Chrissy slammed the door to the bathroom, and for a moment, I thought that it might fall off the hinges from the sheer force. It was around that moment that I’d begun to realize that I’d made a pretty massive mistake in even letting her get so close. But in my own defense, how could I not?

The way she kissed me was intoxicating, pulling me farther and farther from what I knew was the right thing with every hit I took. Just thinking about it was enough to make my heart start to pound again, and I knew I had to find something else to occupy my mind.

I heard the hiss of the sink turning on as I sat down on the bed—the one the two of us would’ve been fucking on, had I not stopped her. That fact alone kept me from clearing my thoughts completely… until I remembered what had happened only an hour before.

How had they found us? No one had known that Chrissy was even there—the media were still looking into her friend Roxy as their prime witness to the crime. I figured that we had at least a day before they cleared that up, and by then maybe Don Falcone would have a solution. Until then, Chrissy and I were stuck with one another, and if what had happened a few minutes ago was any indication, then that could only spell trouble the longer it went on.

I couldn’t begin to deny that I wanted her—hell, as bratty and stubborn as she could be, that only made me want her more, and that sun dress hadn’t hurt, either—but this was supposed to be all business, and throwing a girl like Chrissy into the mix would only make things messy once it came time for me to head back home. That only reminded me of Don Falcone’s threat about what would happen if I so much as got frisky with his girl.

She’s a goddamn adult, I thought, running my hands through my hair as I let my mind flash back to the way her mouth felt against mine, the way she pushed herself against me. She wanted me, and I couldn’t decide whether or not I should be kicking myself for not going all the way or even letting it get that far. But no matter what the reason I was upset with myself I was hardly

Bigger fish to fry, I reminded myself, turning my thoughts back to the Russians and how they’d gotten into the penthouse in the first place. I wracked my brain, and ended up getting stuck on what Lonnie Caputo had told us when we’d arrived—that only he and the Don had access.

But did that mean that one of them had orchestrated all of this? For what?

Don Falcone didn’t seem like the kind of man to kill his own daughter, and I couldn’t see what that schmuck Caputo would have gotten, either—though I had to admit I didn’t even know the guy. It was too big of a blind spot to ignore, and I knew that I was going to need to check in with Falcone sooner or later.

Checking in would be a problem, either with Falcone or my club, at least for the moment. I needed a phone—and according to the piece of paper taped over the button of the one in the hotel room, it was looking like I’d have to go find another one.

I got up and walked to the window, looking out toward the street to see if there was a corner store anywhere in sight. Lucky enough, I spotted a sign peeking up over the top of a building just down the road, and from the looks of it, they sold liquor too.

Chrissy would be well within my sight the whole time. Nobody was pulling into the lot without me knowing about it. A quick jog over, and I’d have in hand the only two things I needed right now.

Or at least, the things I was trying to convince myself were all I needed.

“Goin’ out,” I called to Chrissy over the rush and spatter of the faucet. “Be back in five.”

“You’re doing what?!” she cried, but before she could open the bathroom door, I’d already slammed the motel room door shut behind me.

The weather was nice, for Nevada. Dry, like it always was. First time I ever came here was on a layover from the Carolinas to Cali, and when I’d wandered out for a smoke break, my nose had started to bleed. I wasn’t used to parched air, or maybe the altitude change had something to do with it. The air circulation in planes kinda sucked, after all.

I missed home for a minute. Missed the petrichor—the smell of the rain. Particularly thick around fall, it immediately invoked nostalgia for days when I’d ride my bike through the leaves, back when “bike” meant “bicycle” and not my Harley.

I used to pretend the bicycle was a Harley, though. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. Now I had one. But everything comes with a cost, and sometimes, you don’t realize what it is until it’s too late.

It got me thinking about the Hounds of Hell. Sure, I was loyal to them, but with its leadership in flux I was questioning my place among their ranks. Everyone seemed to want me to step up, but taking responsibility wasn’t my thing. Granted, that’s what I’d done here—took responsibility for a girl, a victim, when nobody else would. I told myself it was because of what Falcone was offering, but was that really it? Or was I trying to prove to myself I could handle it?

