Chapter 2
SARAH
Iwas exhausted.
Just from today, I’d made the long drive from Phoenix up here. But beyond that, I was so tired from the last two decades.
From the terrible mistake I’d made, costing the life of someone who didn’t deserve to lose it.
From the failures of my father and his inability as a prosecutor to put the most dangerous man in Las Vegas behind prison bars for so long.
Run. Hide. Escape.
Those were the three most common verbs I’d used to describe my actions in the past two decades. Running from my past. Hiding from the King’s Men, from the Black Reapers, from dangerous criminal organizations. Escaping the haunting thoughts in my head.
Escaping the fact that no matter how much I tried to put him out of my mind, I never quite could.
Cassius Vale.
My boyfriend from my younger days. He’d been a tough, ruthless man at the time, but still just a young man.
His life could have taken several directions, not all of them successful, but all of them to the extremes.
I’d told myself after that terrible accident that took his brother’s life, I’d never rope him into my life. The less he saw of me, the better.
And in one respect, I succeeded. As far as I knew, Cassius never saw me again.
But then he became a billionaire, arguably one of the most powerful men in all of Las Vegas, and I couldn’t help but see him on a regular basis.
How could I not? The King of Hearts. That’s what the press, the YouTubers, the influencers all called him. “The most handsome billionaire ever,” they’d say, with his three brothers close behind. Should have been his four, I’d think whenever his family name popped to mind.
Sometimes, I’d let myself wonder what we would be if I hadn’t crashed that car.
Married? Perhaps. With kids? Maybe. It was tough to get Cassius to be heartfelt, to say what was in his soul, not just on his mind, but every so often he’d drop hints.
“It’d be nice to raise little ones,” he’d say.
Or, “I don’t get people who never marry. Do it if your heart wants it.”
Too late for that now.
But even though Cassius undoubtedly hated my guts, as best as I could tell, he’d let bygones be bygones. I hadn’t fled Las Vegas because of him, though I certainly made sure to stay clear of his known spots.
Rather, I got the fuck out when it became clear retribution for my father’s legal efforts would be forthcoming.
A prosecutor for the Las Vegas District Attorney’s office, he’d fought many times to bring down the man called King.
He believed in justice, and when bikers from some clubs named Fallen Saints or Black Reapers came to town, he sought warrants for their arrest. I can’t tell you how many death threats he got, how lucky we were to escape to Phoenix—a city still full of bikers, but ones we were smart enough not to infuriate.
Now, though, King is dead.
Cassius still hasn’t come for my head.
And I’ve grown tired of running from the city I have always called home.
So, that’s what brought me here tonight.
A grand opening of an art exhibit in one of the newest casinos in Las Vegas, an exhibit that had selected me in a contest to have my artwork displayed.
I wasn’t stupid; I was aware that the Vale family owned the Ruby and therefore Allure.
I knew I might be poking a hornet’s nest doing this.
But I was exhausted.
It was time to stop running.
Time to stop hiding.
Time to stop escaping.
That all said, I wasn’t completely stupid. Putting “Sarah Carpenter” on my name tag was the fastest way to turn that poke of the hornet’s nest into an outright swat, ensuring I’d get painfully stung.
True, there was a chance that when I got in front of Cassius Vale, everything would come crumbling down.
He could demand I be escorted off the premises, sue for false advertising—I had no idea if that was feasible or not, but with a billionaire, anything seemed possible—or ruin me in some fashion.
Cassius was not a man who could be deterred in person; he was too strong a man to do that.
And yet, a part of me almost wanted to have this confrontation. Part of me wanted to see what would happen if I came face to face with Cassius. Would he hate me? Curse my name and tell me to leave?
Or… maybe he’d be curious. Maybe he’d tell me he’d want to see me some more. Spend time with me.
Who knew what would happen if that passed?
The only thing I knew was there was no chance he’d say he missed me, he wished I was back, or something else nice.
Cassius didn’t play nice with people who crossed him.
He might occasionally do it in public if it served his bottom line, but this was not public, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise.
But that was all a chance, anyways. “Sasha” got past that initial screening that Cassius had set up, likely by some software or lower-level manager.
