Chapter Seven
Phoebe
THE CLIP JOINT (CONTINUED)
Men are clustered around Rocky, laughing and drinking and drunkenly flirting with another bottle girl. She’s halfway splayed over a buff guy who’s likely a pro athlete, chitchatting with her breasts in his face.
This is her actual job.
She’s likely better at it than me, and I can’t even be impressed or envious. Not when Rocky is fixated on me. His powerful gaze descends my body in a languid, hot stroke, like he’s making rough, sensual love to me from afar.
I’m lassoed and fastened to his captivating aura. To the way he wants me and covets me in one glance. I can’t break away, and a pounding feeling is reaching inside of me, pumping my blood, quickening my pulse. More. Something in me is screaming and ripping and pleading for more of this feeling. More of him?
I don’t like it.
I’m scared I’ll miss it when it’s gone.
“Baby,” Henry coos, his hands slinking down my hips.
Rocky passes his cigar to the athlete, no longer focused solely on me. My heart nose-dives. Rocky’s dazzling grin lights up his photogenic features.
His spirited laugh is infectious, the bright noise commanding the entire group of men. They share in the sound. He pats another guy on the back and motions to a server. He holds up three fingers.
She nods.
“Another round.” Rocky celebrates loudly enough for me and most of the VIP sections to hear.
They hoot and holler.
“You’re the man, Cooper!” another mark yells to Rocky.
Cooper isn’t footing that bill.
Cooper will disappear and leave them to pay.
But right now, he’s the man of their dreams. He’ll be their nightmare later.
Henry yanks me back onto his lap. My shoulders thump against his chest, and as his hand dives between my legs, I grip his wrist and flip around to face him, my playful smile in check. “That’s not part of the show.”
He grins. “It could be. Couldn’t it?”
I mull this over with a teasing smirk.
“Come on,” he breathes, fingering the strap of my bra. “What about for the right price?”
“The right price?”
“Everyone has a price, sweetheart. Even your pussy.” He laughs like it’s a sexy joke, but he’s not joking.
“For you, sir...” Hailey interjects, placing the new champagne bottle in the ice bucket. Her eyes flit to me for half a second, but I pretend not to notice.
Henry gives Hailey a seedy, slithering once-over. It’s now that I stiffen, that my stomach unsettles. Don’t look at her like that blares in my head like a blowhorn.
He must feel me go rigid because he laughs and turns his attention on me. “Jealous, aren’t you?”
I sense Hailey leaving.
“You’re mine, remember?” I tease. “I like attention.”
“Oh, I can give you all the attention you want, Angel.”
I hate my alias. Angel. Whatever. Oliver chose it. He thought it’d be funny.
As Henry gropes me again, I don’t know how I feel other than unbothered. It’s me. Not Hailey. I can live with that.
A groan rumbles from his throat. He grabs my hair in a tight fist. “You have a back room here?”
I slide my hand against his jaw in a caress. “This way.” With my other hand, I take his palm off my ass. His grip on my hair loosens.
Quickly, I begin to lead him to the back, and within a minute of trekking through the club-goers and servers, Rocky suddenly cuts off our path.
He’s blocking me and the mark.
“Excuse me,” I say, but I don’t try to pass.
“You’re leaving already?” His covetous gaze caresses against me, and my breath jettisons, my body blazes, and I couldn’t name this feeling for a million dollars.
Lust is too ruthless, and love is too tender. What I feel for Rocky is something crafted solely for him and me.
“She’s leaving with me.” Henry suddenly pushes out front. “Who are you?”
Rocky grins a shit-eating fuck you grin. “No one to you. I’m just interested in her.” He looks down at me. “What’s your name?”
“Angel.” I cross my arms, more standoffish toward him than to Henry.
“Angel, that’s pretty—”
“She’s with me,” Henry forces. “Move.”
“At what price?” Rocky asks me. “I’ll double what he’s paying.”
“I... I don’t know what he’s paying.” I play confused.
Henry goes red in the face the longer I stare at him, waiting for an answer. “Two thousand.”
“Five grand,” Rocky announces. “You and me, Angel.”
I look to Henry like he’s my knight in shining armor. I don’t want to be bought by the wrong man. Please, save me. “Do you have more?” I whisper, trying not to wish for Rocky.
“Seven.”
Rocky grimaces, a little ticked off. “Ten.”
“Fifteen.” Henry sees that Rocky has a limit somewhere.
“Thirty,” Rocky says like it’s a sledgehammer. The knockout punch.
