Page 27 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

Thirteen

ANDY

I awoke to the familiar ache of overindulgence, my body more wrecked than a demolition derby car.

Bleary-eyed, I glanced at the clock. Eleven in the morning?

Sunlight poured through the cracks in the curtains like unwelcome gossip.

Matt had already flown the coop, off to tend to his empire of sin and luxury.

A note rested on the nightstand, its message scrawled in Matt’s assertive hand. Take it easy, gorgeous. I’ll see you at dinner after work. Oh, take it easy, he says—as if my body could muster anything more than a slow crawl after last night’s Olympic-level bedroom gymnastics.

Gritting my teeth, I shifted to escape the clutches of the silk sheets, every muscle singing a hymn of soreness.

As I cast aside the blanket, an unfamiliar stickiness caught my attention.

What in the—? My eyes widened as reality hit with the subtlety of a freight train.

That dream with Matt, all hot and heavy, wasn’t just some nocturnal fantasy.

No, it was an early morning encore performance.

And I had been half-asleep for the whole production!

I felt stupid, embarrassed, mortified. The nerve of that man! Making love to me while I’m teetering on the edge of consciousness. He really is a shameless bastard.

With an indignant huff, I staggered to my feet and made for the bathroom, catching glimpses of myself in the mirror—more marks adorning my skin than a treasure map. My poor nipples looked like they’d gone ten rounds with a vacuum cleaner—tender and abraded from Matt’s insatiable attention.

My gaze wandered lower, landing on my cock—now red and swollen from what had clearly been an enthusiastic session that I didn’t remember consenting to fully.

“Great,” I groaned. “Just great.”

I was now more determined than ever to ban Matt from my nipples and, apparently, from my cock too.

The shower beckoned like an oasis in a desert. After taming the hot water into submission and stepping under its scalding cascade, I allowed myself to simply stand there for a moment—heat soaking into muscles and washing away traces of our nocturnal escapades.

After toweling off and working on regaining some semblance of normalcy, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, though even the soft fabric seemed to irritate my sensitized skin.

Stomach growling like an angry bear, I picked up the room service menu and dialed down for lunch. Screw it; if Matt could have his way with me while I was unconscious, then I deserved to eat like a king on his dime.

As I lounged on the couch watching TV, my stomach rumbled like a distant thunderstorm. The clang of the doorbell drew my attention, and I lumbered toward the sound. It swung open to reveal Bruno, as stoic as a gargoyle, wheeling in a food cart.

It was less a cart and more a gastronomic parade. The scent of truffle oil, roasted meats, and freshly baked bread mingled in the air, promising culinary delights.

The feast before me was absurdly opulent.

A whole roasted chicken glistened golden brown, its skin crackling with seasoned perfection.

Beside it lay a slab of prime rib, cooked to medium-rare glory with juices seeping onto the cutting board.

Truffle mashed potatoes sat like fluffy clouds, promising creamy decadence with every bite.

Vegetables weren’t an afterthought either. Grilled asparagus spears stood upright like green soldiers, drizzled with lemon and olive oil. A Caesar salad heaped high with parmesan shavings and croutons big enough to be mistaken for small bread loaves added a touch of greenery.

The scent alone was enough to resurrect my will to live—and possibly my libido.

Just as I reached for a piece of roasted chicken—because priorities—my phone buzzed insistently on the table. Glancing at the screen, I saw Finley’s name flashing.

“Hey, Fin,” I answered, keeping my voice casual despite the feast beckoning me.

“Hey, Andy! Ethan and I are about to grab some grub before our shift starts. We’re just out on the side of the building where us mere mortals dine. Wanna join?” Finley’s voice chirped through the line.

I glanced at the feast laid out before me—a veritable cornucopia of calories—and knew what had to be done.

“Fin, my man, I’m currently staring down more food than is strictly necessary for one person. Get your butts up here and help me out.”

There was a brief pause before Finley’s enthusiastic reply nearly burst my eardrum. “Hell yeah! We’ll be right up. Ethan’s with me; hope that’s cool.”

