Resisting His Charm (Owning Vegas 2nd Gen #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The blade of my knife slices right across his throat.

Warm blood runs over my fingers, and his body thrashes against my hold.

It’s that fight-or-flight instinct that’s built into our DNA.

Because he and I both know there’s no point fighting or attempting to flee his fate.

He fucked up, and I’m here to make sure he doesn’t get the opportunity to do it again.

I let him go and his body slumps to the ground. The fucker is still writhing around, his hands cupping the gash, a last attempt at saving his pathetic life.

“I give it less than sixty-seconds,” Alfie says from where he’s leaning against the concrete wall.

“You’re on.” CJ pulls out a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket. “I think he’s got a bit more fight in him than sixty seconds.”

And that’s the point where I watch the life leave his body, his hands slump away from his neck and blood starts pooling around his head.

It’s kind of artistic. There’s beauty in death if you look for it.

I’m not really a man of the arts, but this is one form I could get behind if ever there was an exhibition.

“Pay up, fucker.” Alfie holds his hand out to CJ, who slaps the hundred-dollar bill into his open palm. “I love being right.” Alfie smirks.

“Are you two just going to sit around holding your dicks or do I have to do all the fucking work around here?” I grunt at my cousins. Then I pick up the cloth and wipe the blade of my knife clean before sliding it back into the sheath on my belt.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Who are we to take that away from you?” CJ retorts.

“Or you’re just too prissy to get your hands dirty,” I tell him as I walk over to the basin and turn on the faucet.

I pump a handful of liquid soap onto my palm and start scrubbing the blood off. If you leave it on there too long, it fucking dries. And do you have any idea how long it takes to dig dried blood out from under your nails? I do, and it’s not a good time.

“My hands are better used elsewhere.” CJ grins. “You should have heard the woman who experienced how good these hands were last night.”

I roll my eyes. I saw that one coming. CJ is a slut. There’s no other way to describe his hobby. I think, at this point, he’s probably going to reach some kind of world record for how many chicks one man can fuck in a lifetime. Or his dick is going to fall off from some kind of incurable STD.

I switch the faucet off, pick up the hand towel, and turn my attention to Alfie. “You organize cleanup?”

“On their way.” He nods. “What he do anyway?”

I tilt my head. “You came here without knowing what the fucker did? Watched me beat the shit out of him and didn’t know why?”

“Figured you had a reason.” Alfie shrugs. “Plus, I was bored.”

“Glad I could be your entertainment.”

“You do put on a good show.” He chuckles.

“He was a cashier at the Wild Card. Security caught him walking out with a hundred K in chips,” I explain.

Our fathers built up their empires from nothing, owning multiple casinos between them along The Strip.

They also took over the Vegas underworld.

Alfie, CJ and I, we’re all destined to take over from our fathers when they decide to retire.

Out of the three of us, I’m the youngest. CJ is two years my senior and Alfie three.

We’ve always been close, raised as cousins even though we share no blood ties.

“How long until cleanup arrives?” I check my watch. I have better things to do than sit around in this fucking basement. Now that I’ve done what I came here to do, the adrenaline has worn off and I’m ready to get the fuck out of this damp shithole.

“Ten. You got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, I do,” I grunt.

“Where you going?” Alfie asks.

“Somewhere old fucks like you aren’t invited.” I laugh.

“Pfft, please, there’s nowhere in this town I’m not getting into.”

“Except that chick’s panties who turned you down last night.” CJ shoves at Alfie’s shoulder.

“Someone turned you down?” I raise a brow. That’s gotta be a blow to his over-inflated ego. I would have paid to see that happen.

“She didn’t turn me down.” Alfie grins. “She just hasn’t come to terms with the fact that she’s going to be in my bed. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Right, well, good luck with that. You guys good if I leave?” I’m in no mood to wait around here any longer.

“Where you going?” CJ asks.

“I’ve got a dinner date,” I tell them.

“A date? You don’t date,” Alfie points out.

“It’s with Imogen, idiot.”

He’s right. I don’t date, but I do make sure I take my little sister out to dinner at least once a week. I’ve been doing this since I was thirteen and she was ten. Although, back then, our mother only let me take her to one of the restaurants within a family-owned casino.

It’s how I get to stay up-to-date with everything that’s happening in her life, especially now that she’s older and drawing the attention of fuckwit boys.

“Have fun,” CJ says. “We got this.”

“You not hungry?” I ask, looking at my sister’s plate of almost-untouched food.

“I’m hungry, but I’m dieting.” Imogen shrugs.

“What the fuck for?”

“Because I want to be thinner,” she says.

“Imogen, eat your fucking food. You don’t need to diet.” I roll my eyes. “Wait… Did someone say you did?”

“Not in those words,” she says. “But I could use to lose a pound or two.”

She really couldn’t. She’s a perfectly-normal, healthy-sized human.

“What do you mean not in those words?” I ask her. Looks like I’ll be getting blood on my hands again before the night’s out.

“Exactly that. I went on a date, with some banker guy. But when I ordered the steak, he looked at me and said: Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the salad? And, well, it got me thinking… Maybe I should be ordering the salad,” she tells me.

“A banker dude? How old was this asshole?” I try to keep my tone neutral. I’m not against my sister dating. I know I can’t stop her from living her life to the fullest. I’m also not a sexist asshole who thinks it’s okay for me to fuck around but not her.

“Five years older.”

“Than you? You’re nineteen, Imogen.”

“Than you.” She smirks.

Five years older than me? That would put him in his late-twenties.

“What the fuck?” I growl.

“I got bored with guys my age. They’re all immature. I thought I’d give it a shot with someone older.”

“Imogen, seriously?” I groan. “Stick to the fuckwits your age.”

“Yeah, I think I’m done.”

“Done with dating?” I raise a brow.

“Done trying to find the one.”

My sister has always been a hopeless romantic. She wants what our parents have, the ultimate love. Me? I do everything I can to avoid that happening.

“Again, you’re nineteen. You don’t need to find the one right now. You need to have fun, live out your dreams.”

“My dream was to fall hopelessly in love and live happily ever after, like mom and dad.” She sighs. “And to become this city’s best weather girl.”

I laugh at that. Imogen just started studying journalism at college, but her dream is to be a weather girl. Not sure why. She’s a fantastic writer but she’s young. I’m sure her dreams will change with time.

“I can’t wait until I can tell everyone I have a famous sister.”

“Thanks.” She beams at me. “I need to dine and dash. I have to be up early for class. You got this?” she asks as she stands.

“When have I ever not got this?”

“First time for everything, Sammie J. Thanks for dinner. Love you.” She leans down and kisses my cheek and then, like a flash, she’s gone.

Pulling out my wallet, I leave a few bills on the table and make my way to the door. I need to get over to Wild Card anyway. Someone has to make an appearance and walk the floor, make the high-rollers feel like they’re part of the family. The more welcomed they feel, the more money they spend.