13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
L una
The tax law quiz had been a beast, and I mentally thanked Drakos for going through valuation with me. That test question had been a convoluted, nasty word problem that I’d relished solving. It had been similar to my conflicted feelings about Roman.
Over the past month, I’d started to thaw toward him. Thinking of Roman made me check my phone. He’d gotten into the habit of texting me after an exam or presentation to see how it went. I pulled out a cinnamon bear from my pocket and brushed off a little lint, then bit it in half and read his text.
Roman: How’d your tax law quiz go?
Luna: It was taxing. I just walked out.
Roman: A tax pun, huh? I don’t have a good return.
Luna: Was that a tax joke? I can’t tell.
Roman: You give me too much credit.
Luna: Was that a tax joke too?
Roman: Let’s stop there. Fiona asked me to meet her at Euphoria. I’ll pick you up.
I stopped and the two students walking behind me had to split up to avoid plowing into me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I looked down at my phone. I typed out a reply, slightly annoyed he’d just demanded and didn’t ask. But the field trips were always interesting, so I let it go.
Luna: Sure, I’ll come. Meet me at home in fifteen minutes.
Roman refused to call or text me when he got to my apartment, instead he always came inside. This time, I waited for him on the stoop as I watched dusk fall over the cemetery surrounding the funeral home.
He grinned when he saw me. “Are you that excited to see me?”
“No, I’m that excited to see Euphoria on a Thursday night. It’s probably different than a weekday at noon.”
Roman inclined his head. “True.”
He wore black pants and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like he was picking me up for a date. That stray thought sent my pulse pounding, but ideas like that were dangerous.
I looked down at my drab clothes. “Should I change?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. You’ll probably be mistaken for law enforcement or a social worker. Do you have anything sparkly?”
I laughed, then realized he was serious. “Hm, no.”
“Anything more celebratory or girls’ night out’?”
“You mean slutty and short?” I asked, trying to get under his skin.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
Grinning, I smacked his shoulder. “I’m teasing you, and I have a dress that might work. Come in while I change.”
He seemed resigned as he walked up the steps. “Alright. I’ll text Fiona and tell her it’ll be another hour.”
Why would it take an hour to change? “No, it won’t.” I could feel disbelief rolling off him.
Sylvie and I bought consignment designer dresses for a friend’s wedding last fall, and I hoped the silky, bronze slip dress would work. I changed into the dress, put on some makeup, and let down my hair.
When I walked out fifteen minutes later, Roman sat on the couch thumbing through my collection of books. He looked up, his body stilled, and his eyes traveled my length. “That will work.” I blushed and heat bloomed in my stomach.
He held up two books. “ The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe and The Joys of Tantric Sex ? Interesting mix.”
“How do you know those are mine?”
He raised his eyebrow, and my face flushed when he held up the tantric sex book. “What have you learned?”
I shrugged and tried to grab the book out of his hands. “It has some ideas I’d like to try sometime.” I pointed to the Poe book. “And he’s still one of my favorite horror authors.”
“What specifically would you like to try?”
The flush on my face spread down my chest and settled in my belly, making my insides pulse. “There’s no way I’m discussing that with you.”
His eyes traveled over my face. “We discuss everything else, and we’re both adults. I think we can handle it.”
He was so wrong. Instead, we talked about Poe during the drive to Euphoria. “’The Tell-Tale Heart’ is his creepiest work,” I insisted, patting his thigh. “The man is slowly going mad, and the description of the beating heart in the floor balances horror and irony perfectly.”
He shook his head. “It might be in the top five, but ‘The Cask of Amontillado’ is more chilling. Being unable to stop someone from burying you alive is the worst form of psychological torture.” The tone in his voice made me wonder what he’d been thinking about.
When we walked into Euphoria, pulsing music hit us. Even with the elevated noise level, the low lights and plush furniture gave off a sensual, intimate quality, and dancers moved across the stages in undulating moves that blatantly simulated sex. When Roman put his hand on my back, goosebumps erupted across my skin.
He leaned in so I could hear him over the noise. “Come sit for a minute, and I’ll let Fiona know we’re here.” His breath brushed across my bare shoulder, and I tried to hide a shiver. Roman smelled faintly of cedar and spice, and the warmth from his hand seeped into me. He’d been an asshole when we first met, but the more time I spent with Roman, the more I grudgingly liked the man. He didn’t seem to like me, though. I needed to keep my head firmly in place and not do anything stupid.
