The last of my vodka burned all the way down as we came to a halt outside of the Bacchanal, my dad’s pride and joy and the biggest source of legitimate income that he had. After all, where else but a casino could he legally cheat people out of money that they actually earned?

I stepped out of the limo after Crush, only to find Lonnie already outside waiting for the two of us, looking none-too-pleased to be there. Crush was looking up at the casino itself, gazing in awe at all of the rooms that seemed to go on and on into the sky. He didn’t have the terrible luxury of knowing the kinds of awful things that went into paying the rent on that place, and for a moment, I envied him for his ignorance.

“You know if you keep your mouth open like that, you’ll get bird shit in it,” I said to Crush, the liquor making me bold. “And it’s not as nice as it seems.”

“Well, excuse me, princess,” he chided. “Not all of us are used to five-star resorts and limousines. Some of us had a tougher life than yours.”

I gave him a hard look before shaking my head, deciding that it wasn’t worth it to start arguing with him—especially not in broad daylight. Whoever had shot up the club might not know I was still alive, but making a spectacle of myself would sure shorten the amount of time it took for them to figure it out.

“It’s only a four-star, actually,” I said, heading toward the door. “My father’s still mad about that.”

“Ms. Falcone,” Lonnie muttered as he fell into step beside me. “I have my men in place around the building. You should be safe here.”

“So long as I’m where my father can control my life I won’t feel safe, Lonnie,” I replied. The cool rush of the air conditioning washed over me as we entered the lobby, Crush in tow. “But if this is what’s going to keep me from getting shot, then it’ll have to do.”

“Jesus,” Crush said, looking around at the grand marble entryway of the Bacchanal, hands in his pockets. “Your dad knows doesn’t spare any expense, does he?”

“No,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes, “not where he thinks it counts. Daddy likes to throw money at his problems and hope it sticks.”

“Hell, wish my dad had at least been that useful,” Crush remarked.

“You’re going to need to sign in,” Lonnie cut in, looking directly at Crush. “Ms. Falcone and I are associated with the Don, but as far as anyone’s concerned, you’re a free agent. No one will be looking for your name on the registry.”

“You think a bunch of armed thugs are actually going to be checking hotel registrations?” Crush asked, but the look on Lonnie’s face told both of us that he wasn’t in the mood to be argued with.

With a long-suffering sigh, Crush complied, and the two of us walked over to the front desk where a peppy young lady in a suit jacket and a tight skirt awaited us.

“Welcome to the Bacchanal Hotel and Casino!” she said as Crush’s hands came to rest on the counter. “Are you checking in or out, sir?”

“In,” Crush said, raising a brow at the rather boisterous nature of the woman’s tone. “We have a room reserved for us.”

“And your name?” she asked, her smile never wavering.

“Monroe, Jackson,” Crush said, turning to glance at me from the corner of his eye. Finally, I could put a proper name to his face besides “Crush.” He obviously didn’t like that, but I was elated.

“Of course, Mr. Monroe, the penthouse suite has been prepared for you and your…” She glanced in my direction for the briefest moment, her eyebrows raised.

“Friend,” I finished for her pointedly.

“Of course,” she said, her smile faltering for just a moment before she handed Crush a golden plastic swipe-card. “Here is your room key, which will also activate the elevator that will take you directly to the penthouse.”

“Thanks,” Crush said, taking the card from her hands and heading toward a bank of elevators.

“So, Jackson, huh?” I asked, a grin spreading across my face. “Can I call you Jack for short?”

“You can call me Crush,” he said, glaring at me as he went. “And don’t ever call me Jack.”

“Crush is a soda brand, not a name,” I shot back, sticking out my tongue as he turned away.

“Wait,” Lonnie said, holding a hand out to stop the both of us. “Not there—and I’m going to need your phones. Both of them.”

I rolled my eyes at his outstretched hand. “Of course. Good to see Daddy’s as trusting as ever.” I dug it out of my pocket, but Crush wasn’t having it. He didn’t know better than to argue with these people yet.

“The hell do you need my phone for?” he asked, although he allowed himself to be directed away from the elevators to a hallway just off the main lobby.

“Because the last thing that needs to happen is that one of you blabs about what happened. We’re trying to keep you safe, and the less people who know you’re here, the better off you’ll be. This just removes of the temptation,” he said as we rounded a corner to another elevator. “This elevator can only be accessed by you, Don Falcone, and myself. Any room service or deliveries will be placed in here on a cart. After you’re done, you send the cart back down.”

