Chapter 36
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
Darby
Being kicked out to wander the Strip in tear-away clothes and four-inch heels wasn’t nearly as salacious as it sounded.
Showgirls had been doing it for decades, and if I’d had the foresight, I would have turned it into a marketing opportunity—taking our show on the road, so to speak.
Instead, I was practically stomping toward the nearest bus stop while fishing into my top for the wad of bills I’d earned earlier in the night.
I usually had other ways of getting what I wanted in this town, including free rides.
But tonight, I wanted to park my ass in a seat, not a lap.
So, despite the bus system being technically cashless, I figured I’d try my luck with a generous “tip.” I was certainly susceptible to bribery, and I’d learned others were too.
It wasn’t cheap, but it was effective. With a minimal amount of dickering, I secured seats for myself and my troop of bewildered strippers. All that remained was deciding where to go.
After the night and day we’d had, sleep was the priority. Fortunately, Las Vegas had no shortage of beds for the weary and overexposed. I was, quite literally, burdened with choice.
While the other dolls got settled, I weighed the options and landed on the most logical one.
The Crowndell Hotel had always been open to us.
Its owner, Vaughn Ashford, was a longstanding client of mine, and the accommodations were nothing to sneeze at.
My boys deserved the best in rest, and they would have it.
I passed Zephyr off to Oz, who was as capable a nursemaid as any. But while relieved of that burden, I was buried beneath a dozen others. The dolls trusted me. Beck trusted me. And that kind of faith was a pressure all its own.
By the time we stepped off the bus onto the Crowndell’s sidewalk, my focus was laser-sharp and my patience nonexistent.
The hotel loomed before us, a structure made of black glass and pink neon, with an interior full of tufted leather and suggestive lighting. Normally, I appreciated the blend of chic and kinky, but tonight I couldn’t summon the energy to care.
The dolls fell in line behind me—Colt was tugging at his underwear again—and we wove our way across the casino floor.
Between the chaos in my head and the clutter in front of me, it felt like forging our way through a storm, straining toward the one clear thing in sight. A place to sit. To breathe. To stop.
The check-in desk gleamed under stark white light, all marble and polish that was far too bright for my mood.
The young couple checking in ahead of us made up the entirety of the line, and a single receptionist worked the counter.
She handed over keycards and directions to the nearest elevator before sending the couple on their way.
Our turn.
We needed rooms, and if I’d had Beck’s black card, I could simply have paid for them.
But I was empty-handed except for my dwindling wad of tip money, and hotels required a line of credit for incidentals and damages.
Which meant I needed to circumvent the usual channels and take my problem straight to the top.
I drew a breath, put on a pleasant face, and stepped forward.
“Good evening,” I said, gripping the edge of the counter to hold myself steady. “I’d like to speak with Mister Ashford, please.”
The receptionist looked me over from the top of my teased hair down to the hem of my white satin apron, then she peered past me at the dolls gathered in an awkward clump.
Their Clue costumes were a bit worse for wear.
Colonel Mustard’s jacket was missing a button, and Professor Plum had lost a shoe at some point and failed to mention it, and when had Mister Green put on a hoodie?
Returning her attention to me, the receptionist shook her head. “Mister Ashford isn’t available at this hour, miss…” She trailed off, fishing for a name, credentials, or maybe just a reason to pretend this wasn’t happening in her lobby.
“Funny,” I said, my voice laced with more spite than sugar. “He expects me to be available at this hour seven nights a week.”
Her eyes widened.
Satisfaction sparked and then faded just as fast. The ruin of my night wasn’t her fault, and making an ass of myself would end this negotiation before it began. I exhaled, shook the tension out of my shoulders, and pasted on another smile.
“Just give him a ring if you would.” I nodded toward the desk phone. “Tell him it’s Luxe.”
Again, she scrutinized my entourage. Oz remained as steady as ever with Zephyr drooping into him, Colt had one hand shoved down his pants—no doubt gone fishing for that cursed G-string—and Callum and Elliot looked two breaths from collapse.
Sidestepping, I cut into the receptionist’s line of sight and reclaimed that scrap of dignity. We weren’t performing now. The hotel lobby wasn’t a stage, and my boys deserved at least the illusion of privacy.
She didn’t speak again, just lifted the receiver and started dialing while I expelled a sigh of relief.
While she waited on the call, I noticed a dish of hard candies near the end of the counter. It reminded me of Beck’s stash of suckers, and I figured a certain sad incubus could use a pick-me-up.
Walking over, I grabbed a few and carried them to where the other dolls were quietly waiting. Zephyr looked at me with wet eyes when I offered the candy to him and anyone else who wanted a piece.
They all helped themselves, deftly unwrapping and cheeking the things. Zephyr fiddled with the plastic on his far longer than necessary. Then he stared down at it, his hands about as wobbly as his bottom lip.
“Hey.” I chucked his chin with a crooked finger and raised his gaze to mine. “You’re okay. Becky will be back in the morning, and he’ll take care of you. You won’t go hungry.”
Zephyr nodded, though he looked ready to cry again.
I opened my arms. “Come here.”
Sniffling, he peeled away from Oz’s side and latched onto me. His strength startled me, proof of what a steady diet of lust and love could do for a body.
Zephyr was still attached when a familiar voice rumbled from behind us.
“Luxe, my pet, what brings you by unannounced? And with guests?”
Bracing myself, I turned to where Vaughn stood in a satin smoking jacket with the Crowndell’s crest stitched over his heart, looking more befuddled than fond. He frowned at the assembly of bedraggled demons behind me.
I disentangled myself from Zephyr and smoothed my skirt, making sure every ruffle and ribbon lay exactly how they should. Sure, I was a little out of character, but what red-blooded man hadn’t entertained a French maid fantasy? Might as well lean into it.