“Sasha” would fool enough people such that I could get a stand at the art exhibit.
No matter how foolish I knew it to be, no matter how strong I knew Cassius to be, I had to get my foot in the door.
As I drove to the Ruby, nervousness washed over me.
Surely, I told myself, the real reason for my nervousness was the chance for my artist career to take off.
Painters like myself only needed that one client, that one exposure piece to go viral to suddenly have a career.
There were few better places to do it that were close to me than Las Vegas; true, Los Angeles had its own high-profile clientele, but many of those people came to Vegas anyways.
Surely, that was why.
Not because I might run into him.
Not because I might talk to him.
Not because I… I…
“You are mine. No one else can have you.”
“I don’t want to belong to anyone else, Cassius.”
“Then say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
“Come on, Sarah, get it together,” I said out loud. I wasn’t so young anymore, so foolish anymore. If Cassius was to be a part of my life again, it would be more equal, more mature.
Even if the idea of him claiming me so forcefully… no, no.
I pulled into the valet section of the Ruby.
An attendant greeted me quickly, and I handed him the keys to my Lexus.
I almost wondered if he would recognize me, if someone would buzz to Cassius that I was here.
I could just so easily envision him on the top floor of this high-rise casino and hotel, overlooking Las Vegas as if it belonged to him.
Well, better him and his brothers than the King’s Men and the Black Reapers.
The attendant, however, got in the car and seemed to make no move to a phone or to an earpiece. Telling myself I needed to get control of everything, act professionally, and smile, I walked through the doors.
The Ruby lived up to its name. Red and gold coloring decorated the entirety of the ground floor, from lush carpeting to chandeliers overhead.
What looked like Roman paintings adorned the archways dozens of feet above me, suggesting a timeless elegance to the place.
The cheers of patrons victorious over various card games rang through the halls, as did the ding-ding-ding-ding-ding of slot machines paying out some small chunk of change.
It brought a smile to my face. I was not a gambler, but you couldn’t call yourself a native of Las Vegas and not have some pride in the luxury and grandeur that its gambling halls provided. That the Vale family provided.
I brushed aside the thought and followed the signs for the Allure grand opening.
It was only five p.m. on this November evening, and the actual opening for the public was not for another two hours.
But the artists had to get set up by their paintings—the ones who wanted to, at least; there were a few too famous or notorious to be seen in public—and I wanted to make sure I made it with plenty of time.
I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if Cassius saw me and only me, too.
Nerves swept over me as I saw the Allure sign, a subdued cursive word, just by the entrance to the exhibit.
There were two security guards, thick, large, bald men with earpieces in their right eye.
I wondered how well they knew Cassius, or if they might have once worked for King’s Men or the Black Reapers.
Anything was possible with the harder side of town.
“Hi,” I said as warmly as I could to one of the guards.
“Can I help you?” the one on the left said brusquely.
They both looked the same, and though they wore enough clothing that no tattoos were visible, I didn’t think they had worked for the Reapers or King’s Men.
Call it a gut intuition or just crazy, but men in those circles were a bit more obvious.
This was a more professional protection.
“I’m one of the artists presenting her work tonight,” I said. “Sasha Carter.”
I needed a second to remind myself that was my name.
Not Sarah Carter, Sasha Carpenter, or, God forbid, my actual name, Sarah Carpenter.
The guard nodded to the other guard, who pulled out a touchpad and scanned through some names.
I stood there quietly, my hands folded under my chest, trying to convey warmth but urgency.
Not that I was lying about my name. Not that the nervousness was only increasing by the minute.
“Ms. Carter?”
It took me more than an instant to reply the way someone would hearing their real name. I prayed they wouldn’t think anything of it.
“Yes, Sasha Carter,” I repeated.
“Come on in.”
I thanked the guard, walked in, and let out a sigh of relief.
From there, it was not difficult to find my paintings; I used a lot of red and yellow color in my work, an intense yet pained color, and few other artists at this venue did so.
That was the fun thing about art—you could present something so raw and potent, yet do it with a smile at a cocktail party for the rich and richer.
But now what? I’d gotten here so early, there weren’t even any other artists here yet.
