High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (5 page)

He’s built tall and thin, with a pointed, almost weaselly nose and a porn mustache and thinning, slicked-back dirty-blonde hair that’s fallen out of place to gather in wild clumps around his ears. He’s wearing black jeans and a Hawaiian shirt and black leather cowboy boots. Dude’s sketchy enough to be a grifter, just like me. Judging by the twitchy black-gold eyes and the way he’s shaking I’d say he’s well into a three or four day bender. In fact I can see the white powder rimed around his nostrils.
 

Great. Most expensive security system in the world and Landon Stone hires cokeheads to work the floor.

“You’re a street,” I say.

The sirens are getting closer. C’mon c’mon—

Street’s slang for an undercover tool. A guy hired by the casino to pose as a customer and keep an eye out for scammers. Like me.

“Look again,” the guy growls.
 

Something in the gold-flecked eyes. And maybe the jawline? Too narrow, but it feels familiar.
 

My heart pounds against my ribs.
 

Without meaning to, I shake my head and whisper, “No.”

Dude’s eyes light up. He’s
loving
this. Torturing me. Feeding on my helplessness and fear. “Oh yeah, sweetheart. You know who I am.” His grip on my blouse shifts. He runs his right hand over my breast while his left wraps around my throat. “So say it. I want to know you know who I am.”

I nearly knee the fucker in the balls. But that creepiness coming off him? It’s a gut instinct screaming one thing:
this guy is very bad news.
 

“You’re Blake Stone,” I say, real quiet.
 

“That’s right. Landon Stone’s older brother. Chief of fucking security at the esteemed and luxurious Savannah’s Casino as Vegas. And you’re Little Miss Nothing. Little Miss Dead and Gone—”

Blake pushes into me, his hand tightening around my throat. My eyes go wide and I try to scream because he’s strangling me, right here in the back alley while cops and firemen rush in the front entrance, the fucker’s
murdering
me and my breath seizes in my lungs and for a second I think I see something really awful—it must be the terror, the lights flashing behind my eyes—because for an instant Blake opens his mouth and his teeth are
huge
, dog or cougar fangs dropping lower than his lip and a deep, rumbling growl washes over me and even if he wasn’t strangling me I’d want to piss myself—

“Blake! Blake get off her! Now! I said get the fuck off her!”
 

Someone’s yelling.
 

Help me. Please he’s killing me please help me.

The thought pounding through my mind as my knees give out.
 

But the asshole named Blake keeps squeezing, his grip impossibly powerful, my lungs burning red hot—

“I said get the fuck off her!”

I’m not sure what happens. Only that Blake tosses me hard into the wall. Sinking to my knees, I throw my hands to my throat and take gasping breaths of air—

“What in fucking hell, Blake? You need to fight him down—”

That growl again.
 

Murderous. Predatory. Lethal.
 

I clamp my eyes closed. Another wave of terror hits me in an instinctual, primal way that makes me shudder. I want to get to my feet and run as fast as possible. But my legs are rubbery. My entire body’s shaking. I’m not even sure I can stand—

Then another sound. A lower, deeper growl.
 

My eyes are still closed. Like I’m about to take a bullet in the brain. Like death’s hovering above me and I’m too terrified to look him in the eye.

The second guy says, “Fight him down, brother. Lock him away. Or I will.”

There’s a heavy silence. I finally muster the courage to open my eyes. I’m staring at the pavement, still too frightened to look up. Two sets of shoes are squaring off. Blake’s dusty cowboy boots. And a pair of exquisite, highly polished Testoni dress shoes. Then Blake says, “You saw her, Landon. Bitch played the Savannah. On opening day in
my
casino.”

Landon? Oh shit.
 

The billionaire magnate. The man I just got caught stealing from.

I almost wish the dickhead Blake
had
murdered me.
 

Because Landon’s going to send me to the box. I know it. Cut off my fingers. Break my arms. Maybe murder me himself. That’s the only reason the boss would be here—

“I
know
what she did, you idiot. Jesus Christ. Get her up. Help me get her up! Are there cameras—”

“Only ours.”

