks several times, tears still falling down her cheeks. “Don’t let him take me into the house.”

I jerk my chin in agreement. “I won’t.” I can’t even explain why I’d make a promise like that, but I do. If I’m going to fight though, first I need her to bandage the bullet wound…

She slips off her shoes, setting them carefully to the side before she pushes to her feet.

Her knees are scraped, her arms bruised. But she brushes her hair back from her face and starts toward a closed door.

She opens it, checks what is clearly a closet and then looks in another. Finding the bathroom, she enters.

Thirty seconds later she returns with a decent sized first aid kit. “I’m going to scrub up,” she doesn’t look at me. “I’ll need you to strip all your clothing above the waist.”

I try to unbutton my shirt, but my arm just won’t lift like that. I hear the water turn on. “Kate.” I call her attention back to me, knowing I’m going to need more of her help. I have no idea how I’m going to keep the promise I made when I can’t even unbutton my shirt.

She looks back at me. “Before you scrub up, any chance you can…” I gesture to the row of buttons. If I’m going to have any chance of getting us out of here, I’m trying to conserve the arm for when we might really need it.

She lets out a long rush of air. “Right. Yeah.”

Padding back over to me, she stops just in front of me. I can actually smell Vincent’s shitty cologne on her, but underneath that….

She smells like the ocean and lilies. Floral with a bit salty musk that makes my teeth grind. I breathe deeply as her deft fingers work down my row of buttons.

“You a nurse?” I try again.

With sure hands, she takes the shirt off my wounded shoulder. “I’m in med school,” she answers softly. “Just finished my first year.”

“Oh yeah, so a real dummy then?”

A faint smile touches her lips before she gasps at the sight of the bulletproof vest I’m sporting. Her hands drop and she takes a giant step back.

“The vest isn’t going to hurt you.”

“Are you?” she asks, her eyes wary as she assesses me. She’s got these gorgeous cheekbones and large brown eyes, fringed with dark lashes. Full lips and a delicate shape to her face. She looks so vulnerable. I want to pull her close.

“No,” I answer quietly. “And you’re going to have to trust me on that. We don’t have much time.”

She grimaces, but nods, and then helps me take off the vest too. And last, comes my T-shirt. I can see a rip, the sleeve soaked in blood.

She grabs the hem, her pretty little hands sliding up my skin as she takes the fabric off my good arm first.

It hurts but I ignore the pain, watching her remove the shirt with slow care that hits some note deep inside me. Gentle and beautiful…

The shirt finally comes off and I look down at my shoulder, relief rushing through me. It hurts like hell, but it looks like the vest caught the worst of the bullet.

Kate returns to the sink, washing her hands. She opens the kit, assesses the contents, and washes her hands again, before putting on gloves. “Come sit.”

I take one of the two kitchen chairs, as she bends over me and begins to inspect the wound.

I’m less worried now that I’ve seen the injury, and her cleavage is fucking fantastic. I hold still until she pushes right on the wound and then I suck in a breath.

“I see the bullet in the vest. I think the edge of the metal cut your skin good, and you’ll have a lot of bruising, but…”

“I didn’t actually get shot.”

She shakes her head, that silky hair brushing over her shoulders. Returning to the first-aid kit, she pulls out gauze and tape, and some butterfly stitches, making quick work of the tape job.

But she’s still working when the door bangs open again.

It’s fucking Vigo.

He stalks in, smirking at me even as Kate ducks behind me. I stand, blocking her from view.

“Think he’s going to save you, Kate?” He sneers. “Think again.”

Another man comes in behind Vigo. I assume it’s Vincent and draw in a deep breath, widening my stance.

But Vigo only smiles wider. Crazier.

“This is my cousin, Guerriero. He’s going to keep you both company. He doesn’t speak a lot of English so I wouldn’t bother begging.” Then Vigo spins, saying something in Italian, before the door closes again and the lock clicks.

The other man glares at me, his eyes hard. His bulging muscles, I’m not going to lie, flex impressively. “That’s what ‘roids will do for you,” I say to Kate as I reach back for her hand.

She slips her small silky fingers into mine, pressing to my side.

“Where…you…go?” Guerriero asks, his accent thick.

“Don’t worry, Gorilla,” I give him a toothy grin that’s meant to make me look like the predator I am. “The lady needs to change. We’ll brB.” And then I start toward the small room I see next to the bathroom.

“What you say?”

I don’t answer as I go by Guerriero, who pivots to watch us, and I pick up both my shirts as we pass. “If you can’t find anything else we can put one of my shirts on you.”

“They’re soaked in your blood.”

I look down at her, one of my brows rising. “Trust me, covering that cleavage is worth a bit of blood.”

She gasps, even as I tug her toward the pool changing room.

There isn’t much but there is a robe and a set of men’s swim trunks. She wraps the terry cloth around her, cinching the belt tight.

I know we’ve only got a minute. I’m surprised that ape hasn’t tried to stop me already.

In the corner, I find a pair of flip flops and toss them to her.

They’ve got to be three sizes too big as she slips her tiny feet in them but at least they’re better than those heels.

“Where you?” Guerriero growls.

Tucked in the back of the changing room, I see another door. Softly opening it, I find another room with several pool supplies. A skimmer, a pole, and a long-ass string likely used for one of the pool covers. It’s my lucky fucking day.

That’s when I grin. And I probably look like a crazy person too. Because Guerriero and I are about to tangle.

“Kate. Love,” I whisper. “I’m going to need you to hide.”