Page 40 of No Mistakes (No Mercy #2)

MANDY

The glittering lights of Vegas hit like a punch to the eyes the second we roll off the highway. Neon signs smear across the window, each one louder and more desperate for attention than the last. Out here, night isn’t dark; it’s a stage.

It’s six in the evening, but the Strip looks wide awake, alive in a way that feels almost mocking. In five hours, we’ll be walking into that meeting, and everything will change.

Beside me, Eva’s pressed against the glass, her face glowing in neon pinks and electric blues. “God, it’s like Times Square on steroids,” she mutters, equal parts awe and disgust.

I smirk, fingers tightening on my thighs. “Yeah, welcome to hell’s playground. Hope you packed your halo.”

Her head snaps around, eyes narrowing. “Bitch, please. If I had a halo, it would’ve been knocked off years ago.”

I laugh, though it comes out tighter than I intended. That’s what I do. I joke, tease, push the nerves away with sarcasm. But the truth is, my stomach is twisting itself into knots. My palms are damp. And as much as I want Eva to believe I’ve got this, I don’t. Not really.

Because in five hours, I won’t just be standing in a glittering hotel with my best friend. I’ll be standing in a room where men buy women like poker chips. I’ll be pretending to belong there, pretending I’m not one wrong look away from being dragged up on that stage myself.

I shift in my seat, stretching my fingers against the leather seat just to stop them from shaking.

The Bellagio towers soar above us, massive and gleaming, its gold lights shining against the dark sky. My throat tightens as we approach the entrance, where cars line up, waiting to be taken away.

The car slows down, and Eva catches my glance and lifts a brow. “You nervous?”

“Me?” I flick my hair back, arching a brow. “Nah. Just wondering if they’ll comp us free drinks while we’re pretending to be working girls.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t push, letting the subject drop as the driver exits our vehicle.

He rounds the car, pulling Eva’s door first. She steps out like she owns the place, head high, heels clicking against the pavement.

I force myself to follow, clutching my bag tighter than I should.

The night air smells of exhaust and expensive perfume as people surround us, going about their evening, completely unaware of what is happening here tonight.

Our driver places our small suitcases next to us, and I reach into my pocket, placing a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. He nods, slipping it into his pocket before leaving.

I can’t help but admire the building in front of us. Lights hang from the entrance, a glass window covering us. The entrance alone is divine.

Before we walk through the gleaming doors, Eva stops, tugging a folded slip of paper from her jacket pocket. She flicks it open, brows furrowing as the neon lights spill across the page.

“Alright,” she mutters, tilting it so I can see. “New names, new lives.”

I take some pages from her and scan the neat handwriting, thanking Ant secretly for not letting Gunnar write them. Clara Weston. That’s the new me. Age Twenty Nine, Company director. I fold it over, revealing a fake resume on the next piece, to go with my new name.

Eva’s lips twitch as her eyes hit her own. Then she lets out a laugh so sharp it makes a couple of valets glance our way. “No fucking way. Kate ? Are you kidding me?” She shakes her head, shoving the paper towards me so I can see. “That asshole did this on purpose.”

“Kate?” I ask, confused while I read her piece of paper, not connecting the dots.

“Yeah,” she snorts, lowering her voice as she steps closer. “That’s what I told Axel my name was when he approached me outside of the gym. Thought I’d be clever. Guess he didn’t forget.” She rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Prick.”

I can’t help but laugh, even though my heart is pounding. “Well, at least he pays attention.”

“Or he just likes torturing me,” she fires back, a smirk on her face.

She peeks over at my paper, seeing my name. “Alright, Clara. You ready to play pretend?”

“Ready as ever,” I say, plastering on a smile. Inside, though, nerves scrape through me while my fake name burns like acid in my head, and my hands tremble just enough that I keep them clenched at my sides.

We walk through the entrance, and the sight alone is enough to stop me in my tracks as I admire the creation in front of us.

To our right is a Hermès store, leather bags displayed like art pieces under soft gold light.

To the left, Valentino’s mannequins stand frozen in gowns I’ll never wear, before Cartier’s diamonds sparkle in their case like bait, daring us to want them.

