Authors: Christa Wick
"Prison--" Seeing the hot tip of the cigarette zeroing in on my face again, I shut my mouth and pull my head back.
"Don't remind me." She takes a puff on the cigarette then stares for a long second at its tip. "I told Solandro about the last six years. He said it was a waste."
She snubs the cigarette out, her anger making her forget she wants to torture me with it. "A waste of you -- the wonderful and talented Queenie Lafayette."
Snorting, she flicks the butt away then reaches for a fresh smoke. "Like you're something special when we both know you're not."
A door at the far end of the warehouse crashes open. Solandro walks through it looking pissed and deadly. He stops next to Rose. She looks up at him, a sultry smile on her mouth. She licks her lips, like she is lubricating them for whatever he might offer.
Her hand snakes up his thigh. "I told you we couldn't trust her."
Solandro Ortiz is not a man who likes to hear "I told you so." I'm sure he's killed people for lesser transgressions. For now, he satisfies his anger by slapping Rose so hard she falls to the floor. She stays down, cowering at his feet and it dawns on me that this is probably the first time anyone has hit her -- ever.
Grabbing the now empty chair, Solandro drags it until it is right beside me and then sits down. Reaching behind him, he pulls a pistol from his pants and places it across his lap. "You're gonna make this right, Queenie."
I nod, trying not to think about how much time has passed since I left the casino. Each minute is another minute Luke has failed to find me. I worry that maybe he isn't even looking. He has the lenses and the cards from his casino. He knows Solandro's network. The threat to his business is eliminated. He offered me an out earlier when he tried to keep me from the meeting. I rejected it, disobeyed him, turned away from the safety he offered me -- not once, but three times.
If I die tonight, it won't be Luke's fault. He can walk away with a clean conscience, so will he really care?
I look back to Solandro and try to find something inside me to hold onto, to keep my mind centered so I can avoid a midnight execution. Meeting his cold stare, I force a smile. "You have any ideas how I can do that?"
He looks me over, his gaze lingering in a way I never would have anticipated. I'm not sure, but I think Solandro Ortiz is actually ogling me.
Swiping at his face, he grins. "It's not me you have to fix this for, chica. So you better put that famous brain to work pronto."
"Killing her would fix it." Rose sits on the floor, her arms around her knees and a hateful fire burning in her green eyes.
"You're about the stupidest little bitch I ever met, Rose." His hand on his lap, Solandro pulls the hammer back on the pistol. Lifting it, he points the gun at Rose. Her gaze widens, the pupils rapidly dilating to crowd her irises.
"Please, don't." My hands still bound, I lightly brush a finger against Solandro's calf to draw his attention from Rose.
Lowering the gun, he laughs. "Even now, you still want to save this scrawny little cunt?"
I look at my sister. If possible, I think she hates me even more because I intervened. I turn back to Solandro and nod. "I just need a little time to think."
Squirming, I raise one brow in what I hope looks like extreme discomfort. "And pee."
Solandro laughs again, long and hard enough that his grip on the pistol loosens. Catching the gun before it can hit the floor, he waves it at one of his crew. "Pollo, take her to the bathroom. Make sure she doesn't escape."
Pollo extends his hands far beyond the width of my hips and snorts. "I don't think they make windows that big."
"Just fucking do what I say." Reaching behind me with a knife, Solandro cuts the rope binding my hands.
I rub at them, using every last second of my escort's approach before I stand and slowly follow him to the restroom. I look for any unguarded exits and potential weapons as we walk. The restroom is halfway down the middle of a long hall. There is a fire extinguisher at the same point and an exit at the end, but another man guards it.
I enter the bathroom and whatever hopes I have of being left alone are dashed as Pollo follows me inside and points at the first stall. I enter it, slide the lock and look at the toilet seat.
Uhm...no.
"I don't hear you peeing, blanca."
Snarling at the man, I pull toilet paper from the dispenser and use it as a makeshift cover. Lips peeling back in distaste, I sit down with the solid knowledge that -- if I make it through the night alive -- I will need to Lysol my private bits.
"I still don't hear--"
The sound of a thin stream of urine hitting the ceramic bowl stops his chatter. His feet, visible under the door, retreat and I marginally relax. Only marginally -- I still have no idea what I am going to do. At least Solandro considers me some kind of asset for the moment.
Maybe if he knew more about my deal with Luke--
I shake my head. Solandro's crew might consider ransoming me, but Luke has no reason to pay. Still, I don't dismiss the idea completely -- it might buy me enough time to figure out something else. It also will bring the FBI in deeper than the marked cards, which means another chance at being rescued.
"I don't hear you anymore--"
"Just give me a minute," I snap and reach for the toilet paper. Seeing his feet in front of the stall again, I press my free hand against the door. "Haven't you heard of wiping?"
He chuckles. "Bet you want to wash your hands, too."
The door shakes with a hard blow. For a second, I think Pollo hit it with his fist or something, trying to startle me for a laugh or to force the door open. Then he folds to the floor, eyes shut and slack jawed.
Adrenaline shoots through me, my pulse pounding so loud I almost miss the low hiss of Luke's voice. "Get her out, now!"
Shoving my skirt down, I open the stall door. Two sets of hands belonging to complete strangers reach in and lift me over the still unconscious Pollo. Another man waits at the restroom door, a big black shield facing toward the entrance.
Shoving me behind him, one of my rescuers turns toward the door and raises his shotgun. "Stay between us."
I look around, my gaze frantically searching for Luke. A hand lands firmly against the side of my head and forces my attention forward to the man in front of me. A stranger's rough command to focus resonates behind me.
