Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

Well, hot damn. That’s $15,000 a year, which I will definitely need since I don’t have the Tacone money coming in any more.

I leave the office, debating whether I should try to contact Paolo to thank him.

No, I should leave it alone. We had sex while he held me prisoner. This isn’t some romantic gesture. It’s probably considered sociopathic.

I’m getting on my bike when I get that feeling I’ve had lately that I’m being watched.

I thought it was me being paranoid about the FBI showing up to arrest me, but I suddenly realize it might be Paolo. I scan the streets. No sign of the Porsche.

But there. I see a dark blue Range Rover parked on the street across the way with a large figure behind the wheel.

I can't stop the smile spreading across my face.

And suddenly I’m lighter than a helium balloon. I sail across the street, open the passenger door and scoot into the seat, uninvited. “You missed me!” I sing out. “So, are we dating now?”

His face is inscrutable, as usual, except I catch the twitch of his lips that tells me he doesn’t mind my crazy.

I lean across the console to peck him on the cheek, but he turns and catches my jaw in his large hand and stays my approach.

My pussy squeezes at the dominant hold. His grip isn’t painful, just controlling. He holds my face immobile and studies it. “You look tired, doll.” He leans forward and I close my eyes. Then open them again to find him paused, halfway to my face, like he’s debating whether to actually kiss me or not.

“Come on,” I urge. “It’s just a kiss.”

The lips twitch again. He kisses me, just once. Sensual but still perfunctory. Like he’s teaching me a lesson I don’t understand. Then he releases my face.

“I see you visited my advisor. I told you not to, but thanks.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he maintains and for a moment, I’m taken aback. I didn’t read the situation wrong, did I?

And then I realize. It must be standard procedure to never admit a crime out loud.

“Well, thanks for whatever you didn’t do,” I say.

He accepts that with a nod. “I’ll sink that fucker in Lake Michigan if he ever disrespects you again.”

I give him my widest smile and his eyes crinkle even though his lips don’t match mine.

“You hungry? There’s this amazing taco joint right around the corner.” I point in the direction of Pancho’s Street Tacos.

“You buyin’?”

“Um, yeah,” I say, trying to quickly calculate how much cash I have in my wallet.

“Kidding.” He swings his door open. “I’ll buy. Let’s go.”

It’s ridiculous how excited I feel. Like we’re going on a date, rather than me catching him stalking me after brutally attacking my advisor. But I can’t find it in me to be afraid of him in this moment. I can’t drop the buoyancy that’s come over me at seeing him again. Knowing he cared enough about me and my situation to exact his form of justice.

I take him into the taco joint and order my favorite—two grilled shrimp tacos on corn tortillas.

“I’ll have the same,” he says and gets two drinks to go with them. We take our trays and find a place by the window to squeeze in.

I sit down and take a giant bite. “Mmm, thanks for buying lunch.”

He takes a bite of his.

“So why are you still watching me? I thought we were square.”

He shrugs. “Making sure you don’t leave town suddenly. Or turn yourself in. Or anything else that will make us both sorry.”

“Bullshit. You missed me. Admit it.”

His lips actually quirk. “A little.”

A rush of pleasure rolls through me. “A lot.” I finish my first taco and pick up the second.

He neither confirms nor denies.

"Are you still watching my brother?"

He doesn't answer, just takes another mammoth bite of his taco.

"Leave him alone," I warn, all serious now. Not that I have anything to back up my warning. "I mean it. I did what I was supposed to do."

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” He finishes his second taco and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

I pick up my lemonade and take a long pull on the straw. “Thanks for lunch,” I repeat as I hop off the stool. “I’ll see you around, big guy.” I give him a saucy wink and a toss of my hair as I sashay out.

It was a great exit and I enjoy getting on my bike and riding away, imagining he’s still watching me. It’s only after I’m riding that I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.

Whether I should’ve given him my number and told him to call next time instead of watching from his car window.

And then all those thoughts disappear.

Because when I get to my apartment, I find it swarming with FBI.