Sweet Sinful Nights

“Hit me,” she said to him, then dialed down the volume. “Supposedly. They said his girlfriend disappeared, too, around then. They’d wanted to question her to see what she knew, but couldn’t find her. Anyway, those were just the things I heard. That’s all.”

That’s all. That’s all. That’s all. The words reverberated in his head, mingling with the anthemic chorus of the pop song about a love so powerful it consumes you with joy.

Joy. Hate. Love. Death. They were inextricably linked.

“Hey! Look! I got twenty-one!” Mindy clapped in glee.

“Then it’s time to cash out,” he said.

She shook her head. Her eyes lit up with a fresh wave of excitement. “No way. My lucky streak is just starting. It’s my day off. I’m staying.”

“I’ll catch you later then, lucky lady,” he said, and headed to his office, needing work, needing business, needing the relentless focus on contracts, and deals, and plans to erase the cold metallic taste of hate that the discussion of gangs had left in his mouth. No fault of Mindy’s, and all things being equal, he’d rather know the details than not know them. But he was ready for that part of Shannon’s past to stay firmly in the ground, and never fuck with her future.

Focus on the present. Focus on today. Focus on tonight.

The trouble was, the conversation gnawed at him. He opened a browser window and searched Google for news on “Royal Sinners.” He read a few articles—drug busts and convictions here and there. That was it. Like she’d said, the gang seemed to have petered out for a bit. All in all, this had to be a good thing—that the gunman her mother had hired hailed from a gang that had dwindled in power and was now focused on drugs. Shannon’s father’s murder had never been about drugs; it was a cut and dried murder-for-money crime.

Brent shut the browser, parked his boots on his desk, and rang his buddy who ran the Luxe hotel chain—Nate Harper, who lived in New York with his wife. After they caught up briefly on work and business, Brent made his request. “Hey man, you know anyone at this hotel who can score me a nice suite last minute on a Saturday night in Vegas? Happy to pay top dollar.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was just some mad hope. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be prepared for any and all possible outcomes tonight. Hit, stand, or double down.

Nate laughed loudly. “You hoping to get lucky at my property this evening?”

“I’m always hoping to get lucky,” he said.

“I’ll take care of you. Stop by ops on the way out. Alfonso will get you a key,” he said, referring to the property manager on site. Brent knew the guy well.

“I owe you,” he said.

“I owe you. Your club is driving business like crazy. It’s like a goddamn slot machine that pays off every time,” Nate said, and Brent grinned. That was what he liked hearing. Edge was indeed the golden goose. He zeroed in on that for another hour, then checked the time. He needed to head home and get ready to pick up his date. No motorcycle tonight. He’d reserved a town car.

On the way out through the casino, Tanner’s name flashed across his phone screen. He nearly crossed his fingers, praying the man wouldn’t say something to ruin his Saturday.

“Hey Tanner. What’s up?”

“Meeting was moved up. Gotta do lunch instead of dinner,” Tanner barked.

Brent’s shoulders tensed. “Tomorrow? What’s the deal?”

“The neighborhood association president, Alan Hughes, has to drive his daughter to summer camp on Sunday night, so dinner won’t work tomorrow. Only lunch. But listen, I think I’ve got him fluffed nicely for you.”

Fluffed. The man actually used a porn term. “So he’s leaning our way?”

“It’s looking like that. See? I told you I’d be good for you. I bet you want to pay me extra each month on the lease, don’t you?” Tanner said with a raspy laugh.

Brent shook his head in exasperation. Tanner was a piece of work. “Glad to hear that about Alan,” he said, avoiding the other comment. He flashed briefly to his conversation with Bob from the comedy club, who’d been getting fleeced by his landlord, too. Fingers crossed that this meeting tomorrow would send them all down the right path. Brent could continue the expansion of Edge, and Bob would have the new job he needed to pay the bills.

“So be here by noon, got it? Same location. McCoy’s.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Brent sighed heavily in frustration as he hung up. Win some, lose some. He called his assistant and asked her to change his flight from the morning to the midnight red-eye to New York. That gave him two hours with Shannon after the show ended. Crap. Make that one hour, since he’d need that hour to get to the airport and through security. Even so, he picked up a key from Alfonso.

Wishful thinking for sure at this point. But sometimes you had to roll the dice.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


“Not too long now,” Michael said. “A few more edits.”