“One more time,” says Jerry Laskin, reclining in his large leather armchair, cigarette burning between his fingers as he stares at me across the casino lounge with hawkish eyes. “Start to finish.”

“I get the clean gun from Marco at his place,” I say as I stand by the window, letting the light behind me cast a shadow over my figure. “My target is Carl Owens, who owns a house out in the desert where he’s most likely staying at while his girls do the leg work here at the casino. I’ve got the coordinates memorized, and my GPS is going to get me there today. I break in, find Carl, and put a bullet in his head. I leave the body, because we’re sending a message. We’ve got people in the media ready to run the story that Carl was organizing a scam at the casinos, so it scares off anyone else thinking about pulling the same kind of shit. I drop the gun off with Marco, come back here, and run another night of security like nothing happened.”

“Good,” says Jerry, standing up and taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray in front of him. “And any money you find at that place is ours, so don’t fucking touch it. You’ll get your cut after our guys come in and clean up.”

Jerry Laskin is the kind of man who doesn’t need to spread rumors about himself. They’re all true. I’ve seen him kill men for failing to follow his orders exactly, even ones who have been on his good side for years. His enemies don’t last long, and he doesn’t have a scrap of remorse in his body.

The raw recruits like to say he traded his soul to the devil so he could sleep with a clear conscience for all the things he’s done.

Me, I don’t give a shit.

He’s a paycheck, and a good one. I make fast money and live a fast life on his dime as long as I keep breaking kneecaps when he tells me to and threatening anyone who dares fuck with us. I’m good at my job, and he rewards that. So far, that’s been a good relationship between us. He thinks I’m simple. I’m ex-military, good at taking orders. In his eyes, I’m almost too good to be true.

And that’s why I’m pretty damn careful about showing my strengths.

“He might not be alone at the house,” I say. “What do you want done about that?”

“You’re sending a message,” Jerry says. “Do what you gotta do. Don’t make it a bloodbath if he’s got a party or some shit, but nobody’s gonna mourn a few dead broads he’s got lying around. One or two terrified witnesses is good, though, so don’t clean the place out if there’s someone to give the cops a story. Just make sure they don’t get a good look at you. I’m not covering your ass if you slip up and lead the cops here.”

“Understood,” I say.

“Now, listen, Dom,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder and looking at me with deadly seriousness. “This is a hell of a lot more than just some fuck trying to rip us off. This is a slap to the face that money’s not gonna make up for. I don’t care if he waves the Hope fucking Diamond under your nose, his ass is dead, do we understand each other? Make this pig bleed. Pick him apart piece by piece, and when he squeals—because he will—you take that as a bonus. He’ll try to promise you all the pussy you could want and more money than you’d know what to do with, but he’d put a bullet in your back the second you turn it. Me, you know how much I’m paying you, and if you get this done, consider yourself a made man. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good man,” he says, patting me on the shoulder and turning around to stalk back to his chair. “Now, go make me a happy man.”

I leave the lounge and head through the casino, rolling my shoulders back and heading down to the garage to my black Aston Martin.

When I told Jerry who was behind this whole deal, he got a hell of a lot more interested in it. The name Carl Owens made Jerry’s eyes practically turn red. Turns out, Carl has debts to Jerry—really, really big debts. So big that I’d be willing to bet he took out a loan from Jerry to get this wild gambling scheme going, and he’s been digging himself out of debt and compounding interest ever since. The debt has grown so big and gone on so long that Jerry isn’t willing to take money anymore.

Jerry wants Carl’s blood. I’m going to be the smoking gun that makes that happen.

Of course, that puts me at risk in a big way. If I’m the one pulling the trigger, then I know damn well Jerry won’t cover for me if the cops come after me. The only silver lining is that Jerry hates Carl so fucking much that he doesn’t give a shit about the girls. At least, he doesn’t seem to.

I pull the car out of the garage and take off.

I’m pissed at myself for how things have gone. This is a thicker web of murder than I was planning on getting tied up in, and I don’t like surprises. I especially don’t like that Hadley has been scarce recently.

If today goes well, I have a simple plan.

I kill her boss, I take her to dinner, we hash things out, I apologize for dashing out the other morning after spending the night together, and we see where things go from there. I never thought I’d be offering up a dead boss as an apology, but here I am, driving out to the desert to put a bullet in someone’s head.

This is a first for me. I’ve broken dozens of kneecaps and interrogated endless gamblers who’ve tried to cheat us. Put me in a room with a man and give me a few minutes, and I’ll have him spilling every secret he has.

But I’ve never killed.