I squeeze the life out of Henry’s hand. Before he hesitates, I whisper, “You can do anything to me. Anything you want.”
Lust is more potent than a drug. His gaze is on my tits and ass. He bites his lip, and I’m outside of my body, watching his leering eyes from a distance.
Rocky’s jaw muscle tics. His gaze darkens and knifes into Henry. He’s silently seething, maybe partly for show. I see him curl his fingers into fists at his sides, but I’m surprised when he pockets them.
For the shortest, rawest second, I look deeper at Rocky.
Fight harder for me, I want.
I intake a sharp breath. I want. I want. I want. I’m swallowed inside the tornadic desire. The screaming and clawing and yearning inside of me that circulates at a vicious rate.
I want him.
Don’t I? Isn’t that what this feeling means?
His whole body is strained. Maybe because he knows he has to give me up. He isn’t supposed to outbid the mark.
He isn’t supposed to have me.
“Fifty thousand,” Henry suddenly announces, his hand on my ass.
“Fuck,” Rocky grits out, venom in his eyes. How much is real—I couldn’t even say. He needs to look angry about losing, but he’s not storming away.
“Let’s go,” I tug Henry toward the back room, a knot lodging in my throat.
I try to swallow it.
And just like that, Rocky is gone. Lost in the throngs of VIPs, bottle girls, and more servers. I approach a red velvet door. The back room is rigged with a silent alarm, and as soon as I open it, an alert will ping Nova.
We go inside.
The room itself is empty except for another leather couch and bucket of ice with Dom.
I drop his hand. “Thanks for that back there. Want a drink to start?”
“No, I want you.” His meaty hands grip my waist, pulling me closer.
I laugh. “Hold on, cowboy.” I shimmy away from his hands. “It has to be up front first.”
“Later.”
“My boss will be pissed. It has to be now.” Come on, Nova.
His face is flushed, eyes still glazed from the alcohol. I take a playful step backward, but Henry stalks forward as if it’s a game.
“I’m serious,” I tell him with the tilt of my head, my pulse in my ears. “Up front.”
He’s out of breath. “Later.” He reaches to grab me. I try to shove my instincts down—to let him touch me and not break character.
Drop your arms, Phoebe.
Don’t push him.
Don’t push him.
He clutches my hips, and the door swings open.
I step out of his hold faster than a bolt of lightning, and relief washes over me when Nova enters the room, his suit crisp and tailor-made for his six-one build.
“Fifty for the room with her,” Nova tells the mark. He has the face of a no-bullshitter. He means business, and I can only assume he crossed paths with Rocky, who told my brother the price of the deal.
“Who the fuck are you?” Henry wobbles on his feet.
“The manager of the fucking club you’re in,” Nova curses. “Fifty thousand, what you promised if you’re actually good for it. If you can’t pay, someone else will, and you can get the fuck out of my club.”
With all the alcohol and service charges, his bill is going to be higher than that.
“I’m good for it.” Henry sways but takes out his wallet. He hands Nova a credit card.
“Go grab some protection,” Nova tells me.
God. What every sister dreams of hearing from her older brother.
Bury me tomorrow when I burn up replaying this mortifying moment. I say nothing and go into the bathroom, where a silk robe is hanging on a hook. Quickly, I tie the black robe around my body.
Nova slips inside.
With buzzed dark hair, designer suit, and skin tanned from the sun, Nova carries himself like every morning is a battle. Every night is a war. And there’s no rest when in combat. But the only person I think he’s battling is himself.
Oliver says he’s neurotic.
I think he’s just trying hard. Really hard. To not fuck up like our dad did. To prove to the godfather that he’s more capable and dependable.
He has the portable credit card reader in his right hand. “You’re done for the night.”
I’m not surprised. This was probably the biggest payout of the day, and I shouldn’t screw someone else. It’d draw more suspicion. There are people here who won’t feel scammed in the morning. Those people are the ones who keep returning and urging their friends to come along, too.
“Cool,” is all I say.
He has Henry’s credit card hostage, but he can’t dillydally. He studies my eyes. “Platypus?”
I smile. We came up with that code when we were kids—me, Oliver, and Nova. Platypus means we feel like we’ve fallen flat on our stomachs. Splat, Oliver would say and fall belly down on a mattress. It’s funny that we didn’t choose armadillo.
Actual roadkill.
We just chose a duck-billed mammal that floats on its stomach. I guess losing yourself inside a con doesn’t make you feel run over.
It’s something else.
“No.” I shake my head. “Polar bear.”
