Staying in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 1)

“What the fuck?” he mutters, ducking just in time for it to go sailing past him. The damn thing doesn’t even shatter; it just hits the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

I grab the nude heels on my feet one at a time and throw them at him next. I miss him the first time, but as he dodges the flying objects, he also heads toward me. I hit him with the second shoe because he’s at such close range, but he doesn’t even seem fazed. He walks straight at me, catching me by the wrists and forcing me back against the wall.

“Stop that shit right now,” he commands.

“I hate you,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes.

“Good,” he murmurs. “That’ll make it easier.”

I’m so full of hatred and hurt, I can scarcely breathe, but my body hasn’t caught up. Being cornered by him like this, my back against the wall, his strong hands like vices around my wrists… fuck, I still want him. I’m a fool, and I’m furious at myself for it, but I couldn’t turn him away if he wavered right now. If this closeness felt like something to him too, if he changed his mind, backed down from this stupid idea. If he told me to be his right now, I still would.

I’ve already bet my last chip, so I borrow just enough to meet his gaze and tell him, “I don’t want to be his.”

Sin holds my gaze, but his poker face doesn’t budge. “You’ve always been his,” he tells me, quietly. “Why do you think I haven’t fucked you, Laurel? Because it will be easier for him. Because when he grills you about our time together, now you can tell him I was never inside you and you won’t be lying.”

Somehow, that’s the worst thing he’s said to me yet. Doesn’t he know he was already inside me? I just told him. Maybe not physically, but he slithered inside my heart, and now he’s coiled around it, wringing every last drop of happiness from that disgraceful organ. I fight to break his grip, and he lets me because he thinks I’m going to move away from him. I am, but before I do, I slap him right across the face.

His jaw locks and my palm stings, but otherwise he doesn’t respond.

I swallow, take a breath, and move away from him. My heart, my pride, my ability to trust—they’re all in tatters, strewn across his bedroom floor, but it doesn’t matter. Before I humiliate myself by crying in front of him again, I cross the room, step into my panties, and slip my feet into the little white boots he gave me. Perhaps it’s fitting that there’s nothing left that’s mine on my body, but I won’t stay here long enough to collect my things. Whatever poor bitch left her things in the lair of this heartless beast, I’m sure her shoes are the least of what she’s missing after loving this empty, soulless pit.

I pull my phone out of my purse and try not to fall apart as I summon my escape.

I stiffen when I hear Sin’s voice behind me. “What are you doing?”

I sniffle as quietly as I’m able and clear my throat. “Texting Rafe. Telling him to come back to gather up his wi

nnings,” I state, bitingly.

He doesn’t say anything more.

I don’t really expect him to.

This was his end game anyway, wasn’t it? Let him enjoy his victory for a few minutes. Apparently that means more to him than I did.

I shut myself inside the bathroom and try to rid myself of him. I don’t want to still be able to feel his tongue moving inside me, to feel this heaviness he left in my heart. Most importantly, I guess, I don’t want to see these horrible tear tracks on my puffy, red face, the evidence that I’m a girl dumb enough to offer her heart to a monster who never had any interest in it.

I am startled to find him in the hall outside the door waiting for me, but my fight or flight senses are too numb right now, so I don’t show it.

“I’m leaving,” I say, needlessly. “I told Rafe I’d be waiting outside. Don’t follow me.”

Not that he would anyway, but at least he nods instead of telling me that.

Shoving my purse strap on my shoulder, I pull myself up tall and walk down the stairs for the last time. I hear him fiddling with the alarm behind me as I approach the front door, and it makes me unexpectedly sad. The sound of him disarming his alarm means he had already locked up for the night; it means he had no intention for this to happen—not yet, at least. It means I could have had one more night curled up in his arms, oblivious to my own insignificance.

I get the door shut before I start sobbing, but just barely. Since I’m outside now, I don’t have to keep it in; I can let the pain out. There’s no one around to see my breath hitching, to hear me struggle to breathe because I’m crying so hard.

Thank God there are no witnesses to this.

I don’t stop at the end of Sin’s driveway. I keep walking until I’m a couple houses down, and that’s right about when the white sedan coasts to a stop on the road beside me. I use the palms of my hands to scrub away my tears, take a deep breath, and pull my shit together so I can open the back door.

A friendly-looking kid a little older than me peers back, smiling until he sees the state I’m in. A little more awkwardly than he probably would have if not for my being a complete shit show right now, he says, “Uh, Laurel Price?”

I nod my head, clearing my throat and climbing in the car. “Yes, that’s me. Sorry.”

“No problem,” he says, forcing a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, closing the door.