ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(21)

But a woman offers a different release. I can lose control without beating up my best friend.

I can lose control while a woman fucks me.

Maybe two women.

That's what I really need right now. Maybe Emmy would be up for threesome…. She seemed pretty wild last night. Telling me how she finger-fucked herself in the ladies room.

Oh man, it gets me horny just thinking about it.

I need to find her.

Fuck her.

“I gotta go,” I tell McQueen, leaving the ring.

“You're an ass you know that? You come here, punch my fucking face, and then go before I can get you back?”

“I'll make it up to you tonight, at Stacked.”

“You better deliver, fucker.” He walks over, gives me a fist bump, and I know we're cool.

And tonight, he'll forget all about this. I've already told Denise to deliver a dozen women to our table. I'll text her and let her know I only want women with double D's. No panties. Women who don't mind fucking strangers. Who don't mind swallowing. Women who like it dirty, hard. Fast.

There are plenty of them to go around. I've never had trouble finding them before.

Not that I'll want them tonight.

Because right now I'm gonna find Emmy and have her give it to me early.

I'll have her give it to me now.





EMMY


“So the lead?” I ask Detective Clark, sitting his office at the police station.

Papers are piled everywhere and the lighting is bad, crackling fluorescent bulbs, and the smell of stale coffee lingers in places it shouldn't. It's like a crime movie from the 1940s up in here.

He offers me a lazy smile, like he always does. There’s nothing presumptuous or off-putting about Clark. I just wish he was a little better at his job.

“Right,” he says, fumbling with a stack of papers for no apparent reason. “It's not a lead exactly….”

He's probably only a few years older than me, and not exactly qualified. Last time we met, I was the one reminding him the details of my sister’s case.

“You called me down here for nothing?” I rub the base of my neck with my hand, brushing against the petals of the rose tucked in my hair. The sweet scent wafts around me, and once again I think about Ace.

For, like, the millionth time today.

So for, like, the millionth time, I mentally kick myself in the ass for being such a complete idiot. Move on, Emmy … remember, he thought he could buy you tonight with a few shopping bags of to-die-for clothing?

I can't be bought.

“Not nothing,” Clark says, his eyes brightening. “Your sister's cell phone has been recovered, and I just got it back from surveillance. The calls were made to an unknown number, but the texts are traceable.”

“Who was she talking too?” I ask, my heart beating fast.

I know literally zero about Janie's life here in Vegas, even though I've gone through her crap apartment a thousand times.

She'd asked me to send her birth certificate to her apartment a few months before the accident, so I at least knew where she lived. The hospital gave me her keys when I proved our relationship. I hoped I'd find clues about her life when I looked around, but her apartment was a sterile as our relationship.

The thing is, it feels so shitty to have a sister who I know nothing about. Aren't sisters supposed to have some internal connection? Some bond? We never had any, but I want one with her. Fiercely. Desperately.

Though, in truth, at this point I'd be happy to have a bond with anyone. I’m tired of running around on my own. Surviving without any support.

“We don't know who she was texting, but we are hoping when we figure that out, we will have a lead.”

“That's it? I mean, what are the texts? Maybe we can figure something out from them?”

“Uhhh….” Clark coughs awkwardly into his hand. “It was mostly … sexting.”

“Sexting?” Ugh. Typical Janie. That girl has always had boundary issues. But honestly, it could be worse. I have a growing suspicion she must have been wrapped up in a bad scene down here.

No job had called wondering where she was. No friends had come looking for her. Hell, even the landlord, when I spoke to him, knew nothing about my sister.

Which makes me wonder what she’d been doing down here to make money. Her closet was full of clothes—albeit pretty trashy ones—and her bills were paid in full, and she had a modest apartment with furniture in all the right places.

“The only clue … besides the fact she liked to umm….” Clark shifts in his chair, the tops of his ears bright red. “Well, never mind. She kept referring to a man named Bullet. And she asked him to pick her up at nine. The crash happened at 9:15. Your guess is as good as mine.”

I pull my purse higher on my shoulder, ready to go. My head hurts from this conversation, and, mostly, I need a nap. “I just wish she'd wake up. It would make everything a lot easier.”