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26
AMELIA
Ididn’t realize we were headed toward the Strip until I saw the skyline shift. The familiar glow of the big-name hotels started bleeding through the tinted windows, distant at first, then close enough to pick out the casino names. We passed a few without slowing—bright, polished places that looked clean enough on the outside to pretend nothing dark ever happened inside. Then the car turned off the main road and took a narrow side entrance tucked between two loading docks.
The lights were dimmer here, service access hidden from the front-facing glamour. It smelled faintly like motor oil and too many cigarette breaks. The man in the passenger seat didn’t speak. The driver didn’t either.
They parked in a concrete bay behind an unmarked service door, and without a word, one of them got out and opened the door on my side. I didn’t move at first, but he didn’t touch me—just waited, like the silence was enough to push me forward. I stepped out slowly, the soles of my shoes making soft contact with the damp pavement. I wasn’t gagged or handcuffed anymore, but the freedom was fake. I knew that.
The man with the scar on his chin led the way. We entered through a door held open by another guy I didn’t recognize. There were no signs, no names. Just a long hallway lined with aging wallpaper and worn carpet that looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed in weeks. I kept walking and didn’t ask questions. They hadn’t answered the last ten I’d tried, and I doubted this would be different.
After several turns and a short ride in a freight elevator, we passed through a back room that opened into a private lounge just off the casino floor. I caught a glimpse of the flashing lights through tinted glass, just long enough to see a group of men gathered around a craps table. They were loud, laughing too hard, their movements loose and wild like they didn’t know the rest of the world existed. If I screamed, they wouldn’t hear me.
We moved quickly. One of the men placed a hand on my back—not rough, just firm enough to keep me moving. I kept waiting for someone to say something, but no one did. The hallway narrowed, then ended in a dark wooden door that looked too solid for this place. It opened before we reached it.
The room beyond was small, windowless, and cold. It felt like the kind of space that absorbed every bad thing that ever happened inside and kept it all a dark secret. A metal chair sat in the center of the room—nothing else—and they gestured for me to go in. I did, and the door shut behind me. The sound of the lock clicking into place caused goose bumps on my arms.
I stood for a while before sitting. My knees felt too loose, like I wasn’t entirely in my body. The air smelled like dust and something metallic. My fingers curled around the edge of the seat. I didn’t cry or scream. I just waited, even though I didn’t know what I was waiting for.
Dad looked more tired than I remembered. His hair had been cut since the last time we spoke, and the circles under his eyes had sunken into the bone. His clothes were unsoiled butrumpled, like he hadn’t slept or changed in a day or two. When his eyes landed on me, something cracked behind them. He stepped into the room, and the door shut again.
“Amelia.” His voice broke on the second syllable, but he didn’t reach for me right away, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.
I stepped into his arms and wrapped mine around his middle. He held me tighter than I expected—shaky, desperate, like maybe he’d already prepared for the worst and this moment wasn’t real.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”
I pulled back enough to look at him. “What is this? Why are we here? What’s happening?”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope, folding it in his hands like he didn’t know what else to do with it. I recognized the posture. It was the same one he’d used when he sulked into the dining room at Easter brunch and sat down with guilt all over his face.
Before he could speak, the door opened again. This time, Victor Hayes walked in. He didn’t bring anyone with him, which surprised me. I expected the cavalry to file in with their weapons blazing. He wore the same suit as before—pressed, quiet, expensive. His hands were in his pockets, and when he looked between us, there was no curiosity or anger, just the sense we were being evaluated.
“Well,” he said, with a small nod. “Isn’t this touching.”
Dad turned toward him, stepping slightly in front of me, one hand still holding the envelope like it was going to change something.
“I have twenty thousand,” he said quickly. “It’s everything I could pull together. Insurance paid out on the car; I liquidatedmy accounts, sold what I could. I even—” He stopped short, voice faltering. “It’s what I have right now.”
Hayes didn’t respond. He stepped farther into the room and let the silence do the work. My father’s hand tightened around the envelope. His breathing was louder now, labored. I stepped forward.
“Please,” I said. “He’s trying. Just let us go. I’ll get the rest. I can find a way—if you give me time.”
Hayes finally looked at me. “It’s not about trying, Miss Johnson. It’s about results. Twenty thousand doesn’t undo half a million in debt, especially when the clock ran out months ago.”
“You said this was about leverage,” I said. “You have it. You’ve proven you can get to him and that this is very serious. What more do you need?”
He studied me, like I was part of a negotiation instead of a person. “We need guarantees. You leaving would be a variable we can’t afford.”
I stepped closer to my father, whose shoulders had started to cave inward. I could see it now—the full collapse of whatever pride he had left. He’d walked into this room knowing he had nothing to offer, but he came anyway.
“You said I wouldn’t be hurt,” I said quietly. “You said that wasn’t your business.”
“And it isn’t,” Hayes replied. “Which is why you’re still standing here. But let’s not confuse patience with forgiveness. You’re here because your father has failed to meet his end of a contract. That has consequences.”
Dad took a half step forward, his eyes glassy now. “I’ll get the rest. I swear to God. I have a contact. He’s good for it. He just doesn’t know yet.”
Hayes arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He didn’t need to ask who. We all knew. My heart sank just thinking of it. It madethe mild nausea I’d been feeling all day ramp up. I thought I might vomit on Hayes’s shoes again.