Winter Miracle Page 55

  My lips part, poised, salty tears drying on his chest.

  Now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAX

  We should kiss. God knows I want to, but I pull back just before our lips touch, scratching my head. My cock’s sticks out like a fucking Maglite against the towel, but I ignore it. “We should rest.”

  She looks down, blushing again. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  I feel like such an asshole.

  What the fuck are you doing? I’m telling myself. She wants this and you’re running with the ‘rest up’ routine?

  But I can’t. Not yet. It doesn’t seem right. I have to be sure of her motives first. My dick would disagree, but too many men have died because they listened to their manhood instead of their head. I don’t want to become another statistic no matter how tempting she may be standing here so wonderfully vulnerable.

  Seconds—that’s all it would take to get that dress off.

  I shake my head, trying to block it out and pushing past her. I catch her scent as I pass. It’s almost my undoing. “Goodnight,” I tell her.

  “Goodnight,” she replies, standing there lost in the doorway. I step into my bedroom, one hand against the back of the door.

  Your loss, big boy.

  *

  My back hurts. My shoulder hurts. It turns out my couch doesn’t make for the world’s comfiest mattress. It’s not like I could sleep anyhow knowing she was just down the hall, my own personal angel. I tossed and turned all night, finally taking my cock in hand and jerking off in the bathroom. Fucking pathetic.

  You could have been in bed with her. You could have been inside her, fucking her hard.

  Again, I stifle the thought. Not now.

  The airport is suitably bustling. I get nervous every time we walk past a security guard or cop, but Dawn remains quiet. I see her eyes shifting. She’s thinking about it too. She could call me out, run, but she doesn’t. It’s a small show of trust, but one I’m extremely grateful for.

  I grab us both coffees as we wait in the lounge. I hand Dawn’s over as I sit. “I must say, I had you pegged for a mocha, maybe a latte.”

  She takes the espresso off me and sips, lifting her eyebrows seductively. “Hang around me long enough and that’ll be the least of the surprises.”

  I can only dream. She’s wearing a new black dress purchased ten minutes ago from the only fashion store we could find in here. The top’s sheer, with a web-style design, the skirt midi length. My fashion knowledge might be lacking, but I do know every hot-blooded male in here has their eye on her.

  I watch the planes taxi outside. “Do you do much flying?”

  She almost chokes on her espresso. “If by ‘much’ you mean ‘once’ when I was five, sure.”

  “Where did you go?” I ask.

  “Fiji. Family holiday… in cyclone season, so I’m sure you can surmise how that one worked out.”

  “Worst. Holiday. Ever,” I mock.

  She sits back, eyebrows knitted together. “Wow, you do that a little too well. You haven’t got some kind of strange, Mrs. Doubtfire thing going on, do you?”

  I laugh and grab my crotch, hoisting it up much to the horror of the woman sitting directly opposite us. “In short, no, but I’m sure you worked that out when you so unceremoniously barged into the bathroom last. You know, if you wanted to see it so bad, you only had to ask.”

  I don’t miss the way she crosses her legs, her thighs shifting together underneath her skirt. I’d give fucking anything to be between them right now.

  An airport security guard passes by. He looks twice at me, eyes moving over my tatts. I could wear a pink polo and chinos and still look like the dictionary definition of trouble.

  The guard continues walking no doubt satisfied I’m not about to tear the place apart with my bare hands.

  A boarding call comes across the PA.

  I stand and pick up the duffle bag, hoisting it over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  Dawn looks confused. “The call was for First Class.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You think I travel Coach?”

  She looks me up and down. “Well, yeah, I kind of do.”

  I hand her a ticket. “Come on, Dorothy. The Emerald City awaits.”

  “A literary reference. Impressive. Maybe there is a brain up there in that thick skull somewhere.”

  I push her forward smiling. “Move.”

  We’re seated right up front of the plane. I stow the duffle and help Dawn into her seat, sitting myself and hunting for the seatbelt as the other passengers pass by looking over us with envy.

