High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (24 page)

“No.”

Then I realize I
am
a little pissed. Not about the cock teasing—that’s just good fun. But about how lightly she’s taking me being a Wildblood. The disrespect. “You saw him. He’s not all that…cartoonish.”

A cloud flickers over Summer’s features.
 

Shit. She was joking to put on a brave face.
 

She’s terrified.
 

I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“I did see him,” she says, real slow. “I saw what he…did. But now…” She looses a shaky laugh. “My mind’s trying to convince me I hallucinated. Got hurt in the car crash and started seeing shit. Cuz what I saw…
can’t
be real.”

“He’s real,” I growl.

“You don’t like him.”

“I don’t know him. Fought him my whole life.”

“But you said he won’t hurt me. You can control him.”

Boom. Right to the quick of it.
 

I do up my zipper, then say, “With you…near me. Things feel…different?”

“How so?”

“Like I
can
control him.”

“But without me?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“The fuckers who came at you…they seemed like they could control their animals.”

“Because of you.”

“Huh. So it’s not only between you and me. Not because we’re…”

“Together?”

“Yeah. If you want to call it that.”

I almost ask her what
she’d
like to call it. But instead I bite my lip and say, “No. Not if…what our attackers said is true. A Whisperer’s presence alone is enough to alter the relationship between a Wildblood’s human and animal forms.”

“See? Sheriff’s posse on my tail cuz I’m in demand.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Old lyric.” Summer flips the AC off. “The point is, I have something you fuckers want. Dudes be lining up to get a piece of this.”
 

“You might be more right than you know,” I say, making sure I tread carefully. “The…effect a Whisperer has is intensified with—”

“Sex?”

“Physical contact.”
 

We drive in silence for a while. The light’s fading on Thursday. I’m doing a damn fine job trying
not
to remember all the shit I have to do before the gala opening in two nights.

Then I crack a rueful smile. Gala opening?
 

If what the douchebags said is true…the gala’s going to be dead last on my list of shit to worry about. Feels kind of good.

“So this Whisperer person? How exactly does she affect the…animal forms?”

“This is all a legend, you know. A myth. Wildblood children talk about Whisperers the same way human kids talk about Superman. It’s the dream of power. There hasn’t been a known Whisperer…in a very long time.”

“So those douchebags were wrong? I’m not what they think I am?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do
you
think?”

I feel her glaring at me. I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding her glance. “I don’t know yet.”

“You can’t feel…us?” Summer whispers.
 

“I feel
a lot
with us. That’s part of the problem. Shit’s all tangled up in my head.” I press my fingers to my right temple and give it a rub. There’s a pinpoint of pain growing way in the back of my skull—

“I feel a lot with us too,” Summer says. Then she laughs. “Course, I
did
just witness Call of the Wild, Version 2.0.”

“Yeah. It’s a lot to take in.”

Summer glances at my crotch. “There’s no ladylike way to respond to that.”

“You’re such a pillar of ladylike behavior.”

Summer slaps my shoulder.

A broad smile spreads across my face. Damn. Even at a time like this, when I feel like everything’s weighing so heavy on my chest I can barely breathe, this girl can make me laugh. Being with her makes the world feel lighter somehow, and then I realize how much she’s come to mean to me in such a short time—

“So about this myth,” Summer says, her tone serious again. “What is that a Whisperer does to the animals?”

“Strengthens them. But also…make them more amenable to control. Think of a lightning rod. It focuses and controls raw energy, and in so doing—”

“Intensifies it.”

“Yeah.”
 

I pull off the interstate. Savannah’s shimmering angled plane of glass catches the last rays of light and glows a brilliant orange-gold. The casino’s nearly twice as tall as anything else in the desert. Sometimes I adore it. Sometimes it just feels like a failed monument to hubris and ego.
 