Misty danced on one of the stages, winding herself around a pole, wearing an aqua-colored thong and nothing else. The first time I met her, she explained that the dancers couldn’t be completely naked if the club served alcohol, hence the thong. Her firm, high breasts had likely been augmented, but they weren’t overly large.
Roman led us over to an intimate two-top a couple of rows back from where Misty danced. There were chairs around the edge of the stage, and a few men sat there, empty glasses and detritus strewn on the bar ledge in front of them.
A pretty server in skintight boy shorts and a small off-the-shoulder blouse came over. “Welcome to Euphoria. My name’s Candy. What can I get you to drink?”
Roman bent his head near the girl’s ear. “Let Fiona know Roman is here. And I’ll have a whiskey neat.” He turned to me.
“A perfect vodka martini with a twist, straight up, please.” I raised my voice above the music.
Candy turned and blatantly scanned Roman. “One whiskey neat, and one perfect vodka martini, lemon twist, straight up.” She smiled and walked off, her ass and hips swaying provocatively.
Roman kept his eyes on me. “A vodka martini?”
“You seem surprised.”
“You’re a young woman. That demographic usually likes sweet, fruity drinks.”
“And your demographic likes whiskey, so you didn’t surprise me at all.”
He smirked. “I’ll have to work on that.”
Were we… flirting? I couldn’t shake the feeling this was more than just Roman visiting one of his clients. His head suddenly jerked up, and he stood. I turned and saw a man take Misty by her neck and cock his fist back.
“No!” I screamed. Misty jerked back, but the man caught her on the side of her mouth. He then tried to slam her head into the stage, but she jabbed his crotch with her long fingernails and squeezed. The man grunted in pain but didn’t let go of her.
I started toward Misty, not understanding what was happening. Why would a patron attack one of the dancers? The squat, rotund man moved fast for someone his size. His dirty-blond hair was slicked back into a ratty ponytail, and he had gaudy gold rings on his fingers.
Another man stood in front of the attacker, and when he saw Roman bearing down, his hand slid behind his back, probably reaching for a gun. In a flash, Roman picked up a highball glass off a table and threw it at the second man’s head. He ducked and stumbled, and Roman lunged forward, kicking him in the thigh, then followed up with a quick punch to his neck. The man fell to his knees and started choking.
Scooting around them, I dove toward Misty. The ponytail guy still had ahold of her neck, and I grabbed his hair and tugged on it as hard as I could. “Let go of her!”
He yelled, released Misty, and turned on me. I tried to back up and give myself room to dodge him, but a chair got in my way. Grabbing my wrist, he tried to yank me to him, but Roman wrapped his arm around the attacker’s throat from behind and stuck a gun to his temple. “Let her go, or I’ll put a bullet through your walnut-sized brain, Strack.”
The man let go of my wrist and put his hands up. “Okay. Okay, man. It was just a misunderstanding. The bitches are fine.”
“If you touch either one of them again, I will end you. Tell me you understand.” Roman’s arm tightened around his neck.
“I understand,” the man choked out. But he stared at me with mean, dead eyes while he answered Roman. Samuel and another bouncer appeared and subdued the two men, and I turned to Misty, who stood holding her face.
A half-hour later, we sat in Fiona’s office. She leaned against the corner of her antique desk, scowling at everyone in the room. Misty sat huddled on the couch next to me, wearing a robe and holding an ice pack to her mouth.
I put my arm around her and patted her shoulder. “That was a nice jab to his crotch.”
Misty pulled an icepack off her swollen mouth and winced as her split lip started bleeding. “Don’t make me smile. It’s been a shit night.”
Fiona cocked her head at me. “Will you help Tiny get Misty cleaned up? Roman and I need to talk.”
Misty grabbed my hand and squeezed. “No. I want her to sit in on your conversation and tell me exactly what you plan to do.” She looked up at Samuel and her face flushed. “And his name is Samuel, not Tiny. He’ll help me get cleaned up.”
Fiona stared at Misty for a few seconds, then turned to Samuel. “Do you prefer Samuel?”
“Yes. Or Sam is fine.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off Misty.
“Alright.” Fiona pointed to me. Do you know this woman?”
