Vegas Curves (A Masters of the Game BBW Erotic Romance) by Christa Wick Page A
Authors: Christa Wick
Ads: Link
betrayal of Ortiz and his crew, I may have a very big bull's eye on my back for decades.
Alone, I start to wonder if there is a different deal to be made with Vincent. He wants his brother safe. I want Tommy and Luke safe, and maybe that means I cannot be around either of them. If I promise to leave, will Vincent look after Tommy with the same care he has for Luke?
The question brings me to my feet and carries me the distance to the front of the penthouse. I am about to open the door to the entry way and ask the guard to summon Vincent when the knob turns in my hand. I let go and step back.
Luke enters. Brushing by me with barely a glance, he gives me a terse order and I know my opportunity to bargain with Vincent is gone.
"Take a seat on the couch, Marie. I will join you in a moment."
I look through the open door at the guard, but the man is deep in his zone of professional indifference. Closing the door, I slowly make my way back to the living room. With each dragging step, I tell myself to stay calm and not let Luke see how much he is hurting me.
He saved my life -- he doesn't deserve my recriminations over his rejection.
I sit, eyes on my knees and rolling my lips, as I wait for his return. When he comes, he doesn't sit by me. Instead he lights a fire and sits on the marble base. In his hand, he holds the picture frame from his office.
He picks at the frame's backing, bending the small, flat pieces of metal to remove the picture it holds inside. When it is out, he holds the photograph in his hands and looks at me.
"Do you know how I got this?" He sweeps his head so that I know he is talking about the casino and not the picture.
"No." I haven't had access to a computer in a week and my phone doesn't do internet browsing. Nor did Ortiz give me time to research the casino -- he just gave me the lenses and told me the name, expecting me to go straight to the tables from his warehouse. "All I know is it's a couple of years old."
Luke nods briefly, his thumb smoothing one wrinkled corner of the photograph. He stands, crosses to the couch and hands me the picture. It is a young man, with blond hair that falls almost to his shoulders. He looks about Tommy's age, but there is a certain vulnerability in his expression that makes him seem much younger.
"Who is he?"
"Carl Haberlin. He was twenty-four when the picture was taken."
I shake my head. The name is unfamiliar. "He looks younger."
"He was autistic." The words come out raw. He takes the photo from me and returns to the fireplace. "His father owned 40% of the Zurich Gaming Group."
This time, I nod, I know the company, but not its stakeholders.
"Long story short -- I rescued Carl from a group holding him for ransom." Luke opens the fire's grate and slowly feeds the picture into the flames. "An earlier team botched the first attempt and the kidnappers took it out the boy before I reached him."
I don't ask what the kidnappers did as retribution. Anyone going after a billionaire's family likely is both an expert and a sociopath -- a criminal's criminal. Instead, I get up from the couch and sit next to Luke. I place my palm against his back, wordlessly asking him about Carl's fate and how it is connected to mine.
"I gave the old man two more month's with his son before Carl committed suicide because of what they did to him." Another gesture at the walls surrounding us. "He was grateful for the time."
I cannot hold back the small cry that escapes me. I have only spent a few days in Luke's presence, but I know his intensity and professionalism. That he has kept the picture tells me the loss affected him on a deeply personal level, as if, despite rescuing the boy, Luke somehow let him and the father down.
Turning, Luke embraces me and strokes my hair. "I didn't tell you the story to make you cry, baby."
"I know." I burrow closer, my hands snaking and pushing until my arms are around Luke's waist. "I'm sorry."
I truly am sorry -- sorry for poor Carl and his father
Alone, I start to wonder if there is a different deal to be made with Vincent. He wants his brother safe. I want Tommy and Luke safe, and maybe that means I cannot be around either of them. If I promise to leave, will Vincent look after Tommy with the same care he has for Luke?
The question brings me to my feet and carries me the distance to the front of the penthouse. I am about to open the door to the entry way and ask the guard to summon Vincent when the knob turns in my hand. I let go and step back.
Luke enters. Brushing by me with barely a glance, he gives me a terse order and I know my opportunity to bargain with Vincent is gone.
"Take a seat on the couch, Marie. I will join you in a moment."
I look through the open door at the guard, but the man is deep in his zone of professional indifference. Closing the door, I slowly make my way back to the living room. With each dragging step, I tell myself to stay calm and not let Luke see how much he is hurting me.
He saved my life -- he doesn't deserve my recriminations over his rejection.
I sit, eyes on my knees and rolling my lips, as I wait for his return. When he comes, he doesn't sit by me. Instead he lights a fire and sits on the marble base. In his hand, he holds the picture frame from his office.
He picks at the frame's backing, bending the small, flat pieces of metal to remove the picture it holds inside. When it is out, he holds the photograph in his hands and looks at me.
"Do you know how I got this?" He sweeps his head so that I know he is talking about the casino and not the picture.
"No." I haven't had access to a computer in a week and my phone doesn't do internet browsing. Nor did Ortiz give me time to research the casino -- he just gave me the lenses and told me the name, expecting me to go straight to the tables from his warehouse. "All I know is it's a couple of years old."
Luke nods briefly, his thumb smoothing one wrinkled corner of the photograph. He stands, crosses to the couch and hands me the picture. It is a young man, with blond hair that falls almost to his shoulders. He looks about Tommy's age, but there is a certain vulnerability in his expression that makes him seem much younger.
"Who is he?"
"Carl Haberlin. He was twenty-four when the picture was taken."
I shake my head. The name is unfamiliar. "He looks younger."
"He was autistic." The words come out raw. He takes the photo from me and returns to the fireplace. "His father owned 40% of the Zurich Gaming Group."
This time, I nod, I know the company, but not its stakeholders.
"Long story short -- I rescued Carl from a group holding him for ransom." Luke opens the fire's grate and slowly feeds the picture into the flames. "An earlier team botched the first attempt and the kidnappers took it out the boy before I reached him."
I don't ask what the kidnappers did as retribution. Anyone going after a billionaire's family likely is both an expert and a sociopath -- a criminal's criminal. Instead, I get up from the couch and sit next to Luke. I place my palm against his back, wordlessly asking him about Carl's fate and how it is connected to mine.
"I gave the old man two more month's with his son before Carl committed suicide because of what they did to him." Another gesture at the walls surrounding us. "He was grateful for the time."
I cannot hold back the small cry that escapes me. I have only spent a few days in Luke's presence, but I know his intensity and professionalism. That he has kept the picture tells me the loss affected him on a deeply personal level, as if, despite rescuing the boy, Luke somehow let him and the father down.
Turning, Luke embraces me and strokes my hair. "I didn't tell you the story to make you cry, baby."
"I know." I burrow closer, my hands snaking and pushing until my arms are around Luke's waist. "I'm sorry."
I truly am sorry -- sorry for poor Carl and his father
Similar Books