I feel Summer watching me. “My mom use to get her palms read. The fortune teller liked to talk about channeling and hidden energies connecting us all together. Used to say all kinds of weird shit. Most of it I laughed off. I lost that sense of…childlike wonder early on. You know? That ability some kids have to believe everything? I saw too much too early. But I remember listening to that old fraud fortune teller blab about hidden energy, and liking the idea that there’s more connecting us than we can see in the physical world.”

“Why’d you like that idea, you think?”

Summer gives a short, almost bitter laugh. “Like I said, I grew up too fast. Moms worked two, sometimes three jobs. I was left to fend for myself. It wasn’t her fault…it was just…there was no choice. What I saw in the real world…didn’t impress me too much. Everyone hustling. Trying to make a buck. Dragging one another down. Dog-eat-dog, you know?”

“Yes.”

“So I thought…well, maybe it’s like that in
this
world. But maybe there’s something more than greed and self-interest out there, something we can’t see, a power that connects us in some secret way.”

“It’s a nice idea.”

Summer reaches in her backpack, pulls out her gun and checks the cartridge. “It is. It’s the kind of nice idea frauds and charlatans love to pimp on people who feel shit about their lives.”

And just like that she’s walled in again. I can almost see it happen: her shoulders tense and her lips tighten and a cool, calculating look comes into her eyes. Shit. It’s sad to see. “People can connect in this world. You’re wrong about it being all dog-eat-dog.”

Summer jerks her head up. Gives me an appraising glance. “Is that right? So you and me…we’d be a thing if it wasn’t for this Whisperer shit? For what I can do for you?”

I slide the Audi into a palm-tree lined driveway leading to Savannah’s private owner’s garage. I want to say yeah, of course. Want to believe my attraction for Summer is purely above-board.
 

But I wonder.
 

Would I want her like I do if she was just another down-on-her-luck human grifter? I have to believe so. I wanted her before I suspected she might be more. But am I certain enough to make her that promise?
 

No.
 

“Yeah,” Summer says after I don’t respond, her voice edged sharp. “You play a real good game, Mr. Nice Guy. But we all want something. There’s no such thing as unconditional love.”

The steel garage door slides open. I roll the Audi inside, a bitter taste in my mouth, the pain in the back of my skull worsening and my heart full of sadness, because the truth is…she’s right, and the writing’s on the wall for Summer and me—

LANDON SLIDES THE Audi into a reserved parking spot and kills the engine. We sit in the unmoving car in silence long enough for it to become awkward, then I say, “Well that was fun thanks for the date gotta run—”

I pop open the passenger door.

Faster than I can see Landon’s holding onto my arm. Hard.

“What are you doing?” I say, looking him straight in the eye. “Get your hand off me.”

Landon slowly shakes his head. “We can’t be seen together. Not yet. But you can’t leave. It’s not safe for you alone. I have some…business to take care of. I’ll send someone to bring you to my penthouse—”

“That’s cute, Lanny. But I already have a knight in shining armor. Her name’s Layla? She a Ruger LC9. Remember?”

“I remember you missing five of six shots.”

Bastard
.
 

Landon continues, “And I remember the Wildblood you shot kept on coming.”

“Really? Well I remember something too, jackass. You getting mauled by a pack of giant wolves and me saving your spoiled little—”

Landon winces, slams his eyes closed, then presses his fingers hard to his temples, like he’s got a migraine that won’t quit—

“Landon?”

No answer. Beads of sweat drip down Landon’s brow. Whatever’s happening to him…it looks
excruciating
. “Landon are you all right?”

Stupid question. Of course he’s not all right. I used to get stress-related migraines around the time my mom was diagnosed. Any bit of noise or light felt like someone was stabbing a hunting knife into my skull.
 

“I’m…I’m fine,” Landon says in a way that makes me certain he’s
not
all right. “Just a…lots going on. Lots on my mind.”

“You need to rest,” I say, my voice softening. “He really takes it outta you, doesn’t he?”

I feel like a selfish bitch. Caught up in what I saw at the speedway. Feeling like I lost my mind. Wondering what the hell’s happening, and who the hell this Landon Stone dude really is. Didn’t even bother to think about how he might be feeling.
 

