Page 9 of Twisted Trust

Chip’s hand returns to my shoulder and he squeezes briefly. “Don’t wander off.”

He moves away down the hall after that and gives me some space, so I return to draining my cigarette of life and staring out over the now dark sky.

The vibrant lights and life of Las Vegas create a bubble of light, as if the entire strip exists inside a snow globe.

It would be pretty if the city weren’t so obnoxious.

And hot.

Someone tuts behind me and inhales to speak as I turn around.

My eyes meet with those of a nurse who looks ready to scold me about the cigarette dangling loosely from my fingers, but she hesitates.

Is it the suit clinging to my body that’s so well-tailored it might as well be a second skin?

The black and white checkered tie that’s made of the finest silks and cost more than she’d earn in a lifetime?

Or is it the crystal XXX pin that rests high on the lapel of my jacket that keeps her silent?

Even out here in the depths of Las Vegas, the XXX Syndicate are well known.

Our reputation stretches across the entirety of America, and anyone with a lick of sense knows not to cross us.

The nurse seems to be debating whether her life is worth telling an XXX member to stop smoking.

She makes her decision and her mouth snaps shut, then she hurries away until she bumps into Chip.

Her attention locks onto the gold XXX pin on his jacket and her face drains of all color, then she practically sprints away from him while he laughs in amusement.

Our reputation precedes us, it seems, but her reaction only cements Chip’s warning.

As much as I desire to kill Maeve Jackson, the Red Serpent spy who destroyed relations between the XXX Syndicate and The Wolves five years ago, there are too many witnesses.

And I want to take my time with her. She deserves that much.

I’m about to turn back to the window when the child I rescued from the street comes skipping into view at the opposite end of the corridor.

His hand is firmly in the grip of another nurse who’s smiling as she talks to him.

The child shakes his head, causing the now neatly combed mop of thick, brown hair on top of his head to cascade back and forth.

Then his head lifts and our eyes meet.

He’s no longer a red-faced, wide-mouthed, wailing child. He’s a little boy with buttery-golden eyes, warm brown skin, and a toothy smile.

Seeing him clearly for the first time makes my heart stop dead in my chest and a sharp pain bounces around my ribs.

I can’t breathe.

Every nerve in my body seems to pause and I’m frozen in place watching this kid skip past me with barely a care in the world.

But it’s not his cleaned up and healthy state that takes my breath away, or even the fact that he seems fine despite the events he surely witnessed.

Looking into the face of that child is like looking into the mirror and seeing my baby pictures stare straight back at me.

I’m so frozen, so stunned that I don’t notice the cigarette slipping from my fingers and falling down to the world below the window until my hand curls into a fist and there’s nothing to hold on to.

That child… surely not.