The king of the arctic, Nova said at twelve. Polar bears think humans are easy prey.
Nova relaxes a fraction. “Okay, good. I’ll text you when you can leave.”
“Perfect.” I lean on the bathroom sink. “See you later, big brother.”
He shoots me a look like I’m insane. Henry could’ve heard me, but I wasn’t even that loud. “Be careful,” he whisper-growls, and then he’s gone.
I’m stuck in the bathroom.
Sitting on the toilet lid, I scroll on my phone and try not to picture Nova and Henry. Or worse, Rocky.
What I know is happening: Nova will return with another bill after already charging the fifty thousand. He’ll ask for a wire transfer or more credit cards. The bill will be heavily inflated for bottle service, gratuity, and every service charge under the sun.
Henry will balk and ask where I went. Nova will tell him that I’m coming back and to wait for me. After some coaxing, Henry will pay the extra bill and he’ll wait in the room until his suspicion grows. Then he’ll return to the club to try and track down Nova or me. He won’t find either of us. If he tries to ask where we went, everyone will say we already left.
What I know won’t happen: he won’t report us—not when he paid for sex. He won’t tell his friends because that would mean facing the embarrassment of being duped. And no one likes to be made a fool of.
In the end, he’ll slump on home and convince himself that this night was just one of misfortune. A wave of bad luck.
Once Nova’s text pings my phone, I leave for the club’s private dressing room. I try to keep my head down, but like a cosmic slap in the face, I lift my gaze and I see Rocky in a darkened corner. He’s lip-locked with the redhead who’d been dancing on the pole.
Muscles twitch around my mouth. Am I trying to smile or not vomit? I let out the longest sigh of my life, and I work my jaw to force out these feelings. But they still tumble strangely in my stomach. My eyes burn, even after I’ve reached the dressing room, pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans, and left the club.
I take a cab to the heart of the Vegas strip. I’m lost among the lights, street performers, and bachelor parties.
Yet, he still finds me, even without modern novelties like sharing my location on a phone or a text to say I’m right here.
I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the Bellagio fountains, but my back is to the water that arches and dives in mesmeric patterns. I’m just staring out at a fake Eiffel Tower. It glitters in the night.
Rocky slides beside me, close enough that we could either be friends or sudden acquaintances. I wonder if other people constantly analyze their body language and question how others are perceiving them. I wonder if this is just something con artists have to be paranoid about.
“Am I that predictable?” I ask him under my breath.
“To me. Yeah.” He still wears the same expensive suit, but his commanding smile and eyes are gone. “I didn’t think you’d be anywhere else.”
This isn’t our first time in Vegas. Or my first time viewing the Eiffel Tower light show. It’s my favorite part of Sin City, and not because I’ve never been to Paris and it’s the closest I’ll ever come. But because it’s Fake Paris.
A replica of the real thing. I guess I appreciate the fa?ade.
Rocky loves the Masquerade Hotel & Casino more, but I can’t help but get stuck here.
“You all right?” he suddenly asks in a deep, husky breath. It sounds like a whisper only meant for my ears.
“Are you all right?” I volley back, finally looking into his eyes. “Your tongue disappeared back there. Thought maybe we opened a magic club instead of a nightclub.”
His lips twitch into a smile. “Funny.”
“Funny like ha-ha or funny like go fuck yourself?” I ask.
“Definitely like go fuck yourself.”
I laugh under my breath, and it feels like a truly genuine emotion tonight. Except it wheezes out like a dying hyena as I remember his lips and her lips. I’m cringing. “Did you get her number? Going on a fun date tomorrow?” I try not to appear desperate for the answer, but I’m standing on the very edge of the question, prepared to free-fall.
“No and no.” He checks over his shoulder. “You know I don’t date anyone I meet on jobs. Not for real, anyway.”
Dating is a hot-button topic among the Tinrocks and Graves. Unless it’s a relationship for a con, most of us rarely get past the third-date stage.
After the third date, everything gets more serious. More personal and risky. And there’s only so much of our true selves we’re allowed to share.
Sex is easier for all of us. Sex barely has any strings. Sex can even have no names. I wonder if our moms ever considered that they’d end up raising promiscuous, relationship-phobic kids.
Rocky glances back at me. “She was just trying to dodge some fucking jackass at the club.”
“So you stuck your tongue down her throat?”
He lifts his brows. “After I pulled her away from him and said she was with me, yeah—she kissed me.”
This hurts. It shouldn’t hurt, but being in a fake relationship is something he does often with me. “How chivalrous.”
