High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (10 page)

No. That wasn’t an act.
 

They’d never met until that alley—

“—driver for you, Mr. Stone?”

I blink. I’m standing at the mahogany check-in desk. My keys are in my hand. There’s a clerk looking at me, waiting for an answer to a question I only half heard.

“No. No driver. Thank you. I rather like driving.”

The clerk bats her eyelashes at me. She’s cute. I might think about fucking her later. “I’m sure you do. Have a great ride, sir.”

I thank the clerk and am almost outside when my phone buzzes again. It’s Blake. I clear my throat and answer, trying not to let the stress show through in my voice.

“Hey, bro,” Blake says, sounding three-quarters lit.

“I’m busy, Blake. What is it?”

“Ah, nothing man. Just wondering if you’ve heard anything.”

“About what?”

“Y’know. The grifter girl and her crew.”

“Do you have something to say?”

“Me? Shit no. Just staying up to date is all. I mean, we’re a team now, right? We gotta keep each other in the loop.”

“If I hear anything I’ll let you know.”

Blake pauses. I can hear him breathing into the line. “You know, it’s real important we stay on the same page for this one, right Landon? Stay focused.” Blake laughs in a way that might be self-deprecating if it wasn’t totally insincere. “I mean…you have options. You’re a rich man. But me? This casino’s all I got.”

“I know that, Blake,” I say, straining to keep the impatience out of my tone.

“Good. It’s funny. How protective a man gets when he stands to lose everything. Like an animal backed into a corner—”

A shiver traces down my spine. “Anything else?”

“Nah. Oh wait. One more thing. I did some checking. You sure you want to sign those papers to make Blue Line trade publicly?”

“Already signed them. Why?”

“You did?” Blake sounds genuinely shocked. Almost worried. But he quickly recovers. “No reason. I just know how much that company means to you is all. And hey—have you heard?”

“What?”

“Elliot’s slinking home.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Blake looses an obnoxious laugh. “Yeah, wonderful. You’re a shit liar, Landon.”

The line goes dead.

I’m standing in the middle of the foyer, staring at my phone, a creeping feeling of dread working its toxic poison into my blood. A grifter crew with ties to the mafia. A death threat. My company going public. Blake’s worried because Blue Line’s the main creditor for Savannah’s Casino.
 

Shit. I feel like something’s slipping out of my grasp—

Suddenly I’m conscious that the few patrons closest to me are staring.

There’s a sound coming from my throat.

A low, rumbling growl.

I cough, mumble an apology and push through the casino’s revolving doors. The desert heat hits me like a slap. After the death threat I left Cole in his den, showered and got changed into something less formal than the suit I was wearing. Now I have on a short-sleeve button-up dress shirt, white slacks and Salvator Ferraro python loafers.
 

Still, I feel overdressed in this heat.
 

Too much time spent in air conditioned buildings.

The custom-painted vintage orange Range Rover I ordered is waiting for me right in front of the doors. I step around the vehicle, expecting a valet to be standing with the driver door open—

Instead there’s a guy built like a slab of stone leaning against my truck. His face is all puffy and his nose is puffy and bent, like someone beat him with a two-by-four when he was a kid. He’s wearing a cheap grey suit.
 

For an instant I’m speechless.

The guy grins. Lifts a red rose. “My boss heard about that unpleasantness at your opening last night. There are thieves and lowlifes everywhere in Vegas. He sends his regards.”

“Get the fuck away from my car.”

The guy doesn’t budge. But he does drop the rose at my feet. A ton of people are milling around outside the casino’s main entrance, but my attention has narrowed to just this guy. Suddenly I feel my animal surfacing. Real fast. I swallow hard, fighting to keep him under control.

Don Luca Abatelli’s goon looks at me like he know’s what’s happening.

But there’s a problem.

He doesn’t look afraid.

Then something flickers in his eyes. A quick color shift. It’s so quick I almost convince myself I imagined it. But no. It was there.
 

He’s a Wildblood.
 

“You running off somewhere, Landon?” the guy growls. “Pussy got a fright?”

