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AUbrY

The Crudité. Come for the gaming, stay for the backroom deals in smuggling unsavory goods.

Like the Venetian, the forty-two story building looks like someone hefted an ancient relic out of Rome and dropped it next to the Circus.

Instead of statues of dead Emperors and gods, marble busts of tomatoes and hot peppers line the entrance.

There’s also a statue of a cornucopia that sprays water every half hour.

I forgot how bright this place is even in the dead of night. There’s no such thing as sleeping in Vegas, just tuning out for a few hours, then getting back at it.

Gripping the steering wheel, I stare out the window at the old place. It’s seen better days, that’s for sure. Even after the remodel, there’s still lingering traces of when it was built in the nineties. Like that fucking balcony.

I gulp, thinking of far too many harrowing meetings up there behind the stage with those skeletons left to rot. If all those families who danced to the antics of Jazzy Roma knew the truth…

Who am I kidding? Nothing would have happened. If Mr. Ato didn’t have the police on the take, the Brassica family would make sure any problems disappeared. And I’d be the one doing it.

Where would they keep her?

My first instinct is to scan the top floors—all Mr. Ato’s offices.

In his words, no one looks down on him. Ignoring the fact one of the Brassica’s casinos sits right across the street at a whopping sixty-three stories.

A handful of rooms have the lights on, but that’d be the staff.

Probably got Goji up there sorting paperclips to make him feel important. The boss is out.

No. He wouldn’t risk keeping her there. Too many witnesses. First for dragging a blindfolded woman up there, then for dragging my dead body out. It’ll be somewhere out of the way. Maybe more forgotten…

The old celery tower.

While the Crudité is classy, emphasizing white marble and cathedral ceilings, he couldn’t help himself.

Right beside the bone colored main building is an add-on tower that’s pale green with carved rivulets running up and down the entire length.

Because that wasn’t subtle enough, the roof has a parapet with crenellations giving it that stalk just snapped in half look.

It’s also a good place to hide a body.

Outdated.

Crumbling.

Reserved for the coupon crowd and those Mr. Ato doesn’t want to run into in the halls.

She’s there.

But the better question is how do I get to her?

“Woaw!”

“Sorry, Astin.” I push on the gas and lurch my truck forward down the road. He’s been shifting from hissing to threatening me the whole drive, but there’s nothing I can do. “Once I get Sadie, we’ll find a hotel, and I’ll get you out of there. I promise.”

Another hiss is his answer.

One of the girls in a skimpy apron waves me toward the parking garage. If I was smart, I’d ditch my truck far away and hoof it. But after the fucking flight delay, I’ve already lost too much time. They haven’t messaged me since, an either good or terrible sign.

Fuck, I hope the Bell twins find Sadie’s babble as charming as I do. Because if they hurt her…

Snap.

I pull my hands away as the rental’s steering wheel breaks in half. Shit. Rooting around for duct tape and a few other supplies I thought I might need, I’m distracted when the parking girl strolls up my window.

She damn near puts her tits on the glass while I tear the tape off with my teeth.

“Good evening, sir,” she says.

“Hi.” I jab the window button with my elbow and try to tape up the steering wheel. Good as new.

True to any Vegas employee, she doesn’t bat an eye. “Will you be dining with us tonight?”

I nearly groan at the familiar greeting. But my frown tips into a smile by sheer will. “Yes. I’ll need access to the celery tower.”

Her bright grin dims by maybe five percent. I can feel her calculating the chances of a tip, but she shakes it off. “Of course. Right down this path, take a hard left. You’ll find signs pointing to a door to the tower. If that’s all…?”

I stare down at the floor where a tackle box hides my only means of getting Sadie back. But what will running in, guns blazing get me? There are cameras fucking everywhere. A blind spot, sure, but that’ll only last for a few feet before someone spots me.

And I know they’re hunting for me.

That picture was both a demand and a warning. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, they’ll always have me.

Maybe I won’t make it out alive, but I have to get her safe.

Get her out of it.

My bullet riddled body collapsing at her feet won’t do it. I’m not the fucking Terminator. I need a way in.

I look up as the advert hanging off the parking garage ceiling shifts. A skinny man holds a knife and smiles as a list of amazing restaurants at the Crudité scrolls past.

Of course.

“Yes.” I turn to the woman who’s already started walking back to her post. Slipping her a hundred, I ask, “Is Chef Baylee working tonight?”

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SADIE

“…and if you just let me check my phone. Or email. It’s probably in my email. I’ll email or call this guy you want. Talon.”

