Chapter 11
eleven
-Set-
It took me a whole damn day to get a lead. I left last night to meet with some informants. This isn’t something I’m going to let my men handle, especially since they were too damn incompetent to catch the wind of the hit before Whiro did.
It’s a delicate situation, and I’m not going to let any loose ends slip, even though I have an idea of a person or two who could be behind this.
But this isn’t something I can afford to guess about.
I need confirmation. I need to be sure I'm tearing down the right empire, because honestly, I still don't know if this hit has to do with Nick or with me.
Even after spending the last 24 hours dismantling Vegas, I haven’t felt this refreshed in a very long while.
That's probably because sleeping with Serena in my arms was my first decent sleep I’ve had in the last three months.
I had weeks when I didn't even touch the bed.
And when I did try to close my eyes, all I saw were memories of her, replacing any chance of drifting off.
She kept me on the edge of my sanity, like I couldn't exist without her. That’s something very difficult to handle for someone like me.
This is my last meeting of the day, and my best chance of getting something. One of my better informants has also been digging around, and I’m very interested to hear what he has to say.
We’re meeting in a strip joint where he’ll probably blow the money I give him on lap dances. But I know it's safer than a bar. People in this place are usually distracted by things, other than eavesdropping.
I find him sitting at the table in the corner.
He's already ordered and has a half-naked girl parked in his lap. For an informant, he’s pretty oblivious to what happens in these places.
The girls’ job is to make him drink enough to lose track of what he's ordering, then they’d spice up his bill without him noticing, and the army of bodyguards built like bulldozers doesn't leave the unsuspecting customers with much choice. Standard Vegas behaviour.
Not that I give a damn anyway, but I need him fucking awake.
I don't really like this guy, but he’s the only lead I have for now. He's the kind of sleazeball who always sneaks his way into any tiny crack and crevice, and that makes him very useful in this case.
I gesture for the broad to leave and grab myself a chair at his table. "What do you have?" I ask, straight to the point. I don't have time to waste with him.
"Almost nothing," the scared, disappointed tone in his voice ignites a nervous twitch in my arm. Did this idiot really call me here for nothing? "I mean. I'm not completely empty-handed. I've learned something, but I need more time… and some cash."
"Speak." I snap, since he's already toying with my patience.
"Someone accepted the job. It went off the market for now. That makes me think that someone is really good, since the one paying him trusted him enough to seize all other offers. I'm still digging around. I’ll have something soon enough. I just need more money to push."
He's probably lying, and just wants to line his own pockets. Like I'm not paying him enough already. Still he’s been the only one who’s even remotely found a lead till now. And I can't afford to waste any time.
I'll deal with him later. Teach him, I'm not someone to be mistaken for a fool. But I'm not going to kill him. He’d be too much of a loss, and he might come in handy on other occasions.
Just as I’m reaching into my pockets to toss him a stack of greens, I spot a waitress coming toward us. I don’t want to make a show of the amounts I carry around, so I refrain from paying him—for now.
The girl brings us some more ice, then reaches to pour us some whiskey.
And I can’t help but notice the damn thing’s shaking like a leaf.
I know it has something to do with our not so friendly appearance.
I don't usually bother to wipe the danger warnings off my face and my informant looks like he’s fresh out of jail.
But the place is crawling with low-lives, so dealing with someone from the underworld shouldn't be so intimidating to one of the workers.
That makes me think she's new here, especially as I notice a few drops of whiskey spill onto the table.
I raise my gaze to look at her. I hadn't paid much attention earlier because nothing in these kinds of places raises my interest. But now that I take a closer look, I doubt she's even eighteen.
I know where this is all going—today just serving drinks, next week, she's riding the pole, and the month after, she ends up with her throat slit in an alley—or worse.
But it's none of my business. I’ve got enough shit on my mind as it is. So I just take my drink and swirl the ice in the glass to get the whiskey nice and cold as I wait for her to leave so I can pay this guy.
As soon as she does, I throw the stack under a cloth napkin, then push it toward him. "Don't come back empty-handed," I warn him, not bothering to tell him what’ll happen if he does. He already knows what a mistake could cost him.
Reaching for my phone, I text Whiro about what I’ve got, then head out.
I don’t make it to my car, though. Not because that's not where I was heading, but because I run into the waitress again. And since Serena’s clearly fucking with my head, I end up pulling a few hundred-dollar bills from my pocket, along with my business card.
"Hey, kid. Go home. Change. And then head straight to the Sphinx.
Ask for Fernando—he's the Ma?tre d’." My gaze is trained on her, making sure she gets the message.
This is her ride out of hell. "When you find him, give him this card and tell him to give you a waitress job in the eastern section.
The tips there will match what you do here. "
Here I am, the devil, offering salvation—and it’s all on Serena.
"What's… What's the trick?" she asks, doubtful—because everything in this world comes with a price, especially here in Vegas.
"No trick. If Fernando gives you trouble, tell him he can call me." I pause, trying to figure out from the look on her face whether she’ll go through with it or not—but at least I tried. "And kid, don't be spilling my drinks."
My business card doesn't land in many hands, so if she shows up at my hotel, no one will ask questions. They will hire her on the spot no questions asked.
I head home, in desperate need of a few more glasses of whiskey. And maybe some peace and quiet. But I also know things won't go my way because my math hasn't quite fit since Serena came into my life.
And as much as I hate being right this time, I am.
It seems I'm running my mouth around this place for nothing because there’s Serena curled up on the couch with an empty ice cream bucket next to her, and a look on her face like the apocalypse just knocked.
"Are you trying to get on my nerves, or can you just not help yourself?" I mutter, one step away from losing my mind, after I specifically guaranteed her nothing bad would ever happen to her. Not as long as I’m still breathing.
"What did I do now?" she snaps, crossing her arms, like I'm the one with the attitude.
"Stop it," I warn, tired from all the interacting with people I’ve done the last day. I don’t function like this. I can’t function like this.
She suddenly turns on the couch to stare out the window—a move clearly meant to show me just how pissed she is. "I didn't start this," she mutters, still gazing outside.
She did not just turn her back on me.
"Have you been drinking, or what the fuck happened to you while I was out?
" I’m already irritated by her mood swings.
"Are you on your period? Is that it?" I try to find a logical explanation for her attitude.
Because for someone so mad about possibly dying, her survival instincts are seriously shit, if she thinks pushing me is a good idea.
"No, that's not it," she grunts, still refusing to face me. "You want to know what happened to me? You happened to me." This time, she does turn to look at me, a few tears glistening on her cheek. "You with your plans, with your heist, with your killings. You who made me a killer."
I knew that leaving her alone at home wasn't a good idea.
That's not happening ever again. Honestly, I’d rather deal with her general attitude than with all that shit her mind can conjure, given enough time.
Overthinking is an understatement when it comes to Serena, and—to a point—I understand where all this is coming from.
But that doesn't mean I'm going to tolerate it.
It's not even anger that I’m feeling. It's disappointment. I thought she’d get it by now—everything that I did was meant to help her break free from her own imposed restrictions.
That doesn't mean I'm giving up on her. I won’t ever be able to give up on her, no matter what she throws at me, or how hard she fights me back. She could fight me for eternity if it meant loving me for a single day.