Page 33 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
I careened into the alleyway, but hope was a slippery fish, and mine was about to be gutted.
Two goons caught up with me—clearly not here to offer condolences or help with funeral arrangements.
One introduced his fist to my face with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer meeting fine china.
The world spun as I tumbled down like yesterday’s laundry.
Before I could catch a breath, a boot found my stomach, driving the air from my lungs like it was evicting a stubborn tenant. Gasping, I curled up as best I could to protect what little was left of me.
“Stay down, you little shit,” one of them sneered.
The click of a gun hammer being cocked was the worst lullaby I’d ever heard. I squeezed my eyes shut tight enough to see stars and waited for the final punchline.
A gunshot split the night, and for a moment, I figured that was it—I’d left this world with as much grace as an elephant on roller skates. But when the pain didn’t come, when the darkness stayed just an eyelid away, confusion set in.
I cracked one eye open and—surprise!—there lay one of my would-be assassins in an ever-widening pool of his own bad decisions. My gaze shot up to find Matt stalking toward us like vengeance had just slipped on a tailored suit.
The other thug decided he’d rather live to thug another day and took off like a jackrabbit on a caffeine high. Matt’s gun barked twice more—a parting gift that missed its mark.
He stood over me now, gun still smoking like it was fresh off a Marlboro ad. Matt’s steel-gray eyes locked on mine—storm clouds ready to burst—and he snatched me up by the scruff of my neck.
Matt’s grip on the back of my head was anything but gentle, fingers digging into my scalp with the possessiveness of a lion reclaiming its territory. His eyes were molten steel, his fury palpable.
“You’re fucking grounded,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that could’ve doubled as a warning from Mother Nature herself.
As much as I wanted to argue that technically I didn’t have a curfew since we weren’t in high school anymore—and if we were, he’d be the hot teacher all the girls (and some of the guys) crushed on—I wasn’t about to start now.
And then his lips were on mine, a hurricane of heat and anger.
This wasn’t the kind of kiss you see in those sappy rom-coms where everything fades to black and some indie song plays in the background.
No, this was a full-blown disaster movie climax—his mouth clashed against mine with the force of a tropical storm making landfall.
I could taste the fury on his tongue, a spicy tang that matched the adrenaline coursing through my veins. His heat enveloped me, scorching yet oddly grounding. Matt Caine didn’t just kiss; he branded, and I was caught in the inferno.
The kiss broke with a gasp, and I was left panting, my lips tingling from the assault. Matt’s stormy eyes bored into mine with an intensity that could’ve powered the Strip for a week.
“Go wait in the car,” he ordered after he’d stolen my breath and possibly singed my soul. His command had all the room for negotiation as a prison cell door slamming shut.
Bruno lumbered over like an avalanche with legs, clearly the appointed chaperone for my walk of shame back to the car. We trudged through the chaos, his bulk a reassuring barrier between me and whatever fresh hell had broken loose.
As I sank into the leather seat, I tried not to think about how much trouble I’d just earned myself. The distant pops and cracks of gunfire were like sinister punctuation marks to my thoughts. Whatever mess I’d left behind was now being sorted with extreme prejudice.
Bruno stood guard outside, an immovable object in a storm of fleeing bodies.
A couple of goons—whose allegiances were as mixed as a Vegas buffet—came barreling out toward us.
Bruno charged like a bull that had spotted a particularly offensive matador.
He dealt with them with all the finesse of a wrecking ball at a demolition site.
Time dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity as I waited for Matt to return. An hour later—or maybe it was ten years—Matt emerged from the fray with his men in tow. Relief washed over me as I saw him still standing, not that I expected anything less from him.
William appeared too, flanked by his own entourage of suits and scowls. They exchanged words—probably not about the weather or their fantasy football teams—and then it was over.
Matt slid into the car beside me, his presence instantly filling up every inch of space. His hands cupped my face—a gentle touch belying the roughness from moments before—as he inspected me with a scrutiny usually reserved for priceless artwork or suspicious moles.
The bruises on my face must’ve stood out like neon signs on Fremont Street because his jaw clenched tight enough to crush diamonds.
Leaning in, Matt’s lips met mine again in a kiss that was softer this time but no less desperate.
When he finally released me from the sweet captivity of his mouth, he shook his head.
“You’re an idiot,” Matt declared, though there was an undercurrent of concern that softened the blow. “This little stunt of yours earns you an extra bodyguard and a curfew.”
No surprises there—I’d practically gift-wrapped myself an express ticket to lockdown city.
“Drive,” Matt instructed the driver without taking his eyes off me.
As Rudd started up the car and pulled away from whatever war zone we were leaving behind, the city lights of Vegas streaked by in a blur, neon and glitz painting the night with its garish charm.
Matt’s arm encircled me, pulling me into the fortress of his embrace.
His lips found mine again, and it was like being hit by a hurricane in slow motion—a cataclysmic collision of need and desire.
His tongue sought mine, a fierce dance that left me breathless, my heart pounding louder than the engine beneath us.
I melted into him, losing myself in the fiery whirlwind of his kiss.
But then it hit me—like a sledgehammer to the gut—the force of Sean’s loss slammed into me with brutal finality.
The danger had passed, but now I was free to feel.
My body betrayed me, whimpering and shaking as sobs tore through my chest.
The tremors started in my hands, cascading through me like a seismic wave until my whole body shook with them. I whimpered, the sound clawing its way out of my throat—a whimper that morphed into a full-blown quake. My vision blurred, and I felt myself unraveling in Matt’s arms.
Matt must’ve sensed the shift because he pulled back, his stormy eyes searching mine. He seemed to understand without words what was unraveling inside me, and his lips pressed against my forehead in a silent promise of solace.
I felt it again—the hollow ache from years ago when I lost my parents in that cruel twist of fate.
Losing someone who mattered, who had been a part of my life through thick and thin, stung deeper than any physical wound.
Despite Sean’s flaws, he had been my rock during those turbulent years in Vegas.
“Sean,” I choked out between shudders. “Is he…?”
Matt nodded once, the gesture heavy with finality. “Yeah.”
I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat. “What about his… his body?”
Matt’s voice was soft but carried a steel edge. “My men are handling it. We’ll make sure he gets a private funeral.”
A tear escaped, carving a wet trail down my cheek like some sad little river. “Thanks,” I managed to say before leaning into him for support.
My body went limp as all the adrenaline drained from me like someone had pulled the world’s most depressing plug. Matt’s arms were the only thing keeping me from collapsing and I leaned into him for support, letting his strength anchor me in this sea of grief and exhaustion.