Chapter One
Six Months Later
Iris
The cocktails slosh around on the tray, threatening to spill over the edges as I maneuver around the tables, cleverly dodging the hands that reach out to touch me. I toss back a warning glare at the owner of the wandering hands and receive an innocent look back, one that’s followed by a silly grin.
I don’t take it to heart, don’t bother calling security either.
Working at bars for as long as I have has always meant dealing with drunks who can sometimes try to cop a feel.
One can hardly call security over every rogue hand that wanders “accidentally” to your hip so I’ve learned to evade them and only call out for help when I feel threatened.
I’ve learned to take care of myself. When one is dealt the cards the world has dealt me, you don’t have a choice in the matter.
With another glare at the customer, I manage to make my way to the table without spilling a drop, leaving everyone with their expensive drinks and leering stares. I don’t breathe easy until I’m back behind the counter.
“Busy night,” Tracey says, sliding next to me and dropping her tray next to mine. “There must be something in the air tonight. Everyone is giving me the creeps!”
“Must be the new members,” I tell her, preparing my next orders, an arrangement of colorful cocktails which are always my favorite to make. “They won’t last the night if they don’t get with the class of the place.”
I silently agree with her, turning to sweep my gaze over the bar, taking it all in. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, the sweet scent of tobacco and excitement. The bar itself is miles away from the one I worked at before. Back when I was still Elizabeth Grundy.
The little bar I worked at in Austin was old and run down but this one… It’s a gleaming expanse of polished wood, reflecting the colorful glow of the slot machines in the background. It speaks of wealth, just like the power allowed in it. Elysium.
An exclusive members-only casino that men with seven-figure salaries beg to be let in.
Some of those patrons wrongly assume they can do whatever they want in here considering the money they pay for a membership but no matter how much influence they have outside of these walls, it means nothing in here.
Touching the staff is out of bounds, as they will soon come to learn.
No one steps out of line in a casino run and owned by the most dangerous men in all of Vegas.
“If you’re nervous about going out there to serve drinks, I’ll take your tables,” I offer, turning to Tracey.
She might be a year older than me but she’s green to all this.
I’ve had experience dealing with scummy men way before I even started working in bars.
Losing parents at the tender age of seventeen leaves you vulnerable to all kinds of people and situations.
Heck, I would have drowned ages ago if I hadn’t learned how to take care of myself.
“Why don’t you mix the drinks and I’ll grab them after I take these to my table? ”
“No, I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not,” I say with a smile, lifting my tray, ready to dive back into the chaos. “I’ll drop these off then come back for your orders and…”
My words trail off, and I feel my heartbeat spike, racing fast enough to send me into a near cardiac arrest. Standing by the entrance of the bar is the one person I’ve tried and failed to ignore for months.
The very person that sends my pulse drumming and body pulsing in ways it never should around anyone.
One look, just a single look is enough to send a ball of lust settling in my gut.
My nipples harden painfully behind my top and that spot between my legs begins to pulse.
Christ!
I find myself frozen to the floor as he walks in, eyes the color of rich whiskey, coldly moving around the crowd with enough intensity to send some of the men straightening up.
Rogue hands disappear under the table and the air in the bar changes as the man strides in—all steely-eyed with a hard look that would send even the strongest scrambling to hide but all it does is melt my heart. And other parts of me too.
He looks so freaking hot, standing at the entrance, bathed in the garish glow of the overhead lights.
I stand frozen—a little hypnotized—taking in those broad shoulders and muscles barely hidden underneath that black shirt.
His shirtsleeves are rolled to the elbows to expose forearms corded with muscles, thick veins and dark ink.
The top button of his collar is undone to reveal hints of the tan skin and another line of ink that disappears to that firm chest. My eyes follow the line of his muscular body to the narrow waist but quickly look away before I can allow myself to look any further.
“Oh, thank God he’s here!” Tracey whispers from behind me. “Everyone is terrified of Ghost. Now these assholes won’t act up if they don’t want to lose an arm.”
