Convict (Sin City Salvation 2)

AS THE SUN SANK OVER the Las Vegas strip, hues of orange and gold danced across every shiny, reflective surface that protruded into the sky. It was a balmy Nevada summer, and the desert heat electrified the blood in my veins as my tires screeched over the asphalt at breakneck speed.

Lana Del Ray blasted from the speakers in my flaming red Audi TTS while the breeze stirred blond strands of hair around my shoulders. Lights flashed in my vision. Horns blared. I sang along to the vocals, my fingers tapping the steering wheel in time to the music.

I loved this city. The constant on switch. The obnoxious noise. It was sensory overload twenty-four seven, and you could never feel alone in a place like this. Las Vegas was a melting pot of lost souls. A giant dust bowl overflowing with outcasts and outliers. I’d never felt like I belonged anywhere more than I belonged here, yet it was slipping from my grasp with the turbulent uncertainties of every passing day. Bittersweet memories evaporated into the atmosphere as I accepted that familiarity was no longer my safe place.

Regardless of the dismal forecast of my future, there wasn’t time to consider all the ways my life could implode. Skidding to a halt in front of the valet stand at the Venetian, I checked my lipstick in the mirror and snatched my spiked Valentino clutch from the passenger seat. The valet rushed to open my door; his boyish face weighted with desperation to please me. I thanked him as he handed me a claim ticket. That should have been the end of our interaction, but it never was. Instead of jumping into the car and zooming off to a designated parking space, he lingered as his eyes wandered over me. A volcano of acid erupted in my gut, the typical response I had when men eye-fucked me. But I held myself together with a plastic smile and a robot heart.

It really wasn’t his fault. I’d intentionally chosen the mini wrap dress with the design of bringing men to their knees. The black spandex fabric painted every curve it touched, leaving a small gap at the thigh where the asymmetrical hem naturally drew the eye. Blessed with good genes, my long legs were one of my best features, and I displayed them often when I was prowling casinos. But the baby-faced valet was not my intended target audience.

I offered him a crisp twenty for his trouble and left him standing there slack-jawed as I walked away. My black Louis Vuitton pumps clapped over the cobblestone as another patron rushed to open the door for me, despite the fact there was a dedicated employee to do just that. He winked at me, and I dipped my head in appreciation as I ducked inside.

As I sucked in a lungful of recycled casino air, my pulse thrummed with nervous energy. My body always came alive before a con. Though it had been born out of necessity, the adrenaline rush that followed every job was a stark reminder I still lived and breathed. I wasn’t just an empty bag of bones, tainted by the tragedy rotting me from the inside out.

“B!” A wispy frame darted out in front of me, the familiar face greeting me with a mischievous smile.

I halted and inventoried Trouble’s raggedy appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m bored.” She shrugged. “I used that tracking thing on my phone to see where you were. I had a feeling it would be the Venetian today.”

Despite the constant pressure churning in my mind, a smile tugged at my lips. Trouble often cited the dangers of my cons as justification for her clingy behavior. I acted like it was an annoyance, but secretly, it was a relief someone else was looking out for me.

Many months ago, on a particularly slow night, I found the homeless girl wandering aimlessly through the casino. She was a hot mess. Too thin. Hair in desperate need of a brush. Her clothes were at least two sizes too big, and her face was smudged with dirt. She’d stopped me in my tracks. I thought she looked familiar, but in retrospect, I knew it was simply that she felt familiar. In another time and place, that lost girl was me—when life was harder, and I didn’t have a closet full of pretty things. I didn’t know her, but I felt protective of her. She ate like a Viking at a medieval banquet when I treated her to a meal, and my conscience couldn’t let it rest. I secured her a hotel room for the night, and the next day, I brought her clothes from the closet I shared with my sister. Pretty soon, I had her set up in a studio apartment with a cell phone and a refrigerator full of food. Now she followed me around like a puppy every chance she got, but I didn’t mind. She was the only real friend I’d ever had.