I don’t have any reservations about it. Carl Owens isn’t the kind of man who’s making the world a better place. He won’t be missed, and unless he makes a damn convincing case when he’s on his knees in front of my gun, I have a feeling he won’t be dripping with enough charisma to make me second-guess myself. Still, it’s a line to cross. I can tell Jerry has plans for me, and those plans involve a lot more bloodshed.

I’m on the verge of crossing the line from enforcer to hitman.

That would mean a lot more money, a lot more freedom, and a lot more respect in the mafia. Those are all good things, except for one problem.

Hadley.

I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I left her room. My body still remembers how she felt, the smell of her hair, the taste of her tongue. I’ve never felt this way about someone before, but fuck, she left one hell of an impression on me. It’s not just her beauty that attracts me. It’s her mind.

She’s a genius, plain and simple. We both have the combo of mathematical minds and pure ambition that I never see in other people. She likes playing mind games with people, and I can tell that this gig she’s tied up in is the biggest rush she’s enjoyed in her life. She thrives on this shit. I would too. She has a spark that not even the other girls have.

She’s special in a way I never expected to encounter.

And that’s just one huge goddamn distraction to me.

While I’m driving, I call up Marco and listen to ring after ring. Finally, a groggy voice answers the phone.

“What?”

“Marco? This is Dom, where are you?”

“Dom? What the...ah, shit,” he groans, and I clench my jaw.

“What’s the problem, Marco? Where the fuck are you? We have a handoff to make.”

“I uh...got a little carried away at the clubs last night. I... might not be in Vegas right now.”

“Fucking- where the fuck are you, Marco?”

“Well, I never really got around to driving home from LA last night like I meant to.”

I cut the call without saying another word to him. I swear to god, I could kill him with my own hands next time I see him.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of Carl with the knife I have strapped to my leg. I like having more control over the kill, anyway. I don’t plan on getting too fancy. He isn’t expecting me. That gives me the biggest advantage I could hope for. I’m going to get in and get out in under an hour, ideally.

When I pull up to the manor, I’m not surprised by what I see. It isn’t exactly a palatial villa, but it’s a damn nice little hideaway for weeks he probably spends raking in money from the Vegas casinos. His main estate is probably somewhere else, maybe not even in the US, but a guy like Carl Owens must know the value of not staying in one place too long. This is how he built his tiny little empire.

I can’t help but wonder what the sex workers in the city think about this address.

Out here, there really isn’t any way to approach a place without being seen, so I rely on speed instead. I know I’m going to have to move fast. I bring my vehicle to a stop and I climb out of my car, rolling my shoulders back.

I make my way around the back of the house in case he saw me pull up, and I get low against the wall, pulling out my knife. I check in a few windows as I move, and I see lights on inside, but no movement.

This manor isn’t just a little hideaway for Carl. It was a gift from the mafia when he started borrowing money. The mob likes to do that kind of thing so they keep their investments close and keep an eye on them. The fact that Carl’s here proves that he doesn’t think we’re onto him. That’s ideal.

Around the back are two sweeping staircases leading up to a balcony, which offers a gorgeous view of the inground pool. I can practically hear and smell the house parties that have been held here, probably with wealthy business associates lusting after the very women who are doing the leg work for this scheme of Carl’s.

Up on that balcony is a sliding glass door that’s partially open. Someone has come through it recently.

Holding the knife close, I make my way up the stairs to the balcony, ready for anything. If I have to throw the knife, then by god, I’ll do it. I’m not about to let this job slip out from under me.

When I get to the glass doors, my neck hairs stand on end when I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. I quickly move up against the wall next to the door and press my body against it, breathing very slowly and silently, watching the opening. All it’ll take is for him to walk through those doors. When the footsteps are just around the corner, my muscles are poised to strike.

And a moment later, I’m paralyzed with surprise when Hadley strolls through the door.

She’s hard to recognize in such a casual outfit—simple jeans, a t-shirt, glasses, and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that somehow all makes her look just as beautiful as when she’s dressed up elaborately. My eyes get drawn to her ass immediately as she walks by me without so much as noticing me, heading down the stairs to the pool.

I don’t have a choice.

I move up behind her, keeping low, and in the blink of an eye, just before she puts her foot on the first step, I come up behind her and clap a hand around her mouth. I don’t put the knife to her throat, though, even though the instinct is there.

Immediately, she yelps and starts to struggle, until I growl into her ear.

“Is he here?”

She freezes, then relaxes when she realizes who I am, but only slightly. I see her hand ball into a fist.

“Mm-mm,” she says, shaking her head no, and I don’t sense a lie. Immediately, I release her, and she staggers back to clutch the balcony railing, glaring at my cool smile.

“Good,” I say, tossing the knife up and catching it again as my shoulders relax. “That would make this reunion a lot more awkward.”