“Yeah,” I say with a dreamy sigh as my eyes track his movements.
Ghost.
The name spins around in my mind even as I think over Tracey’s words and she’s right. Everyone is terrified of the man they call Ghost. Rarely does he come to the casino floor and when he does, it’s always because someone is in trouble. He commands respect just by…being.
I should know better than to fall into the charm of the quiet man.
I’m too messed up, a little too broken to fall in love with anyone.
I know better than to let my guard down enough to develop an interest in a man after so many months of hiding.
One slip, one accidental social media post or a word to the wrong person would send an army of very dangerous men coming after me.
Besides, any relationship I develop would be based upon a lie.
Iris Turner, the woman I was forced to become, is manufactured—created out of necessity.
For months, I’ve learned to be her. I hardly frown anymore when people call me by the wrong name.
Haven’t slipped in months when introducing myself to strangers.
It doesn’t make me sad anymore when I look at my ID and realize that I have to go by a name some intern probably pulled out of a hat.
Elizabeth Grundy is dead. Killed months ago when she decided to testify against the cartel.
But Iris…Iris is normal. She isn’t hiding from the cartel.
Iris is not in witness protection for sending a kingpin to prison.
She’s just a normal girl who mixes drinks at an exclusive members-only casino, Elysium.
She is well-liked by her coworkers and customers, and has her own little apartment in town, where she lives alone.
Her life is normal, boring even. But it’s perfect. Safe.
I’ve worked so darn hard to be her—to shed my past and start afresh.
Guarded the secret of my real identity, keeping a safe distance from anyone who tried to pry too closely into my past. A relationship with a man would only threaten the secret I’ve held close to my heart for months.
One slip and they’d figure me out for a fraud.
Then the life I’ve carefully crafted in Las Vegas would fall apart.
I can’t afford that.
But the moment I first saw Ghost six months ago, all six-four, earthy brown eyes, dark blond mussed hair and rugged muscles, I knew I stood no chance.
I’ve fallen so hard for a man I’ve never said a word to. A man who works and belongs to the Steel Sinners Motorcycle Club—a criminal organization that could darn well ruin my life if I got tangled up with them. Have I not learned my lesson?
Stupid.
Foolish.
Careless.
“Your drinks are going flat, Iris.”
Tracey’s words pull me back to the present and I force my eyes away from the man, intent on ignoring him as I cross the bar to serve the drinks.
No stray hands reach out to touch me and the men at the other tables barely glance at me.
They know better than to do that shit around Ghost if they want to leave this place with all their limbs intact.
Somehow, I make it to the table and back behind the bar without falling over, a nervous wreck from being in the same room as the man who turns my legs to jelly.
I try not to let my eyes stray to him and when one stool empties and another man takes it, I welcome the distraction, rushing to the customer.
“Hey, how are you doing? What can I get you?” I ask cheerfully, even as all my senses remained tuned to the man across the room. Distracted.
“I’ll take a Stella,” a gruff voice answers.
I flash the man a distracted smile as I turn around to get him his beer, trying and failing in my attempt to not steal glances at Ghost. Christ, he looks so freaking hot.
I don’t miss the suggestive glances he gets from some of our female customers or staff, and I don’t care for the spike of jealousy those looks draw out of me.
Ghost is forbidden. To the staff as much as he is to the customers. All the Steel Sinners are. They don’t flirt or socialize with outsiders, and anyone who’s not in the MC club is considered an outsider.
Still, it doesn’t hurt to look.
To…want.
Snap out of it, Iris!
I shake my head as I turn back to the customer with his beer, putting on a smile as I pass it over to him.
“Here you go,” I say with the cheery smile I reserve for customers.
When he offers his card to pay, I reach over to take it but stop when I spot something on his hand.
A tattoo that disappears into the sleeve of his jacket.
My eyes shoot up to his face and that’s when I see something I was too distracted to notice earlier.
For the second time in one night, I find myself stunned.
