Page 34 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
Sixteen
ANDY
O ne day. Just one day since I found myself caught in a bad rerun of The Godfather meets Breaking Bad . And now, here I was, slouched on Matt’s obscenely plush couch, eyes glued to the flat-screen TV like it held the secrets of the universe.
The news anchor’s overly earnest face filled the screen, describing a scene straight out of an action movie.
“A drug deal gone disastrously awry in Las Vegas has left multiple dead,” she chirped, as if announcing a bake sale that had run out of brownies instead of a shootout that left bodies decorating the pavement like some macabre art installation.
The camera panned over the chaos—flashing lights, yellow tape fluttering in the breeze cordoning off what was now a narcotic graveyard, and enough law enforcement to stage a coup.
They shuffled around like they were on the world’s worst Easter egg hunt, except instead of chocolate treats, they were collecting narcotics and corpses.
“The police have seized a significant quantity of drugs,” she continued. “Early reports suggest involvement from notorious drug cartels and gangs.”
The reporter droned on about a “vicious cartel turf war” and “unprecedented levels of violence,” but not a single word about how I’d managed to stumble ass-backward into the whole damn mess.
No mention of Matt and his men swooping in like avenging angels or the way William Bosworth had shown up fashionably late to the gunfight.
The real puppet masters? They remained in the shadows, their strings untangled like they’d been airbrushed out of this particular disaster.
Nope, as far as the media was concerned, this was just another day in Vegas—bright lights, high stakes, and a casual disregard for human life.
A snippet of conversation drifted from Matt’s henchmen, buzzing around like flies in the kitchen discussing last night’s leftovers.
“…tipped off the cops…”
“…evidence is in their hands now…”
“…one hell of a cleanup…”
The realization hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest: they’d handed over the entire drug operation—the mountains of powder, the bricks of misery—to the cops on a goddamn platter.
Just like that, an empire’s worth of narcotics was gone, vanished into the bureaucratic black hole of evidence lockup.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around the sheer audacity of it all. One minute, I was watching Sean load up enough drugs to make Scarface blush. The next, it was all been swept away like a bad dream, nothing but whispers and police reports to show for it.
I wasn’t even sure if I should be relieved or terrified that they’d managed to involve law enforcement without leaving fingerprints—or worse, bodies—behind that could be traced back to us. It felt like being caught in a tornado, flung around until you didn’t know which way was up.
My head spun, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make sense of the chaos. How had things spiraled so wildly out of control? This was the kind of stuff you saw in movies, not… not whatever my life had become.
A choked sound escaped my lips—half laugh, half sob. I was in so far over my head, it was laughable. Treading water in the deep end of an Olympic-sized pool of crazy, with weights tied to my ankles.
The ache in my chest tightened, a viselike grip that stole my breath.
Sean’s face flashed before me—that pained, apologetic smile as the life drained from his eyes.
He’d been a screwup, a gambling addict with a penchant for harebrained schemes, but he’d been my friend.
One of my rocks in this twisted Vegas whirlwind.
And now he was gone, another casualty in whatever game the rich and powerful were playing.
A whimper clawed its way out of me, raw and broken. My eyes—stained red from an all-night crying marathon—burned as if they were marinating in jalapeno juice. I felt like I’d been dragged backward through a hedge maze and left for dead in the center.
My shoulders shook with quiet sobs, each one racking through me like a physical blow. The events of the past twenty-four hours crashed over me in waves, pulling me under with their relentless force.
I was drowning, gasping for air in a sea of grief and trauma. And there was nothing to cling to, no lifeline to pull me back to the surface. Just the crushing weight of it all, pressing down on me from every angle.
I flicked off the TV, the screen’s sudden darkness mirroring the void in my chest. Collapsing to my side on the couch, I curled up, letting sobs rack my body. The couch cushions soaked up my tears, a silent witness to my unraveling.
Grief crashed over me in waves, each one threatening to pull me under its unrelenting current. I was an absolute mess—a tornado-ravaged wreck of a human being.
How long I lay there, adrift in my own misery, I couldn’t say. Time held no meaning when my entire world had been ripped apart at the seams. But eventually, I became aware of a gentle weight settling on the couch beside me, a warm hand threading through my disheveled hair.