“C’mon,” I say, “I’ll walk you up.”

“No. I can’t go inside the casino like this. Too weak. Too dangerous if…someone’s waiting for us. Need a minute. A few breaths.”

Waiting for us.

I almost ask him who’d be waiting, then think better of it. Landon reaches under his seat and finds a bottle of water. Drains the entire thing. There’s a weird sensation in my gut as I watch him. I almost feel like…I’m responsible for this madness. I glance into the underground parking lot. We’re surrounded by a fleet of gleaming luxury vehicles. Bentley and Rolls Royce and Jaguar. The cheapest car in here is a Beamer. Complimentary transportation for the casino’s high rollers.
 

A prickle of fear works its way down my neck.

Landon’s right. I’m not safe.
 

But neither is he.
 

“What does it feel like to change?” I ask when Landon looks like he might be able to give more than single-word answers.

“Maybe like giving birth? Only instead of delivering a cute ten pound baby I’m delivering a three hundred pound lion.”

“Ouch. Yeah. That’d suck.”

Landon tosses open his door and leans out like he’s gunna be sick. Spits a few times. Shakes his head. Then flops a leg out and lays back in his seat and gives me an embarrassed look.

“Aww, don’t,” I say. “We’ve hung out like, twice? Usually on third dates I like to get shitfaced. You’d be holding my hair back while I empty my guts into a toilet bowl. Kind of a Summer Mason dating tradition. You can tell a lot about man by how he holds back your hair.”

Landon gives me a faint smile.

“You need some huevos rancheros. Best hangover food—”

“I’m not hungover.”

“I know. But what I’m thinking is…maybe we don’t need to be here? Maybe we should get some food and find a room for the night somewhere else? Until you’re rested?”

“This is
my
casino.”

He almost says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

“It’s yours, yeah. But if you don’t feel safe here…if something’s waiting—”

“You don’t understand. The more I hesitate the more dangerous this game becomes. In the wilds…a predator needs to fight for what’s his. A lion works hard for a kill and five minutes later the scavengers gather. Hyena packs. Vultures. He can’t even eat in peace. Not to mention his rivals vying for his position. No. There’s no running, Summer. Not in my world. Not unless you want to end up like those dickheads on the speedway. Watching your blood arc from your shredded neck.”

Landon swings his head left to right on his shoulders, stretching. Readying himself for a fight. “On second thought,” he says. “You know what? Fuck it. They
should
see us together. So they know you’re mine.” He reaches down and holds my hand. His eyes are sharp and focused again. “Come on upstairs, Summer Mason. Tonight you’re rolling Savannah’s next-level.”

***

I’ve got a love-hate thing for this town. The promises she whispers to suck in the marks. Money. Fame. We all want to be somebody. I’ve spent most of my life hating the whales and high-rollers who blaze through Vegas, leaving a mountain of lost cash in their wake.
 

Hating them. Scorning them. On some level, you have to hate the people you rob. It’s just the way things are. Otherwise guilt creeps in, starts muddying shit up.

But I’ve also lived my life wanting to know what it’s like to be in their shoes, even for an hour. To have someone hold the doors open when I come into view. To have the best table at the restaurant always reserved for my party. Shit. I’ve envied their money. Who hasn’t? And I’ve hated myself for envying them. For wanting to be like them, be
somebody
, if only for a little while.

Landon guides me to a steel door and punches in a passcode. The door opens and suddenly it’s like we’ve stumbled down the sweet-as-hell big-money rabbit-hole and into another world. The unadorned, cinderblock parkade is behind us. Ahead there’s a corridor that ends at a private elevator. The corridor walls are lined with carved hardwood wainscoting and richly textured gold-flecked brick. The floors are covered in plush wool carpet with stylized leaf and flower prints. Classical music floats through the air, piped in from hidden speakers. The corridor has a feel like an exclusive African hunting lodge, all expensive and rare materials presented with an air of grace and refinement.