  I sit back and pull in a breath.

  It doesn’t go unnoticed. “You okay?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Flying’s always made me nervous. What can I say? I hate putting my life in someone else’s hands. I like to be in control. That’s actually why I wanted to be a pilot when I was seven, so I could fly myself around, picking up my school buddies, tour America’s best theme parks. But no girls. Strictly no girls.”

  Dawn’s smiling, eyes bright. “So, what happened?”

  I shrug again. “Life, lock-up, not to mention the neighborhood I grew up in wasn’t exactly churning out society’s brightest.”

  I notice a businessman in a pressed suit is watching us intently further along the aisle. He’s watching Dawn, I think, ogling her. A sudden hot flare of jealously runs through me. I snap sideways, eyeing him back.

  I’ve never seen anyone look away so fast.

  Dawn places her hand on mine. “You do stand out a little.”

  Her naivety is endearing in a way. I just hope it remains intact. This world, my world, is no place for a girl like her.

  I bring my shoulders back and try to relax. “Is it the ink or the cauliflower ears, you think?”

  She laughs, fastening her seatbelt. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact you look like you just ate a bag of nails?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “‘Brooding’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. Tom Hardy would be proud.”

  “Who?”

  “Tom Ha—” She sees me smiling. “You’re joking.”

  “I am.”

  “There you go. See? Isn’t that better than the whole Bruce Wayne, damn-the-world thing? If you ask me, it’s kind of sexy… a little, maybe.”

  She’s blushing hard.

  I look at her, drowning in the sea-green of her eyes. “I’m smiling for you. No one else.”

  We’re pulling together again when a flight attendant stoops down to interrupt us. “Can I get you anything before the flight?”

  A thrum runs under my feet as the engines start to spool. “Whiskey. Make it a double.”

  The attendant focuses on Dawn. “And you, ma’am?”

  Dawn smiles. “Water, thank you.” She looks out the window beside her. God she looks fucking beautiful lit from the side like this. For the first time, I notice she’s not a straight brunette. There’s gold in there, copper even—beautiful alchemy.

  She turns still smiling. “It all looks so small from here, doesn’t it?”

  “New York?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

  I humph. “If you think New York is ‘pretty,’ you clearly haven’t seen enough of it.”

  She looks back to the window. “I don’t know. There’s beauty everywhere if you look hard enough.”

  “Not where I’m from.”

  She lets it go. I try to change the subject. “So, you really want to be a fashion designer? That’s your thing?”

  She turns back to me, brushing her hair over her ear, her doe eyes darting upwards into mine. “Yeah. That’s my ‘thing,’ my dream.” She looks down, a sudden sullenness filling her features. “I was on track, too, until Rick.”

  “You can still do it.”

  “Can I?” she continues, watching me again. “He’s more or less sealed my fate here if you didn’t notice. Why do you think I’m working at my friend’s store? And that’s just to pay the bill
s he left. I didn’t know about this huge debt until a day or two ago.”

  I place my free hand over hers and squeeze. “I won’t let it come to that. You have my word.”

  “The word of a criminal.”

  I breathe out, but it’s fair. I am a criminal.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “That was too much.”

  I remove my hand. “No, you’re right, but criminal or not, I’m a man of my word. We’ll find Rick and we’ll sort this out, even if I have to fuck him up five ways to Sunday.”

  Armani’s watching us again down the aisle. “Why don’t you take a fucking picture?” I shout.

  Conversation stops around us.

  Dawn’s soft fingers fall on my arm. “Easy, Max. Let’s not get kicked off the plane before it’s taken off.”

  I exhale, long and deep, trying to expel all this nervous energy from my lungs. “I know, I know.” But I’ve got a mind to follow Wall Street there when he decides to take a bathroom break, give him a taste of New York’s finest knuckle sandwich. My fist closes and releases. It needs action.

  It’s going to get it, I think. They don’t call it Sin City for nothing.