Or was it something else entirely?

Shit. The one goddamn thing I’d been told not to do…

I glanced back at the motel as I reached the door of the tiny convenience store. So far, so good, but I still waited a few minutes before heading inside. I was pretty sure we hadn’t been followed, but given that I was pretty sure we’d be safe up in the penthouse, maybe my instincts were off on this one.

I could probably chalk that up to Chrissy, too. I needed to get my head in the game, or I’d have bigger problems that just my dick wanting to get buried deep inside her. She was a mouthy thing. I was betting that translated to some amazing…

Shut the fuck up and get your damn phone, I told myself, trying to shake off a semi as I opened the door and stepped inside.

I grabbed myself a cheap little pay-per-month phone and paid the man behind the counter in cash for both it and a bottle of bourbon. The guy didn’t bother to check my ID, which I was more than grateful for as I made the walk back to the motel, going through the steps to activate the phone as I went.

The best thing about phones like this was that they were almost untraceable—at least in the sense that there was no paper trail leading back to myself, which meant I could call without worrying about being identified immediately. The typical use for phones like these was to make a call and then toss the phone in the trash. That’s why you called them burners.

As I walked out, I glanced over the lot again. Still no sign of anything being amiss. That much boded well. The fact that I still hadn’t softened after thinking about Chrissy’s mouth did not.

When I got back up to the room, Chrissy was still locked in the bathroom, and that was okay by me. I really needed something to take the edge off, and since she’d been indulging since the limo ride, I figured a couple shots were the least I was owed.

I unscrewed the top off the bottle and took a nice, hefty swig, feeling the burn running down my throat as it went. It’d been way too long since I’d had a drink, and after all of this shit I sure as hell needed it—and a little bit of liquid courage wouldn’t do me wrong when I was about to talk to one of the most powerful crime bosses in all of Las Vegas. I’d just been shot at, chased from a parking garage, and all the while dragging girl with me, making sure she didn’t get either of us killed by the goddamn Russians.

Jesus, I still couldn’t believe that. I’d not only got mixed up with the Italians, but the fucking Russians, too. Seemed our club was a damn magnet for mafias lately. They say bad things come in threes, but I was hoping our second run-in would be our last.

I sat back down on the bed and dialed the number Don Falcone had given us in case of emergencies—one of the few things I could boast about was being able to remember shit like that without having to hear it a second time. Thankfully, Crush had stuck as a nickname better than Rain Man.

I dialed the number and waited, listening as it rang once, twice, three times before someone on the other end finally picked up.

“Who the fuck is this?” Don Falcone snarled. “And how did you get this number?”

“It’s Crush,” I said, sitting up a little straighter in bed. “Chrissy and I were attacked in the penthouse—”

“You think I don’t already know that?” he screamed, his voice trembling with each syllable. “Four of my best men are dead because of what happened today. And I swear to God, I’m going to make these bastards pay in blood.”

“Don Falcone,” I tried to interject, but there was no talking over a man like that.

“Where’s my daughter?” he demanded. “She better still be in one piece, or—”

“Chrissy’s in the bathroom,” I told him before he could run me over again. “She and I made it out of there without a scratch… but I need to talk to you about something that’s been bothering me.”

“Spit it out,” he snapped.

“They came in through the elevator,” I said pointedly. “Mr. Caputo told me that there were only two people in the hotel who had the key to use that—you and him.”

There was silence over the line for a moment—palpable, thick silence that tugged at the pit of my stomach.

“Are you making an accusation, Mr. Crush?” he asked, enunciating each word, with special emphasis and disdain for my name. “Because if you are, you had best come out and say it.”

“I don’t think you had anything to do with it,” I said, “but Caputo—”

“Lonnie has been my right hand man for years,” the Don said. “Ever since we were know-nothing little shits like you. That man is more loyal to me than any piece of biker garbage can even hope to come close to being. I trust him with my life, and before you think about bringing that shit to me, you had better have something to back it up, are we clear?”