“Cool? That’s sub-zero, Fin,” I said, grinning at the prospect of seeing Ethan again. “Penthouse level—just follow the smell of excessive wealth. You can’t miss it.”

After hanging up, I strode to the front door where Bruno stood like an unmovable mountain.

“Hey, Bruno,” I began, not bothering to hide my amusement at his stoic expression. “My best friend Finley—you’ve met him—and his brother Ethan are coming up for lunch. Do me a solid and let them in?”

Not waiting for his nod or grunt—or whatever monosyllabic acknowledgment he might muster—I spun on my heel and headed back to my feast, eager to dig in before Finley and Ethan arrived to share in this madness.

I was halfway through demolishing what could only be described as a culinary work of art—a second helping of the prime rib that melted in my mouth like butter on a hot skillet—when the door swung open. Bruno, ever the sentinel, stepped aside to let Fin and Ethan into the penthouse.

Dropping my fork with a clatter, I sprang up and crossed the room to greet them with bro hugs that could crack ribs if we weren’t careful. “Guys, you’re just in time to witness this feast fit for a small country.”

Their eyes bulged at the spread, mouths agape like they’d just walked into a foodie’s fever dream. Ethan’s gaze wandered around the penthouse with an air of childlike wonder before landing back on the banquet.

“Jesus, Andy! This place is… insane,” Fin breathed out, his eyes glinting with unbridled excitement.

Ethan nodded in agreement, his pretty face lit up with an ethereal glow that made him look like he belonged in a Renaissance painting rather than a Vegas penthouse. The way his pale-blond hair caught the light, giving it a shimmering halo effect, was downright mesmerizing. “Yeah, it’s… wow.”

“Dig in,” I urged them, motioning toward the food with a flourish. “You’ve got work soon, and trust me, you’ll need the energy.”

The Collins brothers didn’t need to be told twice. They settled into their chairs and joined me in attacking the spread like a trio of starved wolves.

As we ate, Ethan’s light-blue eyes—so pale they were almost silver—met mine across the table. “Fin told me what you’ve been going through,” he said softly, concern etching his features. “If you need anything, Andy, all you have to do is ask.”

I nodded, touched by his offer. Ethan had always been our rock.

When Fin and I first rolled into Vegas with little more than hopes and pocket lint, it was Ethan who took us in.

His one-bedroom apartment became our makeshift home—I crashed on the living room couch while he and Fin shared the bedroom.

But as soon as I scraped together enough cash from my odd jobs, I moved out.

Not because I wanted to but because I couldn’t stomach being another mouth to feed.

Now Fin’s taken my place on that couch, and Ethan’s generosity hasn’t waned an inch.

Fin chimed in between mouthfuls of truffle mashed potatoes. “Living here’s like dancing with the devil at heaven’s gates,” he said with a grin.

I snorted at his description. “More like lounging in Satan’s penthouse suite,” I corrected him. “It’s all gold-plated handcuffs and gourmet prison food.”

Ethan chuckled softly while Fin shook his head in disbelief, still dazzled by our surroundings—but I knew better than to let the gilded cage fool me.

As we demolished the decadent spread like a trio of pirates plundering a treasure chest, a thought bobbed to the surface of my brain like a cork in the ocean. “Oh, Ethan, I met Tory Masuda the other night.”

Ethan’s eyes flickered with intrigue, his cheeks dusted with a blush that could rival the rosiness of the prime rib we were savaging. “Really? What’s he like?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “Cool as the other side of the pillow,” I said. “Just like you told me. Tory’s one of those guys who could charm the pants off a statue—and not just because he’s loaded.”

Ethan leaned in, hanging on every word. I paused for dramatic effect, skewering a particularly juicy piece of chicken before continuing. “He’s genuinely nice, too. Not just throwing around smiles like they’re casino chips.”

My words seemed to hit home, and Ethan’s eyes sparkled with that same mischief that always got us in trouble back in Mystic Spring.

“Yeah, he was with this pretty woman that night, though,” I added casually, cutting into the chicken and watching as the juices pooled on my plate.

