Chapter 3
Natalia
I don’t know why I picked up a call from an unknown number yesterday.
Usually, I was more cautious when it came to things like that, but I was happy that I had.
I’d been unable to turn up much about the Asamire family.
I’d been unable to corroborate Vinny’s story.
There was nothing that suggested that they were vampires.
I didn’t know what hotels they controlled and what parts of Vegas were their territory.
I’d pored over the binder of virgins that Vinny had prepared, but I found no indication of where they had been taken.
I’d hit a wall, but just as I was shutting my laptop in exasperation, my burner phone had started to ring.
I stared at it for a moment, not really recognizing the number. I’d picked it up and I was glad that I did. I’d only come across Adrian Black’s name in passing, but he knew my sister’s name and supposedly where she was and that was more than enough for me. He wanted to meet, and I had agreed to it.
It was a lead, and I was going to pursue it. The next call I’d made had been to my father. Even though my initial search hadn’t turned anything up, I knew his connections ran deeper than my own. I asked him to look deeper into the Asamire as well as Adrian Black.
For some reason, my father hadn’t seemed surprised by the existence of vampires, especially here in Las Vegas.
In fact, he’d promised me that he’d work on acquiring weapons that would be useful against their kind.
He would get back to me when they were ready and when he uncovered more about the Asamire clan.
I told him he could count on me to rescue my sister. He’d said that he knew I would, that I was the only person he’d trust with her.
The phone call hadn’t lasted more than five minutes and then I’d gone to work.
Last night, I gathered all the intel on Adrian Black that I could.
I scoured all of my sources for anything and found surprisingly little.
I found more on federal websites and the acquisition contracts of his hotel and casino than anything.
Apparently, he was pretty new to the Vegas scene.
He’d bought a hotel right in the center of the strip.
He’d been massively successful and had been featured in several magazines as an up-and-coming entrepreneur and some of the gossip blogs called him one of Sin City’s most eligible bachelors.
I pulled up a picture and studied his face.
His eyes were fierce, almost animalistic, and the most intensely piercing hazel color I’d ever seen.
His head was covered in a thick mop of mahogany curls.
It was messy, but endearingly handsome in a way.
He had a long face and a thick nose that was crooked enough to suggest it had been broken once or twice in his life.
A thick scruffy beard covered his jawline.
It was just on the edge of needing a trim, which only made him seem a bit wilder and out of control.
For some reason, just looking at his picture made my palms a little sweaty.
My gaze drifted down to the dark gray button-up shirt he was wearing in the photo. The first two buttons were undone, revealing his thick dark brown chest hair.
My mouth went dry, and I reached for my glass on the table, knocking it over in the process.
“Fuck,” I swore, and I rushed to move my laptop out of the way before it got wet. I grabbed the blanket off the back of the chair and mopped up the water as best I could.
For fuck’s sake. Get it together, Natalia.
I took a deep breath and shook it off. I was better than this. It was just a picture, and he was just a man.
I replayed the conversation in my head, thinking about the way he’d slowly fed me information. He hadn’t answered all my questions, insinuating that he’d rather do that in person and then he’d invited me up to his penthouse suite at the Lupo.
I’d accepted.
I’d taken the liberty to visit my weapons cache this morning.
I’d bought a new dress with a long A-line skirt that dipped just low enough to brush my knees.
I’d strapped a gun to both thighs, ensuring that both were completely hidden beneath the busy patterned fabric.
The back dipped too low for a bra, so I wasn’t wearing one and I’d decided it might work out in my favor if he happened to be distracted by something like that.
I touched up the simple makeup I’d painted on my face. It wasn’t much, but the eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara felt like body armor to me.
Not that I needed more of that. There weren’t many people left in the world who could best me. I’d ended many of them myself.
Last night, I’d booked a room in the hotel neighboring the Lupo.
I tucked my laptop, the binder, and a few spare weapons that may prove useful into my bag and left my room.
I kept my head down as I walked, not wanting any of the casino cameras to pick up my face and when I entered the Lupo, I went straight to the VIP counter.