  But I’m thinking of Dawn, of sin of a different kind. A ripple of awareness runs down to my cock.

  The plane starts to lift, the fuselage shaking like it’s made out papier-mâché.

  I call for another double.

  *

  It’s hot in Vegas, the kind of heat that turns gum into impressionist art on the sidewalk. I like it.

  Dawn looks out the window of our hire car as we make our way down the strip and all its kitschy glory.

  She looks around starry eyed. “Wow.”

  “First time in Vegas?”

  She nods. “This place is in-sane.”

  “Wait until you see it at night,” I suggest.

  “Do you know where we’re going?”

  I nod. “Nowhere good.”

  *

  The Wild Horse casino is a real retro throwback, the kind of early gambling haunt favored by the desperate and destitute. It’s also home to Vegas’s biggest crime lord, Bobby Cervantes.

  I pull up out front and park the hired car, a valet who could double as a heavyweight fisting the keys. “We’re here to see Bobby,” I tell him.

  Caucasian Evander Holyfield shrugs. “Who the fuck’s Bobby?”

  I stand a little straighter, make sure Dawn’s behind me. “Tell him one of Saul’s boys is here for his blessing.”

  Holyfield pushes out his cheek with his tongue, thinking it over, before stepping away and speaking into his lapel.

  He comes back smiling. “Take a seat in the Tangerine Lounge. Someone will be out for you shortly.”

  “Stay close,” I tell Dawn as we step inside. “You don’t want to get lost in a shithole like this.”

  “Who’s Bobby?” she asks.

  I draw her to the side, looking around. “It’s best not to say that name too loud around here if you want to keep all your fingers.”

  “But you—”

  “Do as I say, not as I do.”

  I find us a quiet corner in the Tangerine Lounge, no prizes for guessing where the name came from.

  I lean forward, continuing to watch out the corner of my eye. “How to explain this.” I breathe out. “We’ve entered Vegas, someone else’s domain.”

  “Bobby’s?” she says, voice low.

  I nod. “That’s right, which means we need his blessing to conduct our,” I can’t believe I’m about to use air quotes, “‘business’ here.”

  “He’s a crime lord?” she whispers.

  “Biggest in Vegas. Head of the Cervantes mafia. He runs all the underground operations, and we may need a favor, which is why we’re here. We need to operate freely, and we sure as hell can’t do it without going through this little custom.”

  Dawn looks around, her hands twisting together nervously in her lap. “But why here, in this dump? Wouldn’t he be better off operating from one of the fancier casinos?”

  I shake my head. “He’s old school. He’s not into showy things like Saul. No, all Bobby cares about is making money.”

  “Welcome to Vegas…”

  A goon comes over to the table. “You Saul’s boy?”

  “Yeah.”

  The goon looks to Dawn. “Who’s this?”

  “A guest.”

  The goon’s snake eyes wander over Dawn. I sincerely hope he gives me a reason to break his arm.

  Yeah, that would be real smart.

  The goon places a finger to his ear and nods. “Bobby will see you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAWN

  The elevator we’re in drops for what feels like forever, so much so I’m sure we’re about to pop out in Shanghai. But when the doors do open, it’s to a drab, utilitarian hallway, concrete on every side.

  We follow the suited man to the end and a single metal door. He pushes it open. “Right through here.”

  I have to brush past him on the way through. He shifts his crotch forward as I do, sniggering. A flicker of revulsion runs through me. I’m glad Max is here.

  The door closes behind us. We appear to be in a counting room. Piles and piles of hundred dollar bills are laid out on trestle tables around us. There must be millions down here.

  A man is smoking, back against the far wall. His hair is neatly combed. He wears a simple collared shirt and trousers. He could be anyone, an everyman.

  He rocks forward and approaches us, his loafers clacking on the concrete.

  He drops his cigarette, screwing it out with the heel of his shoe. He addresses Max. “How’s Saul doing these days? Still running the Apple?”

  Max nods. “He is.”

