Ace of Hearts (Vegas Underground 3)

“I’ll go back and get your stuff,” Izzy offers.

“Really? Thank you.”

“And I can call someone to let you in your room,” Sondra suggests. “The Bellissimo has excellent service and you’re a special guest. Don’t hesitate to make demands while you’re here, okay?”

I smile. “Thanks. Yeah, having someone let me in my room would be great. I don’t even feel like getting dressed,” I attempt to say, my words lost in a whisper.

“So don’t,” Corey says. “Fuck it. We’ll all go out in our robes.” She grins at me.

Sondra picks up her clothes and tightens the robe belt. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Screw that,” Izzy mutters, already back in her faded baggy blue jeans and a Big Lebowski t-shirt. “I’ll meet you at your suite.”

My limbs are heavy and relaxed from the hot water and despite the shit-tastic day, despite getting slapped by my manager and strong-armed by a mafia enforcer, I feel better than I have in a while. Maybe it’s just the champagne talking.

Or maybe it’s about friends. Or taking care of me for once.

Who cares? All I know is it’s something different from the existential rut I’ve been in for the past months.

I can breathe for a change.

When I get back to my room, I pick up my acoustic guitar and mess around. Nothing amazing happens, but I don’t have that dead, stuck feeling I’ve had for so long, either. Maybe the muse isn’t dead, after all.

Chapter 7

Tony

I send a messenger to Pepper’s room the next morning with a note.

Pepper,

I’m cancelling your shows for a week. No talking!

You must remain here at the Bellissimo during your hiatus.

An acupuncturist and herbalist will come to your suite to treat you at 11 a.m. this morning.

Other than that, your time is yours. Book any appointment at the spa for yourself. If you want me to show you around the casino or Vegas, text me at 872-394-4424.

-Tony

It took me ten tries to write it and as soon as I send it, I wish I hadn’t. I should just leave her alone. I’m already too involved. If I get in any deeper, I’m gonna make bad decisions. I won’t be able to do the job.

Funny how it’s hard to give a shit about the job any time I’m thinking of her, though.

I want to know her more. Want to find out what makes her happy. What slows her down. I get the sense she sees herself as a failure right now, and I’d give anything to be able to turn that around for her.

But what do I know about the music business? Or pop stars? Or Pepper’s untainted millennial heart?

I definitely have nothing to offer this girl.

I don’t hear anything about her other than that the acupuncturist saw her and left her with Chinese herbs until late afternoon, when my security team alerts me to a situation.

“Mr. Brando, we have a large crowd gathering on the pool deck near the west waterfalls. Pepper Heart has been signing autographs for the past forty minutes and the crowd has grown.”

Another agent adds, “We may want to pull the plug on this before it gets out of control, boss. It’s been posted on social media and people are coming in off the street now.”

“I’m on my way.” I stride through the casino, trying to ignore the pressure under my ribs. Pepper is fine. My guys are there. Her bodyguard is there. Nothing’s going to happen. Still, I don’t breathe until I’m on the pool deck, pushing through the crowd. That’s the good thing about being a big, mean-looking guy—no throng is too thick for me to get through.

I force myself to slow down and unclench my fists when I get to her side. The urge to start barking orders and immediately disperse the crowd is strong, but I have to take into account Pepper’s enjoyment. She’s all smiles. She’s using the notepad I gave her, holding up signs to answer their questions. She’s posing for selfies with them. She’s signing autographs and bumping fists.

She likes her fans.

She’s happy doing this.

I hold up my finger to the young people holding up their phones to take photos and lean over to speak in Pepper’s ear. “Same drill as yesterday. Squeeze my arm when you’re ready for a break.”

She doesn’t look at me, but she nods and keeps up her fan interactions. Waiters appear carrying pizzas, which they pass out to the people. “Compliments of Ms. Heart,” they say. The kids cheer and dive for the food like ravenous beasts.

My guys are right; the crowd keeps growing. The more of a spectacle the Pepper Heart fans cause, the more people join.

I don’t like it.

I fucking hate it.

Still, I make it my job to facilitate. “Ms. Heart’s resting her voice right now, so she can’t speak. If you’d like a selfie with her, please form a line here to my left.” I point to the ground beside me. “Right here.” My voice booms out over the crowd and bodies shuffle into formation.