I force myself forward, reminding myself I’m meant to be a company director who is used to this life as we pass the boutiques.

Once we enter the lobby, it’s like the world just…opens.

The ceiling explodes into a thousand shards of colour as an entire garden of glass flowers glows above us.

The marble floor beneath us mirrors it like a lake, every step echoing as if the place itself is listening.

Columns rise around the reception desk, polished and flawless, the kind of wealth that doesn’t ask for attention; it demands it.

Eva whistles low, her voice barely carrying, “Subtle,” she mutters.

I laugh under my breath, but it doesn’t last. The weight settles back over my shoulders the second I glance at the reception desk. The girls behind it smile politely, perfect and sharp in their uniforms, like even their friendliness is rehearsed.

Eva brushes her hand against mine, a small reminder. I straighten my spine, sliding the paper back into my pocket, and step forward. Director Clara Weston. That’s who I am now.

The girl behind the counter greets us with a polished smile, hands folded perfectly on the desk. “Good evening, ladies. Welcome to Bellagio. Do you have a reservation with us?”

I slide the folded paper across the counter like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Clara Weston, I should have a room booked under that name.” My voice sounds steady, strong, exactly how a director should sound.

The receptionist types quickly, nails clicking against the keyboard. “Yes, Ms Weston. And… Ms. Ford?” Her eyes flick towards Eva.

“Kate,” Eva says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. She leans closer, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “I’m going to strangle both of our men when this is over.”

I bite down on my lip, fighting the smirk threatening to ruin my persona.

“Everything is in order,” the receptionist says, sliding two sleek black key cards across the desk towards us. “Room 2319 - fountain view, two queen beds. Elevators are just past the lobby to your right.”

“Thank you,” I say smoothly, watching Eva take the keys. My legs feel too tight in my heels as we step away, the pressure bearing down on me.

I feel Eva’s eyes on me as we walk, but I keep my chin up, shoulders back, steps measured. Director Clara Weston doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t stumble. She doesn’t let her voice shake when the world is watching.

But deep inside, Mandy’s counting the hours. Five left. Five hours until I walk into hell.

We make it to the elevators without a word, the silence between us heavier than the noise around us. Inside, Eva leans against the mirrored wall, arms folded, her reflection sharp and unreadable.

It doesn’t take long for us to reach our floor, the doors opening, revealing a long corridor. We find our room, and Eva slips the key card in; the door unlocks on the first try. She shoots me a wink, pushing it open.

Two queen beds sit in the middle of the room, a bar opposite them, where the drink of courage calls my name.

A flat-screen TV is anchored to the wall above it, a slideshow of photos playing as it takes us on a virtual tour of the hotel.

I step closer, the carpet soft, swallowing the sound of my steps.

I move to the window, the sheer curtains brushing against my arm as I press my hands to the glass.

“Woah,” I whisper.

The fountains spread across the ground below, dancing water bursting high into the night sky, perfectly in sync with the city’s glow.

Lights flicker off the surface, rippling like liquid gold before crashing back down in a steady rhythm.

It’s hypnotic, almost too perfect, like the whole city is trying to distract us with beauty while monsters walk in the shadows.

Eva drops her bag onto the nearest bed with a sigh, her body releasing all the tension from the last few weeks.

“Home sweet home,” she mutters, kicking off her heels.

I move away from the window, walking back towards the door to pick up my bag, securing the locks before leaning against it.

Eva studies me carefully, her face full of concern. “You okay?”

I force a smile, even though my stomach tries to tell me otherwise. “Of course. Just rehearsing my lines for later.”

She snorts, flopping backwards. “Clara Weston, ice queen of the auction house. Should’ve brought a tiara.” She says, while her hands create a rainbow effect in the air.

I laugh, thankful for having her in my life. “Shut up.”

For a brief moment, it feels almost normal. Just us, hiding nerves behind sarcasm like we’ve done from the moment we met. I push myself away from the door, but something at the bottom of the door catches my attention as something slips under it.

“Eva…” I start, never taking my eyes off the paper.

