One More Night(34)
She couldn’t hide her reaction anymore. She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut painfully. Memories of Charlie’s capriciousness, his manhandling and his sheer and utter vindictiveness crashed into her, rolling over her in painful waves. How the hell had she wound up in the crosshairs of another Charlie? Or Vegas’s Charlie? Did she have a kick me sign on her back?
Dominic pointed at her, and sneered knowingly. “Ah, so now everything rings a bell, doesn’t it?”
He kneeled down in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs, his breath hot on her face.
“No,” she said.
“Let me make it as plain as fucking day, princess,” he said, his pretty amber eyes looking twisted. “You’re on the fucking list. We know you work for him, and we don’t like it. Michael runs the executive games here, and no one else. He has a deal with Charlie to stay the fuck out of his turf and vice versa, so when you show up it sends a message to us that Charlie’s encroaching, and we don’t like it. So let’s see how much he likes it when his top ringer starts working for us, and when you work for us, then I will be more than happy to show you what you’ve been missing on all fronts,” he said, grabbing his crotch as if it were an offering to her, then returning his hands to her thighs and digging in harder.
And that did it. That fucking did it. No fucking way was this scumbag manhandling her and hitting on her in the nastiest way. In an instant, she launched her high-heeled foot forward and kicked him hard as a hammer in the balls with her sharp black heels. She sent him reeling backwards as he clutched his family jewels, crying out like a wounded animal. She joined him in the noise department, screaming as loudly as she could.
But the scream didn’t last long. Within two seconds, he had his slimy hand on her mouth, silencing her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday, 1:39 p.m., Las Vegas
“Hi. I’m sorry I’m not Julia, but I found this phone right outside the VIP room. Your number was the last one dialed, and it looks like you’ve been calling too,” the man on the other end said, and Clay wasn’t sure whether to kiss the phone or slam it into the wall.
He opted for neither. This was a clue and hopefully it would take him to her. “Where are you right now?”
“By the blackjack tables. I’ve got on a pink shirt. I walked past the VIP room, and the phone was on the ground with a ton of missed calls, so I grabbed it,” the man said, and Clay turned around and ran to the roulette tables, taking long, fast strides. At one point, a waiter called out to him to slow down but he ignored him, quickly finding the pink-shirted man with Julia’s cell phone.
“You found it by the VIP room?”
“Yes, poker room.”
Clay clapped him on the arm, scanned the tables quickly for signs of a VIP room along the walls, then spotted an arched doorway not far away. He took off again, gripping her phone while calling Brent with his own. His brother answered immediately and Clay didn’t wait a second.
“There’s trouble at the Allegro. I need you here right away. I need you to call your friends in security. I think something’s happened to Julia,” he said, and Brent responded with, “On it, now.”
He stopped quickly at the entrance, expecting to find throngs of players, high rollers engaged in big bets, maybe even some scummy dealer holding her hostage. Hell, he was prepared to stumble upon Charlie himself, looking like the cat who ate the canary, all cool and collected and ready to impose new terms of servitude. But the room was cruelly quiet—empty and eerie, as if it had been cleared out on purpose. Off in the far corner, he spotted a brown door that nearly blended into the wall, then he caught sight of something shiny on the floor. Something that looked familiar. Racing over to the object, he bent down and picked up Julia’s watch, and the hair on his neck stood on end.
Then he heard a muffled scream that made his blood turn to ice, and his heart drop with fear. His hand shot to the door handle, but it was locked.
Think. He patted his pockets, an instinctive act, as if he could find a key there to unlock this door. But the hotel key would do nothing. Credit cards never worked except in the movies. He patted his front pocket, touching the outline of the ring. There was no way a ring would open a door. Then he felt the size and shape of the necklace in his other pocket. It was his only chance to get in there before security came, and he had no idea when that would be.
Sometimes you just had to use the tools you had with you.
* * *
Neither one of them could speak. Her mouth was covered by his palm, and he appeared to be shrieking silently from the kicking, sucking in the cries his body must have wanted to emit.