“You want to do this here?”

The guy cracks a wide grin. “Not the best idea for either of us.”

“That’s right. So get the fuck off my car.”

The guy reaches a hand beside his leg. Drags a claw into the Range Rover’s paint, then pushes a little harder. His claw punches through the metal. “That’s gunna leave a mark,” he says.

Then he pulls his claw free, brushes his hands together, steps away from the SUV, lights a cigar and says, “Welcome to Vegas, motherfucker.”

***

I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard I’m afraid I might tear it off the steering column, which would be bad news, considering I’m going ninety miles an hour in my rush to get into the desert. My muscles are bulking up and my skin’s rippling and there’s an awful feeling in my gut, a burning pain that means I don’t have much time—

I can’t control him.

Something’s driving my lion insane.

It wasn’t the mafia goon, although it was a shock to find out Luca has Wildbloods in his employ. I guess money
can
by anything, even cross-species muscle.

But still, it wasn’t that dickhead.
 

It’s something else. Almost like he’s being…called out.
 

Summoned. But by who or what—

Something pops in the base of my neck, blinding me with pain. I scream and jerk the wheel, almost sending the Rover into oncoming traffic.
 

Fucking hell. This is real now. He’s tearing me up from the inside. Something’s drawing him out. I’ve always valued control. The ability to keep what I am hidden at all times. All living Wildbloods are sworn never to reveal their animals. On pain of death.
 

But this? This is different.

This is like a flood, a raging torrent bursting over a dam, a force of nature, and I have to wonder if this is the consequence of keeping my lion chained up for so long? Is this my own fault?

I hit the last light outside Vegas and floor the Rover. The engine doesn’t make a sound. I swapped out the gas guzzler for an electric prototype Blue Line’s testing. There’s no fuel to burn through, so the engine gets a jolt of instant power as soon as I press the pedal, shooting the SUV forward.

My cell phone’s on the passenger seat, ringing, but I barely hear it over the sound of blood pounding in my ears. My hands are getting thicker. Fine blonde hair springs up along my arms. I tear past a group of cyclists, scaring the shit out of them because they didn’t hear me approach.
 

I don’t have long before my animal breaks free, pushing me outside my conscious mind. I’ll be a fucking lion trapped in an SUV going a hundred forty miles an hour—

That’s not the worst of it. The Wildblood Council will scent me out. Uncontrolled animals are quickly and quietly culled. There is absolutely no leniency for Wildbloods who lack self-control. It’s been that way for centuries. Ever since the first jackass wolves started going all feral on the Northern Europeans and the human began the hunts—

That’s why Blake’s always on edge. He’s a loose cannon. Which is funny, because here I am, Mr. Stable, the calm brother, the diligent, upright brother—losing my shit.

I glance at the GPS map. Three more miles, then a right onto a dirt road.
 

I might make it.

But I’m worried about the girl. Summer Mason. If the cabbie drops her off out here and I’m in my animal…she’ll be prey. I won’t even remember who she is. I’ll simply scent her warm blood—

I slow, then crank the wheel and turn, sending the Rover into a long four-wheel slide that almost puts me in the ditch. A rumbling chuff escapes my lips. The sound terrifies me. I slam the Rover into gear and punch it down the dirt road. The road’s washboards and ruts are so deep I bottom the suspension and nearly slam into the ceiling.
 

Then the pain starts for real. Worse than I remember. A grinding heat way down in my hips that spreads to my lower back. I feel him now, his animal instincts overpowering my rational mind. My vision changes. Colors bleed and blur. I lose some of the red and violet spectrum and pick up blues and greens. The red sandstone hills darken.

But the air is alive with scent. The animals that passed across the road in the night. The reek of greed and corruption from the city. Even the light has a quality of scent to it, the morning sun damp in my nose—
 

Another flash of pain, this one in my jaw, and when I open my mouth to scream blood leaks from my lips.

I whip the Rover out of a dry wash and up a sharp crest.
 

Then I see them.
 