“Yeah. I first met her when she came here with Roman. She’s the one who gave us the idea to ask for benefits, and she helped me from getting beaten up even worse tonight.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Fiona turned to Roman. “Thank you for getting Lionel off her, and fuck your intern for putting the idea of benefits in their heads. Do you have any idea how much that cost us?” Roman’s eyebrow went up, and he turned to me.
Misty kept going. “We’ve also hung out. Luna works at the mortuary where my aunt’s funeral was held, and she invited us to Sunday poker brunch there. It was pretty fly. I mean, have you ever been to a party at a funeral home? We plan to go next month too. So yeah, I know her. We’re friends.”
Roman stared at me. “You invited Fiona’s dancers to poker brunch?”
“Well, not all of them. But they’re welcome if they want to come.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“No.”
“No?” he asked slowly.
“I didn’t tell you. Misty did.” I turned to her. “Do you need us to take you to the hospital? You have health insurance now.” Fiona rolled her eyes, but I saw her lips twitch.
Misty smiled and winced again. “No. They won't tell me anything I don’t already know. But I do want to get cleaned up.” She stood and walked over to Samuel, then took his hand. “We’ll be in the dressing room if you need us.”
They walked out together, and Fiona turned to Roman. “One of Strack’s sons got past our new bouncer.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
Roman’s jaw clenched. “Lionel Strack. His brother is Jerome, and their father’s name is Silas Strack. They’re all psychotic and dangerous, with different but equally repugnant reputations. Do you remember the men at the country club I warned you about?” I nodded. It had been my first day interning with him.
“They’re part of a larger drug syndicate here in Vegas, and they own several shell companies and businesses.”
“What types of businesses?” I asked.
“Those that take cash and are less mainstream, like massage parlors, strip clubs, pawn shops, or nightclubs.”
I turned to Fiona. “Why did he attack Misty?”
“Intimidation. They want to launder money through Euphoria,” Fiona answered. She gazed at Roman. “Your firm is a silent partner, but I think it’s time to make it public. We also need to discuss additional protection–I expect a partner discount.” She gave him a knowing look, then stood and started pacing, her hands on her hips. “I detest those lowlife bastards. They’re like cockroaches. They always come back, and they never seem to die. Lionel attacked one of my girls out in the open and on stage. I know they did it to spook my dancers. This needs to stop.”
On the way home, I stared out the window. Roman seemed lost in thought, and I mulled over what I’d learned. “All these field trips we go on, you’re checking in with your business interests, aren’t you?”
Roman didn’t speak.
“What about Sin City Motorheads? And that sprawling pawn shop we went to a few weeks ago?” He didn’t answer, which was answer enough. “Is that why Ivan sometimes does background checks on your clients? Because you’re vetting them as potential business partners?”
He stirred. “It’s legal to have clients as business partners in Nevada, as long as the arrangement is fair and reasonable, they consent in writing–”
I waved my hand. “I know all that. How many of these businesses that we’ve been visiting does your firm have a stake in?”
He studied me. “Most of them.”
“Even the Wild West Chapel?”
“Not that one.”
I stared ahead, trying to grasp the implications of how deeply they’d enmeshed themselves into the Las Vegas business sector. “I make a good cover, don’t I? You dragging your intern around to the businesses you supposedly do legal work for. But the reality is, you own or have a partnership in most of them. Do you know how they all run?”
“Mostly. Ivan knows more about the two tech companies than I do.”
Two tech companies. Jesus, no wonder these guys were loaded. “What do the Stracks want?”
Roman sighed. “Access to businesses to help them launder money. They’ve been successful with several establishments they don’t own but just have an… arrangement with, but Silas is a greedy fucker.”
He walked me up to my apartment. “We need to talk. Invite me inside.”
I unlocked the door and hesitated, but he quirked an eyebrow. “Come in,” I sighed, too tired to fight.
Kicking off my shoes, I pulled out the filtered water pitcher and poured us both a glass, downing mine.
He took a sip and watched me over the rim. “I need you to accompany me to a black-tie event on Saturday night. If you recall, our deal includes occasional weekend events.”
“I don’t have enough time or money to find anything to wear.” The thought of him taking one of those women I’d seen him with online tightened my stomach, but I shoved it aside. “You should find someone else.”
“No, and I’ll send something over.”
I huffed out a breath. “I really hate that word.”