Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

“Where are you moving me to?” I ask quickly, both to distract him from his questions and because, yeah. I need to know where my final resting place will be, if that’s what he’s planning.

“I ask the questions, little hacker. Why my casino?”

Goosebumps rise on my arms. I give a one shouldered shrug, because I’m lying on the other one. “I’d heard of it.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re a smart girl, Caitlin—obviously. You’ve been stealing from us for years and you only just now got caught. It was a clever setup, too. Took skill and a lot of thought to complete. There’s no way I believe you’d pick the one casino in Vegas run by Sicilians for your scam unless you had a good reason. If you wanted any casino to skim from, there are at least a hundred better choices.”

I try to look away from his gaze, but find it impossible. Instead, my stupid face heats.

He looms over me and grips my jaw, lowering his face to mine. He really is handsome. Dark, curling lashes, chocolate brown eyes. No smile lines. This guy takes shit seriously. “So don’t fucking lie to me. I wanna know what was going through that beautiful head of yours when you picked the Bellissimo.”

I’m not going to tell him.

At least I don’t plan to.

But he’s gained such control of my body that my mind seems to follow. Or maybe I just want him to know they deserved it. If I’m going to die for this, I can at least make my point before I do.

“You killed my father,” I whisper.

Paolo

I release my hold on her face and draw back, surprised. “Oh yeah?”

It’s possible. I’ve killed a lot of men. None who didn’t deserve everything they got. I think back to what I read in her file about her father’s death. It certainly hadn’t been enough information to ring a bell with me, if there is a bell to ring.

“Me, personally, or someone in the organization?”

She looks away. She’s been trying to look away for a while now, but I had her locked into an uncomfortable stare-down. “I’m not sure who actually pulled the trigger.”

“But he was shot?”

She doesn’t answer.

“You don’t know for sure.”

Now she lifts her eyes again. She wants answers. That’s why she let me find her. It makes perfect sense. Smart girl like her wouldn’t leave me any path to her door, but she did. Course she is a bit of a trainwreck. And she has that penchant for punishment.

But no, some part of her wanted me to show up here and give her answers about her father’s death. I’ve seen this kind of obsession before. It’s damn hard when there’s no body. You never fully put the person to rest.

“He disappeared and you think we had something to do with it.”

Again, she lifts her gaze. Damn beautiful gaze, too. Those blue eyes are striking as hell. She nods.

Damn. This girl is getting under my skin. I’m already regretting shoving my cock in her mouth.

But no. She offered—I didn’t force.

And I gave her pleasure afterward. Still have the taste of her on my tongue.

I don’t show any of the sympathy she inspires in me. I just blink down at her with an authoritative, disapproving gaze.

But I almost wish I had something to tell her. Give her that closure she desires. But that’s stupid. Even if I knew what happened to her dad, I wouldn’t admit it. It’s not like I can drive her out and show her a burial site so she can leave flowers. We’d be talking about a capital offense. Murder One. Doesn’t matter how much I want to help her, it’s not something I would admit to. Not unless I planned on killing her afterward.

“What makes you think we were involved in his disappearance?”

She purses her lips and shifts her gaze to a point on the wall. “He was working for you. The police asked all about his dealings with the Tacones when he disappeared. They pretty much inferred you did it but they couldn’t prove it.”

I seriously don’t remember any guy named West working for us. We keep things tight. Sicilians only. No outsiders. I make a doubtful sound. “Cops think we committed hundreds of crimes we had no part in.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Name was West?”

“Lake West.”

“Lake.” That name does jog something. It’s a memorable name—strange I didn’t notice it when I was reading her file. But I hadn’t been looking for a connection. I seem to recall a lowlife thief by that name. Douchey type. Skinny white guy with ripped faded blue jeans and facial hair that wasn’t all the way filled in.

Well, shit. Maybe we did kill him.

“Thief like you?” I almost regret the question, because her face flushes a deep shade of pink and her jaw sets tight. But I already started this line of questioning, might as well make my point. “Yeah? Stealing from the Tacones never ends well, doll.”