Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

Monte took my choices away. He did. The question is, what the hell do I do about it now that I have a choice?

Chapter Thirteen

All in.

I walk out of the bathroom at the airport, dressed in fucking jeans and a T-shirt. Why? ’Cause when I threw shit in my bag, I wasn’t thinking about my show—that’s why. That woman has me all sorts of fucked up.

I throw a twenty in the airport slots, and the first pull is a loss. The next twenty goes in, and the next pull, I get my cash back. My third pull, I lose.

A lose, so I should start off the Strip. Ritual gone.

I’m not playing my normal game; I’m playing a game for her, for my girl. Yes, I am fucking calling her “my girl,” and she is also about to lose the “Hard Knocks” tag she has been given and seems to accept. Fuck that! She’s platinum. She’s just gotta accept it, and by God, I’m gonna make sure that happens!

I am all in. It’s a game, one where I will either lose it all or gain the biggest fucking jackpot I have ever played for.

I walk out and hail a cab.

“3111 Bel Air Drive,” I tell the cabbie as I climb in.

The first time I came to this sandbox, I expected it to change my world. And in certain ways, it did. For one thing, I was suddenly able to buy the people I loved nice things. But life-changing? No.

Still, it sure as hell felt, and feels, good. Ballin’ feels good. Having people look at you and want to be like you feels good. Lying down with pussy that’s neat, trim, and pampered feels good. Having socialites on their knees, sucking you off in the bathroom at a club feels good.

But none of that is life-changing.

Fame or virtue, which do you choose?

A month ago, it was all about fucking fame for me. Fame is what I have here. People know me—they fucking know me. The man I chose to be, not the man everyone thought I would be. Not the fucking man my old man raised. Here in Vegas, they know I am good at the game.

But I wanted life-changing moments, and so far, all I have gotten are material things.

Virtue, though . . . Now, virtue changes lives. Virtuous people change lives, and changed lives break cycles. And virtue is now within arm’s reach. If I lose the game, lose the girl, I do it knowing that this man, this Caldwell man, did something that made his momma proud—gave a girl back what should be a birthright, something that was stripped from her: the freedom of choice.

When I get to my pad, I go inside and realize I didn’t even check on my car. But who gives a shit? Not me. Not today.

I open the safe and grab two grand, then snatch the keys off the entry table.

Opening the garage, I see Hailey’s little car and decide I wanna drive it. That motherfucker is out there, and it’ll draw him out like a cockroach in the night. I slide in and check for the keys, but they’re not in the ignition. I check under the seat—not there. I look above the visor and all the typical places people stash keys, but they aren’t there.

Then I look in the rearview mirror and see little chick’s car seat, reach back, and pull up the cover. Keys. I laugh to myself, because Hailey isn’t anything like the chicks I bang. She thinks, plans, strategizes, and has better street smarts than anyone else I know. Hiding keys under car seat covers. Your typical car thief wouldn’t even think to check there. That’s because he wouldn’t know the little chick’s more important to her than anything or anyone else in this world. Her tell, and her reason for the fight, is that little beauty.

I want in on whatever bullshit underground tourney Monte has coming up, because that motherfucker has no clue how to treat a girl like Hailey, and he has no fucking right to that little chick, either.

I drive by her place three fucking times. Three isn’t my lucky number, but three makes shit happen in my life. There is a beginning, a middle, and an end. The middle is the safest place to be; I’ve always known that to be true. I hated the idea of choosing to be the safest—the one who floated—so I never did.

I park in front of a dive bar, the Double Down Saloon. Then I walk in, order a beer, sit, and wait. Before my beer is finished, I see four men walk in together, and behind them is Monte.

I leave my stool, walk to the back of the bar, and sit in a corner booth. I look up to see that bastard walking toward me with his boys.