“Summer here let me help you—”

He knows my name. My
real
name. I’m still drawing deep breaths, shaking, trying to recover enough to run—

A hand on my shoulder.
 

“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, batting the hand away.

“I want to help you—”

I haven’t looked up yet. I don’t want to see. Plus I want to recover a little more. So I force a sob, like I’m all hysterical, which I almost am. “Help me? Don’t touch me, you scumbag. Your meathead tried to
strangle
me. In the alley!”

“Get her up.”

Landon’s voice. Firmer now.
 

The hands on my shoulders aren’t allowing themselves to be batted away. They’re digging under my arms. Strong. I consider screaming. Like really shrieking. Blake was going to kill me. And that feeling I got from him? The Strip’s only half a block down the alley. Some brainless touron will hear me. Alert the cops. I’ll be better off with them—

Parole
.
 

Okay. No cops. No cops.
 

“No cops,” I stammer as I let the men lift me to my feet. “Please no cops…”

“Why not, Summer?” Blake the dick sneers. “Worried about another felony tacked onto your parole violation?”

Shit. They know all about me.

I wonder if I was made right when I walked in the front door. Were they watching me the whole time? Letting the scam play out to rope the whole crew?
 

No. Doesn’t make sense.
 

They would’ve called it before the fire alarm—

“I’m going to release you now,” the Landon says to me. I still haven’t looked at him. But his voice is…compelling. A baritone, commanding and edged but with a refinement and restraint Blake’s voice lacks. “If you run, Summer? We
will
catch you.”

Something in how he says it makes me realize running is a very bad idea. “I know,” I whisper, looking up.

Landon Stone is standing in front of me, backlit by the streetlights, his gorgeous, surfer-cut blonde hair seeming to glow gold. His face is shadowed, but his eyes are a stunning hazel-gold. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored cobalt blue suit that reveals his naturally athletic musculature. I blink, taking him in, and suddenly I don’t want his hands off my shoulders. I want him to hold me, there’s a warmth building in my loins and a giddiness in my head—

Damn. I’m more freaked out than I thought.
 

Wires all crossed.
 

Mistaking fear for arousal.

The trick is to see him as a mark. A victim.
 

So I mentally go through his appearance, sizing him up for a job.

Suit? Check.

Shoes? Check.

Gorgeous fucking eyes? Check.

Uh…okay. Kinda hard to steal those.
 

But when he lifts his hand to idly scratch his chin things really get interesting. Landon Stone is wearing the Jaeger-LeCoultre Hybris Mechanica à Grande Sonnerie wristwatch. Only…when a watch costs a cool 1.5 million you don’t call it a watch.

You call it a
timepiece
.

I can’t help it. My jaw drops open.
 

Landon sees the look in my eyes and quickly covers up the watch. Gives me an angry glare. Like I’m shit. Like he’s half thinking about turning me over to his brother.

Too late, pretty boy. I got a new game plan.
 

Escape from these dickheads…with that
watch
.

I set my jaw, fire Landon a nasty look. The rich bastard.
 

Let’s see if the pretty boy has the stomach for this town—

Landon frowns. “You scratched her neck,” he says to Blake, inspecting my throat.
 

I lift my finger to the stinging pain. I’m bleeding. “You asshole,” I say, mustering every bit of disdain I can. I might be a thief. But I’m not a piece of meat—

“Lucky for her,” Blake snaps, “I didn’t snap her neck.”

Landon hasn’t let me go. He turns, real slow, to stare at his brother.

“No. Lucky for
you
.”

“Whatever,” Blake says, sounding like a chastised teenager.
 

Concern flickers through Landon’s eyes as he inspects my wound.
 

“Your brother’s a real class act,” I say, fighting down the weakness in my voice. Damn. This guy…all right. Maybe admitting it will make it go away. He’s making me wet. Just by being close. Another stroke of lousy luck for this evening.
 

I can’t even hate him properly.
 

“We should get her downstairs,” Blake says. “Before it gets complicated.”