“Adrian Black is expecting me. My name is Natalia,” I began, and the attendant nodded curtly.
“Come with me, Ms. Natalia. I’ll take you to Mr. Black’s elevator,” she smiled politely.
Without looking back, she rounded the check-in desk and I followed her through the casino.
I noted that she scanned a card to get into a lavish side hallway that spoke to the extravagance of a man like Adrian.
The busy carpet was plush beneath my feet.
It was long before we approached a decadent elevator that was complete with a carved silver border.
It was engraved with wolves at the top. To be honest, it was really quite beautiful.
She scanned her ID once more and the number pad beeped, indicating that she’d called the elevator down from the top floor.
It didn’t take long for the doors to slide open.
She beckoned me inside.
“Mr. Black is expecting you, so head right up,” she said, and I nodded politely as I walked inside. When the doors closed, I shouldered my laptop bag a bit higher and brushed my hands against the guns hidden beneath my dress.
I watched the numbers rise until it passed fifty and finally stopped on the fifty-fifth floor.
I took a deep breath and the silver doors slid open to reveal a swanky penthouse suite that would probably cost the rich and famous something like twenty grand a night.
Maybe more. I wouldn’t know because I’d never done it.
There was marble tile laid throughout the entryway foyer.
A crystal chandelier lit the way above my head and to either side of me was a table decorated with vases full of brilliantly white calla lilies.
I took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh flowery scent before I walked forward into the sitting room that was just beyond.
It was still light outside, so the dark blue curtains were still open, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows with some incredible views of the strip.
With a glance, I could see the pool down below and the mountains off in the distance.
There were three plush gray couches situated in a half circle in the center of the room with a simple glass table in the middle of them.
Someone cleared his throat and my head jerked to the side.
Adrian was waiting for me. He stared back at me as he leaned against a wall not too far away.
Most of the time when people are pictured in a magazine, their photos are airbrushed to perfection, but not him. It didn’t look like the editors had touched a hair on his head. For a second, I simply stared at him.
When I realized what I was doing, I quickly recovered by offering him a placating smile.
“Mr. Black, I presume,” I said first, and he nodded curtly in return.
There was a keen interest in the way he stared back at me, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.
Most of the men I encountered in my life were simply contracts.
I took them out and moved on to the next.
Sometimes, they looked at me with fear or anger or aggression.
Never with open attraction like this. Honestly, it was sort of refreshing and I liked it.
“Call me Adrian,” he replied, and the quiet rumble of his voice was far too distracting.
“I’ll call you what I like,” I challenged, and his smirk edged a bit wider. He didn’t seem rattled. In fact, my cold response might have made his interest in me a hair more intense.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered as he poured a few fingers of whiskey into his glass. There was a big ball of ice at the center to chill it.
Maybe I could use that to my advantage.
“I’d like a glass of red. A Malbec, specifically,” I replied, and he rounded the bar. Behind him was a wall of wines, each one with a cork and digital label beneath it.
“I’ve got just the one. It’s from my own vineyard in Argentina,” he said confidently.
Without a second thought, he pulled out a bottle and uncorked it like he had done it a thousand times before.
I enjoyed watching him. It was a talent most men didn’t have in my experience.
Sure, they could open a bottle of whiskey or a fifth of vodka because those were simple, but when it came to wine, most of them floundered.
He chose a large glass suited for red wine and poured about eight ounces into it before he strode over to me with it between his fingers. With a nod, he passed it to me.
When my fingers grazed against his, I sucked in a breath as something intensely heated sparked between us. I wasn’t certain if he’d done it on purpose or not, but my fingers felt like they were simmering with electricity from the places he’d touched.
“Thank you, Mr. Black,” I offered, but my voice sounded weaker than I would have liked. His tongue clicked at the mention of his more formal name, but he let it go.
I lifted the wineglass to my lips and took a demure sip, trying to shake off the remnants of whatever that was and focus on why I was here in the first place.