A group of gangbanger-type guys out for some shooting practice. Their Glocks popping off at the beer bottles set up against a berm of dirt and sand. They turn as I bear down on them. Shit. One of their cars is jackknifed across the narrow track. I crank on the wheel, sending the Rover ploughing across the desert. The bangers hoot and holler, waving their guns as I blast by, sending a billowing dust cloud over them.

Get the fuck away. Get the fuck away you idiots—

The Rover crashes through creosote bush, tumbleweed and cholla cactus. The pain intensifies around the base of my spine, then shoots through each limb. I scream again, and this time the sound quickly becomes a tremendous roar.

They say a lion’s roar can be heard for over five miles.
 

That means the gangbangers heard that.

Their deaths are on them if they get snoopy and come investigate—
 

I check the GPS. Another mile and the road ends and I’ll be a few hundred yards away from the Red Rock canyons. I hope my animal has the sense to flee into the shaded canyons and stay out of sight. If the Council comes hunting—

I lose the thought as a splitting pain bursts through my skull. More blood spills from my mouth. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to keep the lion caged. The motherfucker. All this time. I’ve been working and keeping my head down. Almost had myself fooled about what and who I am. But he was there. Lurking inside me every step of the way. Laughing at my delusion of control.
 

I envy the humans and their dull lives.
 

Nothing’s worth this pain—

THE CABBIE DRIVES me north to the outskirts of Vegas without saying a word. Here the wide, palm tree lined boulevards return; the houses are roofed in clay tile and hidden behind twelve-foot tall stone fences and wrought-iron gates. The shopping malls are full of gleaming luxury vehicles and everyone looks well shopped and well fed—

“Stop the car,” I say.

The cabbie looks at me in the rear-view.
 

“I said stop the fucking car.”

“You sure you want me to do that?”

“I wouldn’t have said it—twice—if I wasn’t sure.”

The cabbie slows to the curb. I pop open the back door and am about to hop out when something stops me. I can’t say what exactly. It’s like I hear something. A roar. I could almost mistake it for a diesel truck growling up a hill. But it’s not a truck.

It’s an animal.

Blake’s mouth widening, revealing row after row of sharp teeth. Only not teeth. Fangs. Like an animal’s.

 
What the fuck’s happening to me?

“Miss?”

The cabbie.

“Tell me who gave you that phone and sent you to collect me.”

The cabbie shrugs. “The desk clerk at Savannah’s handed me an envelope. Look. I get paid—”

“I know, I know. Whether I go with you or not.”

Could be Blake making good on his promise to hunt me down. Could be Landon, although I can’t imagine why. Could be some kind of pig sting aimed at getting me somewhere isolated so they know I can’t run.
 

I stare at the sidewalk. A yuppie-looking dude wearing a hip-belt jogs past, blabbing into an ear phone. Which reminds me. I take out my phone. I should text someone. Tell them where I am. It takes me a minute to decide who, but then I fire the text to Alfie. Jay’s missing. Vito’s a wreck. Maya? Who the fuck knows if I can trust her or not.
 

Alfie gets back almost instantly with a question about where I’m going.

I wish I knew.

Just having a friend out there eases my mind a little. I’ve been getting ahead of myself. Allowing pessimism to take over. Whoever put those cameras in my apartment doesn’t want me dead. At least not quite yet. Otherwise I’d already be coyote food.

The roaring sound’s still ringing in my ears. There’s a whole lot of strange shit going on inside me. Exhaustion. Fear. Horror. And a weird kind of…
attraction
. But how can you be attracted to something if you don’t even know what it is? Maybe there’s some subconscious shit bubbling up in me.

But whatever’s going on, my cheeks are flushed and my skin’s tingling, and for some reason I start thinking of Landon Stone. His eyes, that soft hazel with gold speckles that seemed to caress me. His impeccably messy surfer hair. How stunning he looked in that suit. How powerful his hands felt on my shoulders, commanding and supportive at the same time. How weak my legs were. I blamed it on having nearly been strangled. But there was more going on.