She pushes herself off the bed, walking towards me. “Whats wro-” She starts, stopping when she sees what I’m looking at.

A folded piece of paper lies on the floor, stark against the patterned rug. My chest squeezes as I unlock the door, yanking it open before Eva can stop me.

The door swings open, and I stumble back, shocked to see him standing there.

Adam.

He looks different, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His jaw is shadowed, his clothes rumpled, his eyes sharper, older somehow. Not the smooth-talking coworker we used to laugh with at the office.

I don’t think. I just grab his wrist, yanking him inside, shutting the door before anyone in the hallway can catch a glimpse.

He stumbles, sucking in a breath, and Eva’s already by the door, twisting the lock and pressing her ear against the wood like she’s waiting for boots to pound past.

“Adam,” I hiss, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had to find you.” His chest heaves, words tumbling out like he’s been holding them in for too long. “If they knew I was even talking to you-”

“Then sit your ass down and talk fast,” Eva cuts in, arms crossed tight over her chest. She looks pissed, but I catch the flicker in her eyes. She’s scared, too.

Adam drags a shaking hand through his hair and collapses onto the armchair by the window. Up close, he looks worse than I realised. Dark circles under his eyes, every feature pinched with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry I left how I did, but I had to disappear,” he says, voice low as if he’s worried someone is listening.

I crouch in front of him, my hands resting on his knees. “If who knew you was talking to us, Adam? What happened to make you leave?”

He takes a deep breath before looking at both of us.

“I didn’t want to leave you. They had my sister.

They told me if I didn’t do what they wanted, she’d end up in a ditch.

So I played along. I got a job at your place, helped secure the case against Carter, and kept my head down.

But when Axel ‘died’, they let me go. Thought it was over.

” His eyes flash between us, raw and broken. “It wasn’t. It’s never over with them.”

My stomach twists, confused about what is going on. “So why now? Why show up here?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, desperation leaking through every syllable. “Because when I found out Axel was alive, I knew they’d find out too. And when they do, it’s not just him they’ll come for. It’s all of you.”

I look behind me to Eva, her lips part, but no words come out.

Adam continues, and I look back to him as his voice breaks. “That’s why I left the USB. You were the only ones who could do something about it. But after tonight…” His hands clench into fists. “I can’t stay. If I do, my family dies.”

“Who’s they Adam?” I ask again, panic rising inside of me.

He looks out the window towards the resort, like he’s not sure he should say it.

But then the words pour out anyway. “All I can say is that Marco wasn’t the one pulling the strings.

He never was. He was just a front. Loud enough to grab attention, brutal enough to scare, he was enough to make everyone think he was king.

But there’s someone else. Higher. Smarter.

The kind of person you don’t see coming until it’s too late. ”

The air in the room turns to ice. My stomach sinks like I’ve been punched.

Eva shakes her head. “If that’s true, then who the hell are we dealing with? We need a name.”

Adam presses his lips together, eyes dark as he leans closer.

“I don’t know her name.” His voice cracks on the word her.

“But she’s the reason I can’t stay. The reason I left the USB.

She doesn’t miss. Not once. If she finds out I came here…

” He trails off, unable to look at us. “I’m dead. And not just me. My family, too.”

For a second, he just sits there, none of us knowing what to say, his chest rising and falling fast. He pushes himself up, pacing towards the door.

“Adam-” I start, but he cuts me off, shaking his head.

“I can’t stay,” he says, pain flooding his voice.

“If I’m seen with you, we’re all fucked.

But you need to know this…” his eyes move between us both, softer now, almost pleading.

“I never wanted to hurt either of you. You were my friends. The only good thing I had while I was stuck in a world of hell. Don’t ever think I didn’t care. ”

Eva’s mouth parts, her walls falling.

Adam grips the door handle, knuckles white. “Mandy-Eva-just.. be careful tonight. Please. If something happens to you…” His voice trails off, breaking off like the words are too heavy to carry.

I step forward, my throat tight. “Adam-”

But he’s already pulling the door open, slipping into the hallway without another look back. The soft click of the latch feels final, like the world just tilted a little darker.