  “Still wearing that shitty suit of his?”

  Max nods again.

  The man I assume is Bobby sits on the edge of a table, taking a bundle of bills in his hand and testing its weight. He sniffs at it. “Fucking beautiful. So, tell me, man of Saul, what can I do for you?”

  I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all, but I’ve got to wait it out. I have to trust Max.

  “We’re here on business,” Max continues.

  “Saul’s business?”

  “Indirectly.” Max glances at me. “We’re looking for a Rick Collins.”

  “Rick Collins, you say? And why would that be?”

  “I think you know. Rick did wrong by Dawn here. He needs to be held accountable, and I have it under good authority he’s under your employ.”

  Bobby moistens his lips. “Lots of people are ‘under my employ,’ as you suggest, but okay. Say I do know this Rick character, what then? I just let you beat the shit out of him, or were you looking for something a bit more… permanent?”

  The way he says it causes my entire body to clench. You shouldn’t be here, my head warns. You should run.

  But we’re close. Somehow I don’t think it’s a fluke that Rick works for this creep. I think Max knew full well he did.

  “We just want to talk to him,” says Max.

  “Talk?” Bobby laughs. “I know your kind of talk. It’s not a language I like spoken around these parts. But…” He pauses. “Saul and I go back. He’s always done right by me, so sure, let me help you and your lady friend here. Rick? Yes, he’s in my employ, but I can’t just hand him over. He’s become—how shall I put it?—valuable.”

  No one talks. I think Max is waiting for Bobby to continue speaking, but he simply sits there smiling.

  “That’s it?” says Max. “I thought you said you were going to help?”

  “Did I?”

  Bobby clicks his fingers and the far door whines open again, the bottom of it grating on the floor, the same goon coming forward. “See our guests out here, will you, Barry? We’re done.”

  No. This can’t be the end of the line. I need my life back.

  Against better judgement, I jump in front of Max and speak. “Wait.”

  Bobby seems surprised. “Wait? What have we here?”<
br />
  Shivers. Now you’ve done it.

  I swallow down a large lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat and speak. “Mr…?”

  Bobby looks to Max before returning his eyes to me. “Cervantes.”

  “Mr. Cervantes, my life is at stake here.”

  He puts his hands out in supplication. “I’m sure it is, but I’m a busy man. My next appointment is waiting.”

  If you had told me a week ago I’d be meeting the biggest crime lords in the country, I would have laughed you out of the room. But nothing’s funny about Bobby Cervantes. I realize it’s his normality that makes him so terrifying. He looks like any other regular joe you’d pass on the street—a father, a son.

  I clear my throat again. I can’t let this go. “Please, Mr. Cervantes. I’m begging you.”

  He smiles, teeth jaundice. “Max here should have informed you begging doesn’t go down well with my kind.”

  I’m hesitant to ask what his ‘kind’ are. “I’ll do anything.”

  And it’s out there in the universe, my last gamble.

  I sense Max tighten beside me. “Dawn,” he whispers, a warning.

  I place my hand on my chest. “Anything,” I repeat, stepping closer and hoping he’s not going to take this the wrong way.

  Bobby considers it, taking out a box of Camels from his pocket. He taps one out and lights it, taking a long, deep drag. The smoke exits through his nostrils, dragon-like.

  Dawn, what have you done?

  He flicks at the tip of the cigarette with his thumbnail. “Anything, you say?”

  I’m in too far to back out now. I nod, once.

  He takes a step forward until we’re eye to eye, still smiling that lewd, crocodile smile. “First and foremost, I’m a businessman. I can seize an opportunity when I see one, and Max here isn’t without certain skills, so let’s work this out.”

  This seems more and more like a bad idea with every second gone by. If Max wasn’t here I’d have already passed out in a giant puddle of pee.

  Bobby holds three fingers up. “Three—that’s how many things I’ve got on my to-do list today. You get them done and I’ll give you your boy. Call it a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  “You will?” I query.

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  I highly doubt that.