I felt the tightness in my chest growing, heat creeping up the back of my neck the longer Falcone continued to berate me. I knew that any other time I would have hung up on this piece of shit, but I had to remember what was at stake.

Goddamn, this girl was under my skin.

“There’s something else,” I said, managing to get a word in when he stopped his tirade in order to breathe. “Something that goes back to what Chrissy said last night.”

“I don’t have all fucking day,” Falcone snarled. “Out with it.”

“The men who attacked us in the penthouse today were definitely Eastern European or Russian. I can’t be completely sure which one. But it lines up with her description of the shooters at Earthly Delights.”

Silence once again reigned between us, and I could imagine that the Don must have been thinking what to do next. If the implication here was that the Russian mob was gunning for Falcone, then that meant a hell of a lot of trouble for him—hell, this could mean all-out war between their factions.

“If the Russians are behind this, then you can be damn sure I’m going to find out,” he finally said. “But right now, the only thing you need to worry about is keeping my daughter safe, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” I said, doing the best I could to keep the sarcasm from my voice as I leaned back on the bed.

“You do remember your promise, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said, cutting him off. “I heard you the first time. If I so much as notice she’s a girl, I don’t get what I came for and I’ll have wasted my time, and my club’s good faith, in the name of my libido. It’s that simple.”

“You’re forgetting the part where if you don’t keep your promise, I keep one of your hands,” he added. “Even an idiot can tell which the better option is, and I’m going to make the generous assumption that you’re not an idiot.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said with the least amount of sincerity I could manage.

“Gimme a break, Crush. No one likes a kiss-ass, especially when they’re as bad at it as you are. Now, tell me where the hell you two are so that I can have some of my men pick you up and get you to a safe house.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I quickly replied. “These guys knew we were in your top-level penthouse and knew exactly how to get in. I think we might be safer where we are. But if something does happen, we’re at the Golden Grove Motel.”

Falcone grunted, obviously annoyed, but then heaved a sigh. Made me feel triumphant as fuck. “Fine. Just remember what I said and keep my little girl from getting into trouble.”

“You have my word, Don Falcone,” I said, trying to put a little more respect into my voice. “I won’t let anything happen to her so long as I’m around.”

The call ended without another word and I let my breath burst from my nose in relief, leaning my head back on the headboard and closing my eyes.

At least that’s done with, I thought, letting my shoulders go slack for the first time since the penthouse. Now I just have to make sure Chrissy doesn’t do anything crazy until this shit is all cleared up and I should be in the clear.

It took me a moment to realize that the room had gone quiet, the sound of the faucet no longer drifting in from beyond the bathroom door. But it wasn’t until I heard the clatter of the doorknob turning that I decided to open my eyes. Part of me wished I hadn’t.

Chrissy stood in the doorway, her eyes locked on mine wearing nothing save for the pair of black panties and bra. My heart stopped, and I could feel my throat dry up instantly as she leaned against the doorframe, bathed in the golden light from the bathroom, a smile curling her lips. I knew right then I was about to be in some major trouble—trouble I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find my way out of, with the way she was staring at me.

I felt like a defenseless animal in the sights of a predator, trapped in a corner and about to be devoured—a pretty big switch from the way my sexual encounters usually went. No, I couldn’t let this go that far—or I’d be a hand short by the time all of this was over.

“Chrissy,” I said, about to protest before she held up a hand and began to close the distance between us, her hips swaying in a hypnotic way. Already I was beginning to feel myself stirring. “We shouldn’t.”

“Who’s going to know?” she asked as she reached the edge of the bed. “It’s just you and me in here… and I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She crawled closer to me I fought to keep my eyes from appreciating the way she spilled out of that bra  or how those panties sat just low enough to…

I swallowed, trying to gather the strength to resist, to fight my own desire to have her, but the longer I looked into those hungry eyes the less I felt like I could deny myself what I’d been wanting since that morning.

“Fuck,” I hissed as her lips pressed against mine once more.