She flashed that cover girl smile and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Good luck.”
“Damn, you’re seriously not gonna tell me?”
“Nope.”
“Thanks for nothing, Cover Girl.” I winked at her shocked gasp and left, phone in hand to call the Reckless Bastards’ resident computer geek.
“Jag, I need your help.” I waited until I was out of hearing distance before I asked for this particular favor, knowing if I was Golden Boy, I wouldn’t appreciate it either.
“I need you to track Teddy’s credit cards. See which hotel she’s paying for.”
“Everything all right, man?”
“Fuck no, man. Mandy is still here in town and I need to find her. Now.” I could hear Jag’s fingers already flying over the keyboard.
“Fine, but when Golden Boy finds out, I expect you to have my back.”
I laughed because we both knew Jag was a certified badass with weapons and hand-to-hand combat, never mind his computer skills and GB would never find out.
“I’ll handle it,” I promised.
“All right. Keep your phone on, I’ll have something for you soon.”
Finally, one goddamn thing was going my way.
***
/> Teddy, that little liar, made me waste a full day searching for Mandy when she knew damn well she hadn’t paid for the hotel room, or if she had, it was in a different name other than her own. Driving around Vegas at night was a bitch. Pedestrian traffic meant everything took twice as long and by the time either me or Jag realized it, night had come and gone.
Imagine my surprise when I was strolling down the Vegas Strip, trying to see where she might have gone, when I got a text from Teddy with just one word.
“Siren.”
I smiled and doubled back, making my way to the newest casino to hit the strip. My footsteps faltered for a minute as all the pieces settled into my brain. Siren was hosting the blackjack tournament. Tonight. My speed doubled and it doubled again, my feet carrying me closer toward Mandy. Toward the casino where Roadkill MC was waiting to collect their earnings. Over my dead fucking body.
Once I made my way across the blue and green lobby, decked out to look like the sea with elaborate paintings of the sirens the place was name after, and through the clang and ding of the slot machines, the roar of wins at the table games, I finally spotted it. The bright lights, cameras and the hustle and bustle gave away the back room location of the blackjack tournament. Apparently, it was being televised. I didn’t know how the thugs convinced her to do this, but it must be serious.
I spotted Mandy talking with some slick asshole in a suit, his hand on her shoulder like he had a fucking right to touch her. She was my woman, goddammit. My hands itched to rip him away from her and pound his face until my knuckles bled. But she didn’t shrug him off or even look upset, so I stayed back. Far enough so she didn’t feel like I was interfering but close enough to jump in if I needed to.
The first thing I noticed was that she’d cut her cast back. Now it only covered her wrist so that her hand was free. She wore a top with long sleeves and if you didn’t know about her injuries, you might miss it. Her therapy must be going well, I thought. Shit. I’d fucking know that if she’d let me into her life.
“Sir, stay back please.” A big ass bald dude in all black blocked my view.
“Sorry. That’s my girl and I just wanted to make sure she knew I was here. For luck, ya know?” I flashed a friendly smile and the man nodded.
“Understood, but security is tight tonight.”
Thank fuck for that shit. I looked around, hoping to spot members of Roadkill MC but if they were here, they were well hidden. I did see my own family, though, Jana with Max and Teddy and Golden Boy. Beside them sat Cross, Lasso and Stitch. I didn’t know the woman with long black hair streaked with grey sitting between Stitch and Jag. I couldn’t help but smile at all the people who’d shown up for Mandy. She might not know they were there, but if she did, it would mean a lot to the woman who still believed she was all alone in this world.
She didn’t know how wrong she was.
I took a seat at the end of the row beside Jag, watching Mandy. As she played, her gaze fixed on nothing but the cards, hers and the dealer, tapping the table or shoving her cards away.
The tournament began with twenty tables but as they dwindled down, the local news anchor and former blackjack champion hosting the event, went around to each table talking softly behind the players explaining what was happening. As the hours flew by, the tables went from twenty to twelve to seven and finally down to two. The action was surprisingly tense considering how fucking boring the game of blackjack was, with bets getting bigger, players getting bolder and a few even talking smack to each other.
“Okay folks,” Wendy Crewson, the attractive anchorwoman broke in. “We now have our final table. After a quick break, we’ll get started on the final action!”
Wendy smiled at the camera and when the director yelled “Cut!” the slick asshole I’d seen with Mandy when I first arrived came out with a woman in a crisp skirt suit and a clipboard.