Atlas

There’s a fucking marquee with my name on it.

Apparently low profile and Las Vegas don’t mesh well together, because there’s my name in flashing lights, right on the goddamn strip. Is it too much to ask to not be exploited every fucking time I take a shit? I mean, fuck, man, I go try a new burger place and the manager blasts my fucking mug all over Instagram and then the place is swarming with Bangers in two point two seconds flat, and guess what? Guess who never even gets to enjoy the goddamn burger?

This fucking guy.

I slam my fist into the leather seatback as we pass the Venetian.

My driver glances back at me, then over at Red. “Everything okay?”

“No. Yes.” Ugh. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just take me to the back entrance, I guess.”

Red looks back at me. “Who do I have to kill?”

Shaking my head, I pull my cell out and scroll to Johnny’s contact info, then wait for the little fucker to pick up.

He picks up almost immediately. “It wasn’t me, man.”

I roll my eyes. “Bro. I’m not guest hosting shit tonight. I just want to chill with some hotties and drink my weight in booze.”

“I know, man, I know, and your booth is ready for you. I’ve been fighting with management for an hour about that fucking billboard.”

I sigh, running my hand over my face. This place will be swarming with Bangers. “Who fucking told them I was coming?” I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.

“Me, dude, obviously, but only because some dickwad mortgage guy reserved your booth and Eddie gave me a bunch of shit when I told him I needed it but wouldn’t say why. I’m sorry, man. Really.”

He’s not sorry at all. I just doubled, possibly tripled—quadrupled?—his fucking profits tonight. Whatever. Might as well cash in on my own exploitation.

“You know my rate for appearances, man.”

My driver pulls the Escalade up to the side entrance, and there are only a few people nearby, so at least I’ll be cool to sneak in without a big scene. I just have to get to my table without being mobbed, then Red and TAO security will keep out the riffraff.

“Meet me at the side door.” As I end the call, Johnny opens the side door and strains to see into the Escalade’s windows. I flip him off. He can’t see me, and even if he could, fuck him and fuck this place. I should just head back to the hotel and sleep until the Cade show Sunday night.

I pat the driver’s shoulder. “Stay here, man.”

“Yes, sir.”

Red climbs out first and Johnny the weasel rushes over to shake his hand. He winces at Red’s grip. Ha. Fucker. I climb out, sliding my shades into place and pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt.

Johnny sidles up beside me. “How you doin’, brother? Long time no see. Bus life keeping you pretty busy?”

“Something like that.”

“Where’s the rest of the crew?’ He leads me down a long, deserted staff hallway, stopping at large double doors. He opens them and pokes his head out to make sure the coast is clear before leading me onto the casino floor. Red follows close behind us.

I hurry to keep up with Johnny, half convinced hiding and sneaking around like this will actually bring more attention, not less. Of course, my six-foot-two, three-hundred pound leprechaun-lookin’ security detail might be a bit obvious.

“They coming out tomorrow?”

“Huh?” I look up at the back of Johnny’s head. What the fuck is he rambling about?

“The band?” He pauses, looking back to motion behind me. “I don’t see them behind you.”

No shit? “They’re on the bus. I took a flight early.”

He laughs like I said something funny. “I bet that bus smells like shit.”

I nod. Whatever. Red side-eyes me, then hooks a thumb at Johnny. No shit, Red. No shit. This guy’s a fucking douche. Maybe it’s time to find a new favorite nightclub, but I’m a creature of habit.

We sneak along the wall of the casino, and I keep my head down, hoping I look more like a thug being led out, than a celebrity being led in.

As we reach TAO, I hear my name and lift my head. “Fucking idiot,” I curse under my breath. I should kick my own ass for that. There’s a huge line outside the club, and I’ve just alerted them all to my presence by lifting my motherfucking head.

Red grabs my arm at the elbow to pull me inside before I get swarmed, but right as I’m about to duck inside, a group of girls catches my eye. They walk beside the long line of Bangers instead of falling in line behind them, like they know they’re already in and don’t bother waiting in line.

They’re also the only girls who aren’t staring at me right now.

“Atlas?”

And not a Cade shirt among them.

“Hold up.” I scan the group of girls until my eyes land on a leggy brunette. Her hair is up in a tight bun or something, and I’m starting to wonder if uptight chicks have become my new thing.

They must have because one look at her and I want to see her hair sprawled out on my pillow and her eyes rolled back in her head as she screams my fucking name.

I look down at her shoes and smile. Leopard and at least a mile high. I think I’ll let her fuck me in nothing but those shoes.