“I probably enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed that fucking...” He trails off as malice seeps from his voice, unable to find a suitable term for Henry. “That fuck all over you.”
“It was fine,” I mutter, a numbness swirling. I roll up my sweatshirt sleeves.
Rocky takes a deep breath. “But seriously, Phebs.”
“Seriously what?”
“Are you all right?” he asks again.
His concern knocks into me. “Yeah. I am.” I shrug. “It was easy.” Something gnaws at me. Guilt, maybe? I just hate that it was so easy. “Was it supposed to be hard?”
He stares back out at the sparkling, fake Eiffel Tower. “I don’t know.”
Me either.
After the light show ends, we walk a few blocks down the strip, passing club promoters who try to entice us with our names on guests lists and free VIP tables. One guy is one hundred percent a scammer. He’s asking a couple girls for twenty bucks up front through PayPal. It doesn’t always take one to know one, but the girls are falling for his act.
As we pass the promoter, Rocky sends him an intrusive, intense look that causes him to stumble over his words.
“And... uh, yeah, you know what,” the scammer says to the girls. “It’s on me. Don’t worry about PayPal.”
We never slow our stride, and I tell Rocky, “Keep that up and people are going to think your heart is moral.”
His lip nearly twitches into a smile. “That’s the point. Make everyone believe I’m an upstanding citizen. Wholesome.” He thinks for a second. “People like him just hate looking into their reflections and seeing what’s staring back. I know what I really am.”
“You like looking at yourself?”
He raises his brows at me like I’m a breath from calling him Narcissus. “I don’t have a problem with it. Do you?”
With looking internally at myself? With contemplating my immoral deeds? Henry was a fucking slimeball, and I block out how his hands slid over my ass and the smell of his bad breath. And I just revel in the fact that he’s out of pocket a large, embarrassing sum.
I don’t regret it.
“I can look at myself,” I tell Rocky. “The mirror isn’t really my enemy.” I’m happy that I contributed to tonight’s victory and payout.
I’m useful.
He says little in reply. We continue our casual pace along the strip. Enough space between us that we could be strangers, but not when our gazes catch for longer than a second.
We could be friends.
The distance begins to shrink with each step. His fingers brush against my fingers, and a tingling sensation accelerates my pulse.
We could be secret lovers.
Reaching a hot dog stand, we break apart, and I know we are none of those things and something else entirely.
We grab some street food before taking a cab back to the penthouse.
Rocky and I share the quiet with each other, and it’s a comfortable silence until we hit the glitzy elevator.
He turns to me. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he breathes. “About it being easy.”
“Yeah?” Goosebumps line my skin.
“Yeah.” He nods, his gunmetal eyes on mine. “And I think if it were hard for us, we’d be bad at our jobs. It’s supposed to be easy. We’re supposed to enjoy it.”
“I thought you said you didn’t enjoy it?” Didn’t he insinuate that?
“Not kissing a stranger,” he tells me. “Gaining their trust. That’s power. It felt fucking good.” A frown knots his brows. “Didn’t it for you?”
Yes. I like power.
It makes me feel safe.
I’m also afraid of it. We don’t watch the numbers tick higher as we ascend. Our gazes are on each other. An understanding breathes between us like pure oxygen.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “It did feel good.”
A string of yearning pitches my pulse. Step closer, Rocky. Touch me, Rocky. I want you all over me, Rocky. I imagine him thrusting me against the elevator buttons. I imagine him gripping my face with the fierce affection of a lover, of a come-hell-or-high-water companion.
I imagine his heart hammering against my heart. A carnal ache winds through me in a torturous, torrid beat.
His gaze flits to my lips.
My breathing shallows, and yet, we’re the same side of a magnet. Unwilling and unable to unite. I’ve never kissed him outside of a job. His lips have only touched mine with stipulations attached. This is just for our roles.
I already hear my mom. “Look how attractive he is, bug. Look at how he’s looking at you. He adores you.”
The men she chooses are... not good men, and yet, she wants me with Rocky so badly.
The obstinate pieces of me resist her advice to go after him. She once told me, “He’s so cute, bug. Look at him. I think he likes you, too.”
“I don’t like him,” I lied.
I trust my mom completely, but when it comes to which men I should be with, it’s about the only advice I dump in the garbage can.
I feel myself resisting the draw toward him, but Rocky turns his head away first.
He hasn’t made a move on me outside of a con, and I doubt he ever will.
I’m numb as I exit the elevator, floating into a great, endless nothingness.