“Talong.”

“Right. Let me email him and we’ll get all of this sorted out. No problem.” I put on a smile, beaming all my hope that we can solve this misunderstanding without bloodshed.

Red tugs a cigarette out of his pocket, then swings open a lighter. “No,” is all he says before putting the flame to the end and taking a deep breath.

“I don’t think that’s allowed in here,” I tell him and glance to the No Smoking sign.

With a quick cough and chuckle, Red follows my line of sight. “That so?”

“Besides, it’s really bad for you. On top of lung cancer or emphysema you’ll also age your skin and yellow your teeth. They might even—”

Staring me in the eye, Red pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, then he places the burning end against the O in the sign.

The stench of melting plastic fills the air while he doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

He doesn’t let up until his cigarette burns to a nub.

Then he tosses it away, and lights up a second.

It’s Green who tugs on his sleeve. “Is that true?”

“What?”

“About the emphysema?”

“Don’t you fucking start…” Red whips his cancer stick around, before glaring at me.

“That’s what killed Uncle Habby,” Green pleads. He plucks the cigarette from Red’s fingers then puts it out on the back of his hand.

“Are you fucking…” Red growls as his partner waggles a finger in his face. He rolls his eyes and crumples his pack. I breathe freely, glad to not have to spend the whole night in a cloud of smoke. Then he stares at me harder.

And walks closer.

“Open wide.”

“What?”

Red keeps smashing his pack of cigarettes. “I said to open your fucking mouth!” Tar-stained fingers dig into my chin and force my jaw down.

“What are you doing?” Green asks.

“Shutting this bitch up,” Red snarls.

I shake my head, my eyes wide.

“She won’t fucking stop talking, and I’ve had it.”

“But Mr. Ato said…”

“To hell with him.” Red finishes crunching his pack into a ball, tobacco leaves sprinkling off the sides. He presses the plastic and foil against my lips as I try to bite down. “And to hell with your precious—”

“Knock knock,” someone calls and shoves open the door.

Uniforms! I catch the same blue shirts on three men and cry out. “Help! I’m kid—”

“We’re here to relieve you,” the blond man at the front announces.

As they walk in, the blue shirts turn into jumpsuits, all with the same emblem for something called the Crudité.

One’s blond and in his forties, another two younger and dark haired.

They couldn’t be more different but there’s a sameness in their eyes.

Like they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a person in the back.

“Fucking finally,” Red grunts.

The blond man stares at him about to shove his filthy cigarette pack into my mouth.

They don’t say a word, but Red retracts his fingers and stands.

After dusting himself off, he stares at the crumpled pack with all of his precious cigarettes broken to pieces.

“Bah!” He hurls it into the trash, then pats his pockets. A second one appears.

“She’s your fucking problem now,” he says, his lips mouthing around the new cigarette before it takes. “Come on, Green. Let’s go.”

“But Mr. Ato said…”

“That we were to take care of it. We’re taking care of it thanks to these boys. You know what to look out for?”

“Yes, sir,” the dark haired one with a perm says.

“Good, good. You’ll go far.” Red can barely get that out without snickering, but he slaps Green on the back and the two head out. In the doorframe, Red jerks his cigarette toward me. “You better have brought some fucking earplugs.”

The door slams.

“Well, boys. Settle in,” the blond one says, and he pulls out a gun.

I jerk in the chair, scraping the back down the cold window I’ve been pressed against all night. The move draws the eyes of all three men, one of whom lingers way too long on my bare legs.

“Heh?” The wiry, dark-haired one breaks from his pack. He stares down at me, but doesn’t hunch to my level.

A hand grabs the back of the chair, and his fetid breath etches down my chest. “So this is the bait?”

I grab the bottom of my chair and try to shrink, but he’s so close there’s no escape. My heart pounds, and I start to tremble. His merciless eyes peel down my loose tank top, then dart back to the bed. “Why don’t we have some fun?”

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. I glance to the bed myself, then impale my nails under the chair. I want to merge with the wood, make it impossible for him to—

“That’s not what we’re here for,” the blond man interrupts. “Mr Ato will be most displeased.”

“He’s not gonna fucking know. Bradly?” He shouts to the other dark-haired man. “You in?”

No. No. No.

Bradly shrugs and reaches for the zipper on his jumpsuit.

I leap back, smacking my head and the chair into the window. “You’ll be a good girl, or else—” The wiry one folds up his fist to smash into my jaw.