Her stems are covered in jeans that might have been painted on. I want to peel them off.

Her sweater is white and hangs off her shoulders, like only her giant titties are holding the fabric in place. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see those perfect tits in a matter of hours. Tops.

Who am I kidding with this if I’m lucky bullshit? I don’t need luck when it comes to chicks.

I quickly scan her friends, but none of them are dressed in anything that even remotely indicates they’re fans of the band. Not a single studded belt or rock shirt among them.

So, bonus: she’s not a Banger.

Don’t get me wrong, I love our fans. They pay our fucking bills. They give us life. But sometimes it’s nice to know a woman wants to fuck Atlas, not just anyone from the band.

She meets my gaze, and her eyes widen just slightly. She tries to play it cool, but it’s obvious she knows who I am. Her friend elbows her in the ribs, further proving my assumption.

Damn. She’s a Banger after all.

I think I’ll still let her fuck me. She’s too hot to turn away. Let’s just hope she doesn’t call me Chris like that chick in Detroit last summer. What a boner killer that was.

I look over at Red then nod toward the brunette and her friends. “Looks like the entertainment has arrived.”

“Entertainment?” Johnny’s brow furrows as he steps up beside me and follows my gaze.

“Yeah, bro, tell me those aren’t some of Vegas’ finest?

He scans the group of girls, smirking. “How do you know those are strippers?”

I glance at them, then back at Johnny. “Bro, every girl in Vegas is a stripper if you ask nicely enough.”

But those girls are actual strippers. I’d bet my left nut.

He laughs, but he knows I’m right.

I tear my gaze away from the brunette, then sneak in the side door of the club behind Johnny. “Make sure that brunette finds her way to my table, yeah?” I say it out loud so both Red and Johnny know to get the job done. Between the two of them, she should be begging for my cock in no time.

“The naughty librarian looking one?” Johnny asks.

“Fuck yeah. Did you see those legs?” I look him up and down with a smirk. He probably comes up to her waist.

He closes the door and leads me to my table. The staff here is cool as fuck, and no one makes a big deal about Red and me as we stroll through to VIP. I know I asked for this life, and I love it, but fuck, man, sometimes I just don’t want people to know my fucking name. It’s hard to people watch when they’re all staring at you.

The hottie VIP host knows my name though. She screamed it loud and proud while I fucked her in the bathroom here during our last Las Vegas tour stop.

She forces a smile when she sees me, but her eyes are tight. Oh, so she hasn’t forgiven me yet. “Hey, Atlas, it’s nice to see you again.” She shakes her long brown hair over her shoulder. I think I bit into that shoulder.

I give her a genuine smile. “Likewise, Anna.”

It is nice to see her again. She’s hot as fuck and I don’t have anything against her, you know? Her jaw clenches as she steps aside to allow me into my booth. As I sit, she turns around, and I appreciate that ass as she walks away. It’s a phenomenal ass, but why go back for seconds when there are so many firsts to be had?

Speaking of...

I scan the crowd for my naughty librarian, but she must not be inside yet. Fuck the door guy for making a piece of ass that fine wait like a peasant. I should send Red to go make sure she gets in. I motion to get Johnny’s attention, then wave him over.

“What’s up, man?” He scans the table to make sure my usual snacks and booze choices are here, then looks at me questioningly.

“That brown-haired chick and her stripper friends? You making them stand in line, bro?”

Johnny smiles sheepishly, then looks over at a booth across from me. I follow his beady little gaze and frown. She’s right there in the middle of all her friends, sitting directly across from me.

I look at Red, then back at Johnny. “Did you not fucking tell her to come over here?” I glance across the way at her and our eyes lock. One of her perfect eyebrows rises.

“Um,” Johnny yells over the music. “She said, ‘thanks but no thanks.’”

I nearly choke. I must have heard him wrong. I tilt my head at her and she smiles, then turns to her friends and acts like she didn’t just turn me down.

Maybe she doesn’t know who the hell I am after all. Confirming she’s not a Banger makes me that much more intrigued. And, now, because I’m a masochist, I want—no, need—to fuck her even more than I wanted to before.

I glance over at Red. “Can you believe this, man? Turned down twice in one fucking trip?”

Red laughs, then shrugs. “You’re losing your touch, boss.”

“Bite your fucking tongue, bro.” I look back at her, then wave at Johnny in dismissal. I’ll send Red over to retrieve her. Clearly Johnny couldn’t get the job done.

That’s twice tonight he’s failed me. First with the marquee, and now with the chick I’ll be banging later.

Three strikes and you’re out, Johnnyboy.