“Vaughn,” I purred, stepping toward him. “Sorry to catch you at an inopportune time, but we find ourselves in need of rooms for the night.” I gestured to where my little herd waited, droopy and listing.
Vaughn snaked an arm around my waist and reeled me in, then ducked his head to whisper, “Something wrong with your usual accommodations?”
I tittered, light and airy, because the truth—that the police ran us out after angels planted a cadaver in our building—was not something I intended to hand out. Better to leave the muckraking to the news.
“Renovations, you know,” I said. Not entirely a lie.
“We decided we’d rather not breathe construction dust for tonight, and of course I thought of you.
” I let my lashes sweep up, sweet and hopeful.
“I was thinking five rooms? Or four. The redhead can stay with me.” I indicated Zephyr, doe-eyed and puffy-lipped.
“I see,” Vaughn murmured.
I could tell by his tone exactly what he saw.
The dolls, even on their best behavior, were still a spectacle, one he didn’t mind flaunting by the pool for his high rollers.
But letting us hole up in unbooked rooms?
That was charity, and Vaughn Ashford didn’t do charity unless it somehow paid him back.
As if spurred by my thought, Vaughn’s hand roamed lower until his fingers could slip under the hem of my skirt. He traced the cleft of my ass, nudging my underwear aside until his skin met mine.
“Why not let the redhead have his own room,” Vaughn whispered. “And you can bed down with me?”
My thighs tensed and turned the rest of me rigid. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I’d asked for a favor, and he wanted one in return. This was business, and I was a professional. I knew how the trade worked.
Swallowing, I brushed my bangs back then planted my palm on Vaughn’s chest, right on top of the Crowndell crest. It was an effort at connection when what I wanted was to shove him off.
“I’d hate to see you get any less than your money’s worth,” I said, voice throaty. “And I’m not… at my best right now.”
Vaughn’s dark brows shot up, incredulous. “Are you offering me an IOU?”
“I’m offering you myself,” I clarified. “On another night. At another time.” I paused, caught between what I couldn’t say and the desperation I couldn’t outrun.
Stepping closer to Vaughn made it feel like he was all over me. His fingertips feathering across my ass, his chest drawing breath against mine, his smell contaminating the air. It was all so wrong when what I wanted was a basic white man with strong shoulders and a scruffy jawline.
But I couldn’t have that, and I couldn’t stand this.
“I’m just asking for some grace,” I managed at last. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Vaughn dipped his chin, halfway to a nod. His hand moved from my ass to my elbow and closed around it. Then he pulled me a few steps away from the check-in counter—far enough to allow for privacy, but still close enough for him to flaunt the hold he had on me.
Mercer would’ve held my hand, walked beside me, and let me set the pace. He wouldn’t steer me like luggage. He wouldn’t push or prod or make me plead for a moment of peace.
Mercer loved me.
I’d barely given myself time to consider his declaration, much less believe it.
Did I believe it?
“Let me be straight with you, Luxe,” Vaughn growled. “You dragged me out of my room at half past midnight, and you’ve caused a bit of a scene. I’m willing to overlook it. Indulge it, even. But…”
His gaze drifted aside and settled heavily on the dolls. My little family looked so small from here. Weak and worn thin.
I’d done my best to shield them from the desk clerk’s scrutiny, but Vaughn’s inspection was impossible to block.
“Maybe your whores could put on a little show here, hmm?” he mused. “We have a stage. I assume those outfits come off?”
For a moment, I could only gawk. Then anger rose like a tide and carried me out to sea.
“No.” I yanked my arm free.
Vaughn balked. “No?”
“No.”
He laughed like my refusal was comedy. “Come on, sweetheart, you have to give a little.”
Give. Give. Give.
I was so goddamn tired of giving.
I was tired of this life.
And this endless day.
And all the transactional bullshit that left me bankrupt.
I loved expensive things. I loved being expensive. But people bought me with money. With empty hotel rooms and equally empty promises. They got off cheap.
I jabbed a finger toward my boys—Oz, Elliot, Colt, Callum, and Zephyr. My kids, because I was a mother in all the ways that mattered.
“You want them to dance?” I snapped. “Ask them yourself. But I won’t. I…” My breath snagged on a sob and left me gasping. “They’ve… we’ve…”
Whatever tenuous thing had been holding me together finally broke, and my next words ripped out of me, echoing past the dolls and the desk clerk and all the way out onto the casino floor.
“Fuck you, Vaughn.”
The other man blinked, baffled and turning blotchy with rage. “Excuse me?”
“Fuck you,” I repeated. “Fuck off, and go fuck yourself, because I’m not going to. And I’m not staying here either. None of us are. You can keep it.” I swept my hand in a gesture to the lobby around us and the rooms above. “All of it.”
Vaughn’s face creased with lines that pulled his mouth into a snarl. “Your manager will hear about this,” he seethed.
I grinned, a wild sort of smirk, then replied. “I am the manager, jackass.”
Spinning on my heel, I stormed off, arms spread wide as I ushered the dolls back the way we’d come. They moved, stumbling and uncertain, but while they were unsure, I wasn’t.
I knew exactly what I wanted and where I could get it, but the Boulevard bus wouldn’t take us there. This trip required a cab. A big one. Preferably with a driver who could be paid in cash.
Machines rang and poker chips clattered as we pushed across the gaming floor.
I forged ahead to lead the pack and Elliot surged forward to fall into stride beside me.
His posture was its usual sulky slump, hands in his pockets and shoulders curled in, but his eyes were sharp as he turned them on me.
“That was real inspiring and shit,” he muttered. “But where the fuck are we going now?”
Another smile curved my lips—less feral, more profound—and I answered.
“Home.”