Page 34 of His Toy

And as much as I didn’t want to believe it, I wanted him too. Badly.

“Heather,” he said cooly.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Is it too much?”

He stood and took my hand. “You look stunning.”

I blushed. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, gesturing at his outfit. I was afraid of staring again, so I looked away. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“A banquet at the Opulence,” he said.

“On the Strip?”

“My client is conducting a business discussion.”

“You’re going to help negotiate?”

“We’ll have about twenty men there as well.” He adjusted his watch, then held out an arm. “I need an extra set of eyes.”

Whatever the reason, I was excited. I took his arm.

Grant drove the town car while the two of us were in the backseat. Zaid worked on his phone, while I gazed out the window, watching the landscape turn from dark mountains and shadowy trees, to bright, colorful lights. Soon, the casinos and hotels surrounded us, flashing neon and video screens. Thousands of people covered the sidewalks, some in street clothes, others dressed for bachelor parties, and even some dressed like superheroes. At Zaid’s house, it was easy to forget we were close to Las Vegas. But here? It was hard to understand how anyone could forget.

And then there was us. Had we been in the crowd, would we have stood out? A dark-haired man, at most ten years older, a distinct scar on his face, and the young woman, both dressed in sophistication, would we draw curious glances? Or would we seem normal to others, a bit of an age gap maybe, but nothing unusual? Would anyone guess that captivity brought us together? That he trained me in high protocol, that I knew exactly how to angle my body in a way that pleased him? How to draw out his desire?

I had a feeling no one would guess that.

The Opulence was a massive triangular building with rounded corners, a courtyard in the center, a three-story fountain in the front, with enough palm trees to make it look like we had to cross a jungle before getting to the hotel. From what I had heard, they had a completely fabricated beach in the open center, with sand flown in from the Bahamas.

Grant dropped us off at the front. He said something to Zaid, and Zaid nodded curtly, then offered me his arm.

“Had you ever been to Las Vegas before you moved here?” Zaid asked. I took his arm and followed him through the lobby.

“We were born in Nevada. But besides that, no. I always knew Hazel would end up here though.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s her kind of scene.”

“Not yours?”

I felt myself shrinking. “The mountains are nice.”

“I can understand that.”

I didn’t take him for the outdoors type, but his home wasn’t in the heart of the city, it was beneath Mount Charleston. I didn’t have to explain it. He knew what I meant.

He tightened his grip on my hand, leading me through the casino, the slot machines blaring. We came to a roped-off desk with an elevator behind it. The attendant checked for our names on a device, then let us onto the elevator. Though it wasn’t the top floor, we went twenty stories up. The doors opened to a small lobby, with double doors wide open, leading to a lounge filled with round chairs, small tables, multiple circular bars, and a small stage. The walls were draped in navy blue velvet, a faint blue light illuminating the ceiling. A man in a white button-up shirt offered us champagne flutes, and Zaid shook his head. It was hard not to gape; we were at a place where they randomly offered champagne? My whole life, I was used to sharing a bedroom with multiple people, where you borrowed your friend’s dress instead of getting a new one, getting the cheapest bottle of wine and passing it between roommates until it was gone. It was easier that way.

And this whole night? It felt like I had stepped into someone else’s life.

A woman with a single gold chain around her neck, her breasts covered with gold paint, sang into a microphone, her voice soulful and haunting. Men and women were scattered about, most with drinks in their hands, their gazes falling on each other. While the men were clad in suits, the women wore skimpy dresses. I knew most of my back showed skin, but I felt conservative in comparison to them.

Zaid pulled me to the side of the lounge, to a set of closed double-doors leading to a banquet room. A long mahogany table was in the center, with several men in suits, the one at the head of the table smoking a cigar. There was one other woman in the room sitting next to him. Barrel-curled hair, her lipstick bright red. As the only women, we were outnumbered. A few overly-muscular men stood at the corners of the room, clearly armed.

Where had Zaid taken me?

“You made it,” the cigar man said. Zaid nodded towards him, then pulled out a seat for me, then took the next one.