Staying in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 1)

Ex-enforcer, if my temper doesn’t simmer down by the time this godforsaken meal is over. Disregarding my fucking orders, keeping my girl in the city behind my back, springing shit like this on me without so much as a “fuck you.”

And her—where the hell does she get off? This is my town. If she’s not with me, she has no business being here—and I don’t want her with me, because she’s a fucking liar, but I damn sure don’t want her with Sin when the sight of them touching makes me lose my appetite.

Turning to face Laurel again, I can’t resist throwing a jab. “So, are you planning to fuck your way through my crew now, since you can’t have the top dog?”

Laurel looks briefly stunned, then she bursts into laughter. Grasping her chest, she draws my gaze to her lovely breasts, jiggling as she laughs her ass off.

Sin glares at me initially, but then he is as confused as I am by Laurel’s laughter. She should be offended. I wanted to make her feel bad, not amuse the hell out of her.

“Oh,” she finally says, wiping the corners of her eyes. “Oh, wow. That was really funny, Rafe.” She places a hand on my arm, her eyes glowing with pleasure, still leaking mirth. “I didn’t realize you were funny.”

I damn sure wasn’t trying to be. Now I’m just fucking insulted.

Laurel chuckles to herself again, shaking her head like she can’t quite get over my joke as she flips open the menu. “Oh, man,” she breathes, still struggling to get her shit together.

I wasn’t joking. What part of that did she take to be so fucking hilarious? “You know what I find funny?”

Laurel pushes a wave of chocolate hair behind her ear. “No—and to be honest, I don’t care.” Instead of waiting for that to land, she turns further into Sin’s embrace and leans in to murmur something to him, pointing at a spot on the menu. Sin nods and she smiles in response.

What did she say? Why are they exchanging looks and touches and fucking glances like… like…

…Like we were, over Easter.

For a moment that feels much worse than it should, the thought crosses my mind that perhaps Laurel isn’t putting on a show for me. Perhaps Laurel and Sin really have built a rapport in just a couple days, the same way we did back in Chicago. Laurel was affectionate with me right away, not slow to warm up. Laurel is young and relatively unguarded, not yet scarred and dirtied up by the world. It doesn’t take a whole hell of a lot to tap into her interest. I think of Sin as a violent asshole, but sure, I suppose he has a certain appeal. Given his obvious disinterest, most women who were once drawn to him recognized him as the lost cause he was and gave up, but Laurel doesn’t know Sin’s past, and she did sort of reach out to him from the start.

That first night she was here, even before I was an asshole to her, when I still had her—literally—in the palm of my hand, she went out of her way to be nice to Sin. His roughness didn’t put her off. Even if it made her momentarily uncomfortable, she kept trying. Maybe Sin liked that. Maybe he didn’t bring her here to fuck with me—maybe he brought her here because he likes her. Yesterday he told me I should call Laurel before someone else did—what if he meant himself?

Why does that possibility cause unease to slither down my torso and settle in my gut?

This is what jealousy feels like. Goddammit, I am experiencing jealousy.

Fuck Sin. Doesn’t matter if he likes her or he’s just fucking with me for some reason, he had no right. Doesn’t matter that she was never officially mine; Laurel falls firmly within the bounds of my territory.

I need to steal her back.

It’s not logical. I know I didn’t even want to keep her two nights ago when I had her right there, and nothing about our situation has changed. She’s still a fucking liar, but now she’s the little liar who is sitting next to me with my fucking friend, with my employee, like she’s right where she wants to be. Maybe seeing me with Jayla makes her uncomfortable, but as she sits here rubbing Sin’s arm and perusing the menu, it’s clear it didn’t ruin her fucking night, either.

I call bullshit. My fickle little kitten wanted my cock two nights ago, and now here she sits with him, laughing at me when I point out the fact.

I’ll give her little ass something to laugh about.

Grabbing her arm, I pull her away from Sin and closer to me so I can lean in and tell her, “You and I need to talk, right now.”

“I’m all ears,” she replies, not taking her eyes off her menu.

“In private,” I add, barely able to keep my tone civil.

Now she turns that little body into me, and warmth moves through me. It feels like victory and happiness and everything good—at least, until she leans in further, her warm breath tickling my neck, and whispers, “I don’t have anything to say to you in private, Rafe.”

My jaw locks. “Well, I have something to say to you.”

“I’m gonna pass,” she whispers, before scooting her little ass away from me and back toward Sin like she prefers his company to mine.

Is she for fucking real right now? I’m the head of this outfit; he’s just the fucking muscle. She’s known him for two fucking days.

Okay, I guess prior to this whole catastrophe she only knew me for four, but… well, at the risk of sounding blithely petulant, I was there first.

My fingers lock around her arm before I even realize my intent and I yank her back against me. She starts at the force I use and her big, blue eyes jump to mine, a trace of wariness surfacing. That’s much better. Be afraid, little kitten, because I’m going to turn your life upside down if you think you can deny me.