There wouldn’t be any guests for a couple hours, maybe a little less.
Maybe if I got lucky, there was an early VIP section for someone who would pay five figures for my work.
I wasn’t above hoping for such an outcome.
Fortunately, there were benches strewn out in Allure, and I gladly took advantage to sit and stretch my feet out for a minute.
I wondered what would happen if he came in, but laughed the thought off.
Cassius had too many things to attend to, even if Allure brought along great wealth.
What I considered great wealth and what Cassius considered great wealth were frankly two very different things, and his time—
Footsteps.
I sat up, quickly slid my sliders on, and stood at a nearby exhibit, as if taking the artwork in. I hoped whoever was coming wouldn’t ask me about it, or better yet, that they wouldn’t say anything at all. I didn’t even have time to read—
“Hello, Sasha.”
That voice.
That deep, baritone, ice-cold voice.
It had been years since I’d heard the voice in person. There were plenty of chances to hear the voice on video, but even in HD and 4K, the voice never came through the same. There was something about hearing that voice directed at you versus being captured by a microphone.
I had no choice but to turn.
Standing there, in a black-and-white suit with a black tie, shined black dress shoes, and golden cuff links was none other than Cassius Vale.
The man who had once called me his. The man who haunted my dreams and smiled in my nightmares. The man who would never escape my mind.
“Hello, Mr. Vale.”
A part of me was desperate to pretend that I was still Sasha Carter. Foolish. Just foolish! But maybe Cassius really had forgotten me. Maybe—
“How was your drive from Phoenix, Sasha Carter?” he said, smirking when he mentioned my name.
It had been beyond foolish to think Cassius had forgotten who I was. How many years had passed, and he still remembered me. That was equal parts terrifying and curious. But only one part overwhelmed how I perceived the moment.
“Easy enough,” I said, my mouth growing dryer by the second. “Thank you, uh, for this opportunity to show my work. I really—”
“The market will decide if my manager made a good decision,” Cassius said, cutting me off with nary an apology.
Cassius rarely apologized for much of anything.
That didn’t mean he was cruel or evil, but it did mean he always saw his path forward and never saw a reason to be sorry for it.
“Tell me about your work, Sasha. It evokes certain… memories. Certain feelings I had from long ago.”
Did I want to blow up the whole facade? Just admit that I was Sarah Carpenter?
No, not yet at least. Cassius would have liked that. And even though he all but had me under his spell, I would not succumb to giving him everything so quickly. He would have to earn it.
Even if only with his presence and his stare.
“This one,” I said, pointing to a painting I had made of a woman sitting by a window at sunset, “reflects a woman mourning what could have been. She’s thinking about her past, the mistakes she’s made, and how it still stays with her.”
I waited for Cassius to say something. Anything. Just “interesting” or “hmm.”
Nothing.
Cassius only revealed what he wanted to reveal. And even then, he often did it in coded language, like how he kept calling me Sasha. He knew better. He just didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of admitting he knew better.
“And this one,” I said, moving to the next one, “shows a man at a cliff at sunrise. I wanted to capture the complexity of a man who sees the world as his, as the start of something special. Like, a new day has just begun, and it’s his show now.”
“My show, indeed,” Cassius said quietly. “You sound like a woman who has been through a lot, Sasha Carter?”
It was a question that all but demanded an honest answer. Cassius’ intensity never allowed anything but the full and unvarnished truth.
“Yes, I, I have done some things I regret, have had to run from situations I know I shouldn’t have, but, yeah, haven’t we all?”
Again, Cassius said nothing. I swallowed and searched for the words to fill the silence. Even stumbling over my speech was better than nothing at all.
“Do you, uh, have anything, Cassius? Mr. Vale?”
I didn’t know why I threw in that “Mr. Vale” at the end. He was not my teacher, not my superior. He had been my lover once, and I’d never called him that. I supposed it was just his presence. Or something.
“Do I?” Cassius said with a dark chuckle. “Oh, I do. And let me tell you something, Sasha.”
His chuckle turned into a smirk, but his eyes never changed. I about collapsed under the weight of those eyes as he bore into me, examining me as if trying to find if I was hiding something.
“I remember everything.”