Matt. Even through the haze of my misery, his presence was unmistakable.
With monumental effort, I pried my eyes open, peering up at him through salt-stained lashes. His expression was a complicated blend of concern and exasperated fondness as he took in my no-doubt pathetic appearance.
“You look like you went ten rounds with a swarm of pissed-off bees,” Matt said, a trace of humor softening his words.
I didn’t have the energy to muster a retort, letting the jab slide past me like water off a duck’s back. What was the point? He wasn’t wrong—I was a wreck, plain and simple.
Matt studied me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“Not hungry,” I mumbled into the plush fabric of the couch. My stomach was a knotted mess, hunger far from my mind.
Matt sighed—a deep, rumbling sound—and reached for his phone. Within moments, he ordered food. Not just any food—an extravagant feast that would’ve made Roman emperors weep with envy.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked abruptly.
A surge of panic shot through me. My phone? Lost in last night’s chaos no doubt—another casualty of that crazy drug deal gone wrong.
“Why?” I managed to croak out.
“So you can contact your friends,” Matt said, already anticipating my needs better than I could myself. “You need company other than just me.”
Gratitude nudged at the icy numbness in my chest. I rattled off Fin’s number from memory and watched as Matt’s fingers danced across the screen.
The food arrived with Bruno pushing in a cart that groaned under its bounty.
The scent hit me first—waves of rich aromas that teased at even my reluctant appetite.
There were platters gleaming with succulent meats, bowls overflowing with vibrant salads glistening with dressing, baskets bursting with freshly baked bread still steaming from the oven.
As the smell of it all wafted over me, my stomach gave a half-hearted rumble of interest. But the thought of actually eating made me want to gag.
Matt’s eyes met mine, an unspoken challenge in their depths. “Eat,” he said, not a request but a command.
I shot back with all the defiance of a cornered alley cat. “I’m not hungry.”
“You still have to eat.” Matt crossed his arms, an immovable force. “You skipped breakfast and lunch and you’re dehydrated from all that crying.”
I glared at him. “What are you now, my mother?”
He leaned in close, a devilish glint in his eye. “If I have to force-feed you like a stubborn child, believe me, I will.”
My glare could’ve curdled milk, but the delicious aromas wafting from the cart were slowly chipping away at my stubborn resolve. My stomach rumbled again, this time with more insistence.
“Fine,” I grumbled, pushing myself upright. “But only because I don’t want you manhandling me like a sack of potatoes.”
Matt’s smirk widened into a full-blown grin, those storm-cloud eyes of his crinkling at the corners. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling.”
Shooting him one last half-hearted glower, I reached for a plate and began piling it high.
The food was as decadent as always—tender cuts of chicken that melted on the tongue, fresh salads bursting with flavor, bread so warm and fragrant it was practically sinful.
With each bite, I could feel some of the tension seeping from my shoulders.
The door swung open again as Bruno ushered in Fin and Ethan. Relief washed over me at the sight of them striding into the room. Fin’s face was pinched with worry, his blue eyes wide and anxious as they found me on the couch. Ethan looked equally concerned, mouth set in a tight line.
“Andy!” Fin rushed over, dropping to the couch beside me and pulling me into a fierce hug. “Are you okay? Mr. Caine said you needed us.”
I clung to him, drawing strength from his familiar warmth. Having my best friend here made the weight on my chest ease ever so slightly.
“I’m…” My voice cracked, and I had to swallow hard before trying again. “I’m hanging in there, I guess.”
Fin drew back, cupping my face in his hands as he studied me intently. “Your eyes are all puffy and red. Did the asshole do something to you?” He meant Matt, of course.
As for Matt, damn him, he looked more amused than anything. “Nothing Andy didn’t ask for, sugar,” he drawled, winking at me.
I rolled my eyes at his antics, a tiny spark of my usual sass flickering to life. “Relax, Fin. I’ve just… had a really rough night.”
Fin frowned, eyes flickering between Matt and me, clearly picking up on the tension. But before he could start interrogating me, Ethan cleared his throat.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” he suggested gently.
Fin nodded.
Matt’s eyes lingered on me a moment longer before he stood. He adjusted his cuff links with the kind of precision that suggested he could control the very fabric of time if he wanted to.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said.