Page 56 of Russian Roulette
“He’s gone to rehearsal,” he replies without glancing up. “He’ll be at work until later this evening. I’m your babysitter for the day.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say with a frown, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do they expect you to just sit here staring at me all day?”
“Apparently.” He turns to grin at me. “I plan to take advantage of the opportunity to binge watch Netflix on this fancy television. As long as you don’t leave, you can do whatever the hell you want today. Sleep, play around in the hot tub, eat, pray, love. You’re allowed to order anything you want from room service, too.”
“That’s generous of him,” I say. “I’m not very hungry yet, though. I usually eat later in the morning.”
“Well, I’m starving, so we’re ordering breakfast. A big one too, since he’s paying. Whatever you don’t want, I’ll finish it off. How does that sound to you?”
“Do they have blueberry pancakes?” My stomach growls at the mention of a cooked breakfast. “I haven’t had those in forever.”
Leroy’s eyes light up. “You bet they do. Their chocolate chip pancakes are the best. I’ll order a stack of those as well. Since Seven has turned us loose with the room service menu, let’s go all out.”
I smile back at him. It’s impossible not to like Leroy. “Why don’t you order for me?” I suggest. “Surprise me. I’ll eat anything.”
He chuckles and reaches for his phone. “Girl, I hope you have an enormous appetite.”
* * *
After Leroyand I stuff ourselves with a huge breakfast, I retreat to the bedroom to use my laptop. This is my first chance to go online since the guys abducted me. My priority is to find Natasha and warn her, but my curiosity to learn more about the three men holding me captive is hard to resist. I need to gather as much information as possible.
I unzip my suitcase and arrange all my equipment on a table near a window overlooking Vegas. Within minutes, I uncover everything there is to know about Seven online. He’s an incredibly talented illusionist in Vegas, performing nearly every day to sold out audiences. Often, he has multiple shows in a single day. Leroy didn’t overstate his popularity, and there’s no doubt Seven’s face is plastered on billboards throughout the city.
I’m astonished by the exorbitant ticket prices for Seven’s show. Vegas tourists must have money to burn. I’m sure he’s worth every cent, and I’d love to see him perform. Perhaps someday, I’ll have the chance when I’m not fighting for my survival.
The only details I can find on his life before he arrived in Vegas come from media releases and his public relations team. The information aligns perfectly to the story he shared with me last night while we were knocking back Cotton Candy Dream House Specials. For some reason that I can’t put my finger on, his story doesn’t ring true to me. It’s almost too flawless and fictional. Seven possesses a rough edge he attempts to conceal. Since he hasn’t revealed his real name, there’s no point in hacking into government agencies or financial databases to search for him. Within ten minutes of using the computer, I’ve already reached a dead end.
There’s even less information on Kit, who also goes by a stage name. His animal show is popular too, though not on the same level as Seven’s. I can’t help smiling at the promotional photo of a shirtless Kit, looking magnificent in a pair of tight white pants, surrounded by his tigers. The man is truly heaven sent. His wild, flowing hair reaches past his shoulders and his blue eyes captivate as they stare directly into the camera. It’s hard for me to understand why these highly sought-after men are bothering with someone as insignificant as me.
Unlike Seven, Kit’s public relations team hasn’t released a biography for him, which is odd. At the very least, they could’ve concocted an incredible backstory. Are they hiding something from his past? He might even be from another country.
I save Vulcan for last, as he’s the most enigmatic. He’s been evasive about his profession, only mentioning that he seeks thrills. I’m unsure if he has his own show or works for someone else’s, or maybe he’s a backstage crew member. No matter how many combinations of Vulcan and Vegas I try, I continue to draw a blank. Vulcan remains a mystery, one I’d love to unravel.
If he doesn’t unravel me first.
After spending thirty minutes reviewing old information on the guys, I decide to put it aside for now. I’ve wasted enough time and urgently need to focus on my primary objective in Vegas. To find Natasha. I resolve to shift my focus away from the guys, as challenging as that may be, and concentrate on my main task.
Time is slipping away, and I’ve already lost days.
If I don’t locate her quickly and inform her about the Russians, they might reach her before I do. I’ve been so preoccupied with escaping that I haven’t had much time to concentrate on her.
The zip drives in my laptop case hold the data I’ve downloaded from the Russian mob. For added security, I’ll upload it to the cloud as well. If anything happens to the hard drives, I’ll have backup copies elsewhere. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a hard copy hidden in a third location, either. Seven’s place or even Kit’s might work.
I mentally review the limited information I have about Natasha. The Russians believe she’s connected to a Vegas strip club. She might be a dancer or even a bartender in one of the clubs. As a tall, blonde, Ukrainian girl with striking blue eyes, she would be hard to overlook. Even in Vegas, where gorgeous women are everywhere.
My first step should be to compile a list of Vegas strip clubs, then find a way to investigate them in person. Escaping the guys won’t be easy unless I can persuade them to help me locate her.
I sit down and begin working. When I’m in work mode, I enter a zone, and time slips away without me noticing. My fingers race across the keyboard, the clicking sound echoing in the room. Hours later, a gentle knock on the bedroom door interrupts me. I check the clock.Crap!It’s already seven-forty-five. I’m supposed to be ready to go out with Seven for dinner at eight.
“Jade? Are you still in there?” Seven calls out from behind the door. “Are you asleep?”
I rush to the door and swing it open. He glances at my jeans and sweatshirt in surprise. “You’re not dressed for dinner,” he observes, stating the obvious. “Didn’t you like the dress I picked for you, or would you rather not go out at all?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been working, and I lost track of time. Give me ten minutes to get ready.” I step into the hallway and glance toward the empty living area. “Where did Leroy go? I thought he was supposed to check on me.”
“He dozed off watching television and woke up when I arrived,” he explains. “Leroy’s not a great bodyguard, as you might’ve already guessed. He’s gone to get gas in the limo and will swing by to pick us up. I rushed home straight from rehearsal and haven’t had time to shower or change either. Take your time getting ready; I’ll wait for you, however long it takes.”
The way he says that makes me believe he’s referring to more than just waiting for me to shower and change. “I’ll be quick,” I assure him. I hurry to shower, change into the dress, and brush my hair before bolting to the living room, shoes in hand. Realizing I’ve beaten him, I sit on the couch and slip on the strappy heels he selected for me. They’re higher and sexier than I normally wear. I hope I don’t fall on my ass and embarrass myself.