I nod. My hand resting lightly on the back of the man in front of me, I move when he moves. The guard at the bathroom door steps into the hallway, shielding us as we sneak into the hall. The exit at its end is open and guarded by another member of the tactical team. Beyond him, I see a black van idling soundlessly.
We make it to the van. Arms reach from the blackness to roughly pull me deep into the interior as gunfire breaks out within the warehouse. My rear guard hits his hand against the side of the van and shouts.
"Move out!"
The door shuts. The van pulls away. From somewhere above us, I hear the low swoop of a helicopter's blades and I turn to the man holding my arm.
"Mr. Masters--"
"Inside."
I suck a ragged breath in. Luke is in there -- with the gun fire? I try to move toward the front of the van to plead with the driver to turn back, but my guard won't let me. He holds me, I struggle, but he's too strong. Feeling weak and useless I sag in his arms.
"Please." The gunshots still ringing in my ear, I begin to cry. "We have to go back."
"Don't worry." He locks his big arms around me, securing me as we drive further from the sound of shooting and the beam of the helicopter's search light.
"Luke's been through a hell of a lot worse."
********************
My rescuers plant me in the underground holding room at Luke's casino and leave. I have no idea what has transpired since we left the warehouse. In the van and during the long walk through the maze of cubicles, no one answers my questions. I don't know Masters' condition: whether he was in the warehouse during the gunfight or if he's injured. I receive no assurance he is even alive.
In the room, I turn on the television but it apparently is meant for security playback. I try the door, but it's locked. I sit, pace, wait, bury my face in my hands but refuse to cry. After an hour or so passes, a male I do not recognize escorts me from the basement to the penthouse.
"Wait here," he warns me right before he shuts the door.
Alone, I go straight to the television. Coverage of the Las Vegas Police Department raiding a warehouse on the north side of the city plays on the television. Only the reporter has it wrong -- it's Solandro's warehouse on screen and the police are merely cleaning up after the raid by Luke's security team. The perky redhead informs the audience that no police officers were injured. I'm glad, but that isn't the information I need to know.
A familiar reflection dances in the corner of the screen. Seeing the tall, muscular frame and dark crown of hair, I start to turn and the words spill from me before I face him.
"You're okay--"
Vincent glares at me.
Suppressing the urge to shrink away, I meet his gaze. "Where is Luke? Is he okay?"
"He's getting stitches." His mouth pinches down at the corners. "Solandro likes knives as much as guns."
Watching Vincent, I start to mangle a couch pillow. "But he'll be released tonight?"
Vincent lifts a brow. "Solandro?"
"No!" I want to toss the pillow at his face. Instead, I stuff it behind my back. Vincent isn't stupid. He is prodding me for a reaction -- studying my tells while I am stressed. For what reason, I can only guess.
Closing my eyes, I roll my lips for a few seconds, grinding down my frustration so that I can speak without yelling. "You know I mean Luke. Will the injury require he stay the night at the hospital?"
"Is it really Luke you're worried about?" Deceptively soft, his voice sinks deeper than any dagger. "Or what happens to you next?"
"Luke." Opening my eyes, I growl his name at Vincent. "I'm worried about Luke."
"Don't." He moves along the back of the couch, his hand almost menacing as it brushes the piece of furniture. Stopping at the massive window, he looks out over the Vegas skyline where it fades into the desert. "He can handle himself around scum like Solandro."
Trying to contain my anger, I start to shake. "Then why are you interrogating me?"
"Because you're not Solandro." With his cold gaze on my reflection, he laughs and, for a moment, I am more afraid of Vincent Masters than I have ever been of any man.
"Let her be,
fratellino
."
Hearing Luke's voice, my head dips back and something breaks inside me. Tension -- it is tension that breaks but it does so too quickly. I grab the arm of the couch, lurching as my vision grays at the edges. My body slides toward the floor. Two strong arms wrap around me and stop my fall. Pulling me with him, Luke sits down, his arms a comforting cage.
"Really, baby, you're picking now to faint?"
Behind us, Vincent growls.
Luke glances over his shoulder and the growl falls silent. "Leave us."
Once I hear the door shut, I bury my face against Luke's chest. A hard puff of air leaves him and I immediately jerk back. He wears a dark cotton t-shirt and I can barely make out the raised outline of something square beneath the fabric. A bandage, perhaps.
"What's this?" With the t-shirt tucked into his pants, I try to tug it up.
Wrapping his hand around mine, Luke kisses my fingertips, the gesture telling me he doesn't want to allow my inspection.
"But you're hurt." I close my eyes against the tears ready to fall. If I cry, he will try to comfort me and I don't want that. I want to comfort him. "Please, I need to see."
The kiss moves from my fingers to my lips as he tries to distract me. "You haven't asked about Rose."
I stall, momentarily surprised as I realize he's right. I haven't asked a single person if Rose is okay. Nor did I ask anyone to deliver a message to Tommy that I am uninjured. For more than two hours, I haven't thought about anyone other than Luke.
Inhaling, I nod and brace for bad news. "How is she?"
He captures my face in his hands, his gaze narrowing as he answers. "Fine, physically, but she's in jail -- and staying there."
I nod again. I will have to explain things to Tommy later, but Rose brought this on herself. "Was anyone else injured?"
He shakes his head, his mood lighter for a second. "Just me and a mild concussion for the guy I knocked out in the bathroom."
He leans forward and rubs his face against mine like an affectionate cat. My head rests against his. I want to be relieved, but my lips quiver with a question I am afraid to ask.
He brushes his fingers over them, acknowledging that something is wrong. "You want to know what happens next for you and Tommy?"
I shake my head and close my eyes again because I don't want to see Luke angry or indifferent. He pulls me closer, ignoring the pain as my shoulder pushes against the bandaged area on his chest.