Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

“You’re pretty drunk,” he says. “And you’re sad. How do you mourn break-ups? Bending the ear of your girlfriends, or finding a new bed to warm?”

Sinking back into his seat, I say, “Offering my unwavering devotion to the first man who makes my heart ache less.”

Rocking his head to the side, Felix says, “All right, we’ll go to my place.”

Fine, whatever. I mean to say it, but I think I forgot to open my mouth. My tingly mouth. Why does my face tingle? I giggle at the absurdity and curl up so I can rest my head on Felix’s car door and rest my eyes for a minute.

I either fall asleep or black out, but next thing I know, Felix is outside the car opening my door and offering me his hand to help me out.

“Thank you, Felix. You’re very gallant,” I tell him.

“Uh huh,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around me to support my weight. “I’m on the fourth floor. You think you can make it up all those steps without killing yourself?”

The click of metal doesn’t alert me to trouble, but the sight of Rafe settling the barrel of his gun against Felix’s temple sure does.

My eyes widen as Felix releases me and slowly raises his hands.

“I’ll take it from here,” Rafe says, calmly.

Felix should immediately say okay and run inside his apartment, but instead he cuts his eyes in my direction, as if for permission.

“Oh, my God, go,” I say, shooing him. Then I turn to glare at Rafe. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“The better question is, what the hell are you doing here?” he demands.

My eyes bulge out of my head, since poor Felix is still stuck here. To Rafe, I demand, “Put that stupid thing away so Felix can go inside.”

He doesn’t. First, he asks, “Did he touch you?”

“No, he didn’t touch me. Not that it would be any of your business if he did,” I add.

Now he drops the gun to his side, nodding his head in Felix’s direction without looking away from me. His tone is at once dismissive and derisive as he tells him, “Run along, white knight, your services are no longer needed here.”

Felix’s jaw locks, but since Rafe is who he is, and since his gun just rested against his temple, and since even dumbass Trent told Felix he was crazy for taking me home, Felix goes inside and leaves me here with Rafe.

“Trent,” I say, the name coming out like an accusation.

Rafe doesn’t bother arguing. “Maybe I won’t fire him after all.”

“That rat bastard,” I curse.

“You’re a belligerent little drunk, aren’t you?” Rafe asks, grabbing my arm and hauling me toward his car.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I tell him.

“I’m taking you home,” he informs me.

“How’d you know I was coming to his place anyway? He could have been taking me to my house.”

“He could’ve,” Rafe allows. “I sent Sin there, just in case. Lucky for me, I chose right.”

“I wasn’t going to fuck him,” I mutter.

“No?” he asks mildly.

“Probably not.”

“Oh, well, as long as you’re sure,” Rafe states, his tone a little cooler.