He swiped an identical card to Crush’s through the reader and the elevator doors popped open. We stepped inside.

“The phone in the room has been programed to not allow for calls outside of the hotel, so it’s only good for room service. Don Falcone and I will be checking on you daily. You can make a list of things that you’ll need while you’re here and we’ll have them brought to the room by one of our men.”

“Great, I get to be my father’s little bird again,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Stuck in my gilded cage.”

“All of this is for your protection, Ms. Falcone,” Lonnie said, though his expression gave me the impression that it was more of an annoyance for him than any act of concern. “Don Falcone doesn’t want you hurt.”

“Yeah, but the problem is that he ends up doing the hurting most of the time,” I said as the elevator began to rise. “I left because I was tired of being locked up, and the moment I come back, I’m being locked up again.”

“Once it’s over, you can leave,” Crush said with a shrug. “You’re a grown-ass woman.”

“Thank you,” I said, glad someone was willing to admit it.

“Even if you are kind of a brat,” he continued as the doors opened up once more.

The elevator opened up right into the penthouse itself, sunlight streaming in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that might have made me feel exposed—if we weren’t so damn high up. The only people who’d be able to see in here were passing places and the occasional helicopter.

“Jesus,” I whispered, my eyes coming to rest on the glimmering waters of an enormous infinity pool that took up the majority of the balcony outside. “This place is gorgeous.”

“Pretty nice for a gilded cage,” Crush said, giving a short whistle. “That balcony’s going to be a huge security risk, though.”

“Now I kind of wish I’d brought my bikini,” I muttered. Compared to being locked up in my father’s house most of the time, this was a paradise, but deep down, I could still imagine the bars lining every inch of this place.

“I’ll add it to the list of things to bring on the next visit,” Lonnie said. “In the meantime, make yourselves at home. We aren’t entirely sure when all of this will blow over.”

He headed for the elevator, then paused. “Oh, and Mr. Monroe…”

Crush looked over. “‘Sup?”

Lonnie held out his hand. Crush sighed.

“This is the stupidest shit,” he grumbled, slapping his phone into Lonnie’s palm. “You should know that if I don’t check in with my club soon, there’s gonna be problems.”

“I’m sure,” Lonnie replied tersely, and in a way that let us both know he didn’t give two shits about whatever trouble Crush might get into back home.

He left us then, Crush carding his fingers through his dark hair in agitation, me worrying my lip between my teeth as I realized that for the foreseeable future, we really were holed up here. Alone.

“At least there’s room service,” Crush said, walking over to the couch and flopping down onto it, his hands behind his head. “And a view.”

“Glad you’re enjoying my father’s hospitality so much,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I turned my gaze back toward the pool, only to feel my stomach clench in horror.

Melody was standing in front of me, her robe soaked in blood, a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. The pool deck was saturated with gore, and as she turned from me to prepare to dive into the water, I saw the gaping exit wound that had blown out the rear of her skull—and much of her brains.

The world tilted on its axis. Sweat poured down my face in frigid rivers. My pulse was all I could hear as I stumbled backward, grabbing the edge of the couch to keep myself from collapsing completely.

Crush was there in a moment, his arms under mine, dragging me up and then pushing my head down. “Bend your knees.”

I did as I was told, steadying myself by placing my hands on my thighs, doubled with my face toward the ground. The spinning lessened, but I was shaking all over.

“Breathe,” he added.

I did. I’d forgotten that part.

“What happened?” he asked as I found my balance once more. “Jesus, you almost passed out.”

What was I supposed to tell him? That I was hallucinating? I knew Melody wasn’t real. Or at least, I did now that I could breathe, and that I couldn’t smell the copper-mint tang of the blood that had flooded Earthly Delights last night.

No. No way. If I did that, he’d tell Lonnie or my dad the first chance he got. He was here to play babysitter, not be my friend. I had nobody left to confide in. Nobody.

“N-nothing,” I mumbled, pulling away and heading straight for the minibar. “It’s nothing.”

I grabbed a bottle of vodka off the shelf and headed to one of the open bedrooms. I shut the door without another word and collapsed onto the bed, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as I threw back my first shot.