Downstairs
.
 

The word sends a chill through my blood, cooling the warmth building in me—

“I won’t tell,” I say, looking into Landon’s eyes. “I won’t say…what happened…to anyone. Never.”

“No one will believe you,” Blake spits. “And even fewer will care.”

“I won’t say a word about him strangling me,” I say, needing Landon to believe me.
 

Landon frowns. God he’s gorgeous. The bastard. His chest almost touching mine. I lean an inch closer.
 

I want to touch him. Want him to touch me in return—
 

“You’re better looking than on TV.”

Oh shit. I so did not mean to say that.

Landon’s lips flicker into a half smile. “I hear that a lot.”

“I bet you do.”

Another inch closer. My nipples brush against his suit, sending electric shocks tingling through me—

I reach my left hand down, slip it under his sleeve, aiming for that sparkling timepiece of a million-dollar payout.
 

Landon tenses. Lets my shoulders go.
 

Takes a step away.

A little hole opens up in me when I see the look of disgust on Landon’s face.
 

“Get the fuck out of here, Summer Mason. If I see you in Savannah’s again, I’ll loose Blake on you.”

“Loose? Like a rabid dog?” I rub my bruised neck. “That’s about right.”

“Let me walk her to the Strip,” Blake asks.

Landon looks at me, then back at Blake.
 

“I’ll find my own way—”

“No. That’s a good idea. You walk her, Blake. Get her off my property. Make sure she understands how seriously Savannah’s frowns on thieves.”

Thieves
.
 

A rush of shame slams into me.
 

The judgmental motherfucker. Try living a week in my shoes. Try knowing what it means to be hungry. Try watching your mother get more and more sick because you can’t afford her prescriptions. I’m about to tell the pompous prick to piss off when Landon slips through the door and vanishes, leaving me alone with Blake. I take three quick steps toward the Strip before Blake’s hand settles against the small of my back.

“Got off easy, bitch,” he says in my ear.

I’m almost running—

“Got off
real
fucking easy. My little bro might be the boss for now. But I’ll hunt you down on my own time. Get you alone. You like that, huh? You and me alone? You fucking liked my hand on your throat. I know you did. Scummy ditchpig whores like you always do.”

Only twenty yards until the bright lights and happy faces of the Strip.
 

I clamp my mouth closed, forcing down tears.
 

Ten yards. Five.

“I got a gift for you, Summer Mason. Call it a parting kiss.”

Fast as a flash Blake snatches my hand, wraps my pinkie in his strong fingers and twists. There’s a sharp pain, then a loud pop as my finger breaks. I scream, a quick burst before I bite my lip to silence myself, and then I’m among the blank-eyed camera-toting touron hordes, refusing to look back to see Blake’s smug smile—

“YOU DIDN’T SEE him. He was nearly out of control, Rachael.”

I’m sitting in my older sister’s office. It’s right beside mine, on the fiftieth and final floor in the tower that looks out over the safari jungle and grasslands inside Savannah’s. The casino is built like a giant ‘L’, with hotels and administrative offices inside the vertical skyscraper. A giant sweep of blue-tinted glass drops from the top of the skyscraper to meet the bottom of the ‘L’ nearly a mile away. Beneath the sparkling glass curtain there are gaming floors, restaurants, amusement rides…and the centerpiece of the casino, a roaring waterfall that spills out of the skyscraper and tumbles through the world’s largest self-contained and artificially-created wilderness habitat.

Rachael gives me a cold look.

“I mean it. I scented him. He almost lost it on that girl. Another minute or two…” My voice trails off. Rachael knows what I mean. Another minute or two and we would’ve been calling the Wildblood Council, turning our own brother in for murdering another human. The girl…Summer? Her corpse would’ve been unrecognizable.
 

“It’s opening night,” Rachael says in her unhurried, always calculated manner, and not for the first time I’m grateful for my sister’s presence. Without her this pride would have self-destructed long ago. “Blake’s on edge. Give him some space. It doesn’t help, you hovering over him.”