This one slams into me, a cold wave that steals my breath and not in a good way.
Not in the way Ghost did earlier. Saliva dries in my mouth and my heart hammers against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
My vision blurs for a moment, so I blink, hoping this is some cruel trick of the light but when my vision clears, he’s still there.
I don’t recognize the dark eyes of the man seated across from me, watching me as one would prey.
But I recognize, more than anything, the tattoo on his neck.
The clink of glasses, the murmur of conversations and the rhythmic chime of the slot machines all fade away and all I can hear is static.
The world tilts, just a fraction but it’s enough to throw me off.
Slowly, my eyes move from the familiar tattoo of two entwined vipers on the man’s neck and back to the unfamiliar face.
God, I don’t recognize that face but every line of it is etched with a cruelty I know all too well.
I stare at the man, afraid to move or speak.
And when the edge of his mouth tugs up, it sends an icy tendril that snakes its way down my spine.
It grips my throat, making it hard to breathe.
No.
Please God. No!
My legs feel like lead, rooted to the spot.
I want to run, to scream, to disappear. Poof away if I could.
But I’m frozen, paralyzed by the sight of this stranger who carries with him a physical mark of my past. My muscles are locked and only move when the man’s hand shoots up like a viper’s and grips my wrist, pulling me hard over the bar counter until his face is only inches apart from mine.
“Don’t make a fucking sound,” he grinds, his mouth stretching further into what would be considered a smile if it didn’t look so sinister.
“We’ve been looking all over for you, Elizabeth. ”
Oh, God.
I bite hard on my lip to stop myself from making a sound when his grip tightens on my wrist. “I have a message for you.” The grin falls and those eyes turn cold.
“The leader of Víboras Gemelas has been dying to meet you in person, Elizabeth.” Hearing him say out loud the name of the cartel whose leader I testified against sends fear settling in my stomach like lead. “Look forward to it, soon.”
And then he lets me go, grabs his beer and without another word, turns around and disappears into the crowd.
My hands start to tremble and the rest of me follows. I feel a wave of nausea, the room spinning. The happy faces of the other patrons, the clicking glasses, the bright lights—all of it fades and the world shrinks around me. Suffocating me.
They found me. They’re going to kill me.
I need...God, I need…
I’m moving. I don’t know when it starts but somehow, I get my feet to move because I’m pushing away from the crowd, slapping at any hand that tries to reach out to me, to steady me. I can’t bear to be touched. It feels like ants on my skin and I can’t scratch them away.
I push through a door, finding relief when I realize it’s a bathroom and barely make it to a sink before I lose all my dinner into the bowl.
My stomach heaves painfully when I’ve poured everything and I don’t realize I’m crying until I reach up to touch my wet cheeks but Christ, I don’t have time to cry.
I rinse my mouth and splash water over my face but it’s no use as the tears continue to fall.
I scramble for my phone in the back pocket of my skirt and contact Henry, the US Marshall assigned to my case but the call sends me voicemail.
My fingers are trembling when I send him a text with the emergency codeword to alert the agent of danger, but I receive no response.
I dial his number again, choking back a sob when it sends me straight to voicemail again.
When my knees go weak, I stumble into a stall and lower myself on the toilet seat, dialing the number over and over again but it keeps sending me to voicemail. A wretched sob tears through my chest and the tears blind me until I can’t see the screen anymore.
For years, I’ve made do with the cards the universe dealt me.
A naive part of me believed a white knight would come to save me, rescue me from the hell I was forced to live in.
Stupid. Yet, I held onto that hope when I lost my parents and when I saw that poor man murdered in a dark alleyway.
I didn’t break down when I was forced to uproot my life in Austin, drop the name my parents gave me and start a whole new life in Las Vegas. Alone.
It all comes bubbling up. Like a reel of my life, it all plays through my mind and wrecks me. Alone, as I’ve been for so many years and in the bathroom of a casino run by dangerous men, I let it all pour out of me. I’m helpless to do anything else.