I saw something flicker across Ethan’s face—like a cloud passing over the sun—but he quickly masked it with a practiced smile.

“The food is amazing, Andy,” he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters.

“Not likely we’ll get to chow down on anything like this again unless we hit some kind of jackpot. ”

I nodded in agreement, though my mind lingered on that fleeting shadow in Ethan’s eyes.

A few moments later, Ethan pushed back from the table with a satisfied sigh. “Mind if I use your bathroom before heading to work?”

“The first door over there,” I directed him. “Can’t miss it—there’s enough marble in there to rebuild ancient Rome.”

As soon as Ethan was out of earshot, Fin leaned in close enough for me to catch a whiff of his cologne—a scent that somehow managed to be both spicy and sweet.

“You know,” Fin murmured conspiratorially, “Ethan’s got it bad for Tory.”

My eyebrows shot up. “No kidding?”

Fin nodded solemnly. “Tory was his savior when Ethan first moved here. But my poor big bro thinks Tory doesn’t even remember him.” He continued with a wistful tone. “To guys like Tory… we’re just specks of dust floating through their grand ballrooms.”

His words stirred something inside me—a nagging question that had been itching at the back of my mind ever since Matt swept into my life with all the subtlety of a hurricane.

Was I just another speck of dust to Matt? A fleeting distraction to toy with but never truly cherish?

Why did I even care what Matt thought? Yet there I was, pondering over it like some lovelorn teenager.

When Ethan returned from his marble-encrusted pit stop, both brothers thanked me profusely for lunch and packed up an impressive amount of leftovers to take with them—like two squirrels prepping for winter.

With one last round of bear hugs and promises to catch up soon, they left me standing alone amid the remains of our feast—my thoughts lingering on specks of dust and whether they could ever truly sparkle in someone’s eyes.

After Fin and Ethan left, I settled into my usual coding rhythm.

The clatter of the keyboard felt like music, each keystroke a beat in my symphony of logic and creativity.

There’s something liberating about writing code—an escape from reality where I controlled every variable and function. Unlike my life, it made sense.

I wanted to get this app streamlined and ready for pretesting. If I could present a near-perfect prototype to Matt, it might just shift the balance of power back in my favor. A glimmer of hope flickered as lines of code came together, forming the backbone of something promising.

Just as I found my groove, my phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, I saw a message from Sean. Hey Andy, you free to meet up?

A snort escaped me as I texted back with all the warmth of an Arctic breeze. Can’t. House arrest after your last stunt at the casino. I didn’t bother elaborating; Sean knew damn well what kind of shitstorm he’d dragged me into.

I hit send without bothering to explain further. Just hearing from him eased some of my worry—at least he wasn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere. But getting involved with him again? No, thanks. My dream and Mia’s future were on the line.

My focus shifted back to my work—back to lines of code that promised a future free from debt and disgrace—when another ding rattled off. Reluctantly, I answered Sean’s call.

“Look, Andy,” Sean’s voice crackled with earnestness, “I’m sorry for everything. Seriously.”

He sounded different—like he’d found religion or maybe just sobered up long enough to see straight.

“Mr. Caine’s given me a second chance,” he continued. “I’m on this undercover gig now—big stuff, dealing with drugs coming into Vegas and Carlos Cartel’s mixed up in it.”

My stomach churned at the mention of Carlos—a man who reeked of danger like a cologne too strong to wash off.

Sean pressed on. “It’s all under Mr. Caine’s direction. You in? If you join me, you’ll get a hefty percentage—millions!”

The temptation dangled before me—a siren call promising riches—but I was done being lured onto rocks by Sean’s tune.

“No, thanks,” I cut him off sharply. “Good luck with your secret mission.”

And with that, I hung up.

A heavy sigh escaped me as I stared at my phone for a moment longer than necessary. Relief mingled with concern for Sean, but knowing where his path led made it easier to turn away.

Returning to my laptop, I plunged back into my digital sanctuary. My dream—and Mia’s future—depended on it. The keys clicked under my fingers once more as lines of code unfurled across the screen like a road stretching out before me—one I intended to follow no matter what distractions came calling.