Carmen woke with her face wet with tears and her heart threatening to explode. She lashed out and heard something crash to the floor. She threw her head back and screamed before she dropped her face on her knees and sobbed as hard as she had the night she lost him. She rocked as she tried to contain her emotions. The sound of her pathetic whimpering filled the room.

Vinny was her everything. Aside from her parents and Lyla, no one had ever accepted her as she was. Vinny understood her moods and impulses better than she did. He handled her far better than her parents ever had and didn’t try to curb her wild ways. He allowed her to run free, knowing she would come back to him. He was her anchor, her everything, and he was gone along with her father, the only other man who loved her unreservedly.

She reached for her phone to call … who? A glance at the clock revealed she’d only been asleep two hours. Mom was out dancing, Lyla was with Nora and Gavin, Maddie would have no idea what to do with her, and Alice would probably give her a pint of ice cream and suggest they watch HGTV. That wouldn’t curb what was going on inside her. She wanted to rage, to scream, to curl into a ball and die. She wanted to jump out of a plane, race headlong at another car to see who would swerve out of the way, or strip on stage to cast out her demons and give them to someone else. She needed something to draw her out of the darkness or it would forever consume her.

It took her several tries to find Marcus’s number since her hands were trembling and she couldn’t see through the tears. When the phone began to ring, she rolled out of bed and paced, one hand flapping to keep herself from completely losing her shit.

“Hey, babe,” Marcus said.

Just the sound of his calm, soothing voice made the pain lessen. She clutched the phone with both hands. “I need a purge.”

“What?”

“I-I need …” What did she need? She needed to lose herself in something, anything to take her mind off the memories stabbing at her. Sex was the best antidote. Touch, adrenaline, oblivion. Yes, sex. She needed it so bad, she was shaking. She wanted it rough and dirty. “I need a fuck.”

There was a short pause. She stopped in the middle of the room and closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, silently pleading for him to say what she needed to hear. She couldn’t be alone right now. He couldn’t leave her like this, but if she told him how fucked up she was, he would definitely avoid her at all costs.

“Can you come to me?”

Relief so heady that she became lightheaded made her bend over at the waist. She attempted to sound normal as she said, “Yes, I can.”

“There are several events going on tonight, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be. You can attend with me, and then we’ll leave when we can.”

Knowing ecstasy and oblivion were in her near future allowed her to think past the pain. “Yes, I can do that.”

“You okay?”

No. “Yes.”

“Come to me.”

“I will. I’ll get ready now.”

“See you soon.”

She hung up and flipped on the bedroom light. A lamp with a gold base lay shattered beside the bed. She ignored it and went into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and sprayed a cooling mist over her swollen eyes and fanned her face. Her desolate reflection was familiar. Too familiar. She hated herself. The empty wineglass was filled with ice and Crown Royal this time. She sat at her vanity and placed the chilled glass against her eye.

No! Don’t say it.

She flinched as the memory of her heartbroken voice echoed in her ears. She shot to her feet and tore through the bedroom until she found her earphones. Noise cancelling earphones blocked out everything but the sound of her racing heartbeat. She blasted the most “don’t give a fuck” music she had. Cardi B was up first. She clung to the dark beat and vibe with the desperation of a drowning woman. She said the lyrics with an intensity Cardi B would have been proud of. She ignored the agony and forced herself to move to encapsulate the mood.

She planted her hands on the vanity and examined the woman in the mirror. The chilled whiskey helped with the swelling and redness. Her mouth was set, eyes glistening, but she refused to let another tear fall. She suffered every day for almost three years. It had to stop. She tipped her head up when she felt tears crawling up her throat.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she chanted but couldn’t hear herself over the music.

She blew out a breath and let Eminem’s attitude seep into her. When she had herself under control, she sat on the vanity bench made up of two snarling lions she had rescued from storage. Through the power of makeup, she could become whoever she wanted. She painted herself into a character who showed no sign that she possessed a hemorrhaging heart with a busted a stitch that was bleeding out with every beat. With every layer of makeup, she became less herself and more the character she wanted to emulate.

Forty minutes later, the sultry badass bitch in the mirror bore no resemblance to the out of control one who wanted to curl up in a ball and die. She wore a crimson velvet sleeveless dress with a high neck. It was skintight, rode high on her upper thighs, and showed off her slight curves. She was decked out in diamonds from her glittering stilettos to the bracelet and rings decorating every finger. It was extra as fuck, but that was who she was. Her smoky wing tipped eye and matte, wine-colored lip was perfection. She was so deep in character that she didn’t feel anything. It was a relief, but she knew the reprieve wouldn’t last forever. Hopefully, Marcus worked his magic before the stroke of midnight and she became herself again and shattered into a million pieces. A black velvet clutch completed the look. She filled it with necessities—cell phone, lipstick, gun.

She walked out the front door and turned to lock it. It took less than thirty seconds for Frederick and Mickey to breathe down her neck.

“What’s going on?” Frederick asked.

“You’re taking me to The Strip,” she said as she turned to face them.

Mickey and Frederick surveyed her in silence before they exchanged a look.

“I don’t think that’s smart,” Frederick said.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she said and started toward the SUV.

“I’m calling it in,” Mickey said.

She ground her teeth as she slid into the back of the SUV. “I’m meeting Marcus.”

“Fletcher? Oh, that changes things,” Mickey said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Although I still don’t think The Strip is the best place for you. Too much exposure.”

“Angel and Gavin haven’t killed all the Black Vipers yet? It’s been almost two weeks.”

“They’ve killed a bunch, but the Black Vipers contacts have come to play as well.”

If she wasn’t buzzed from whiskey and high on rap, she might have worried about that. Instead, she clung to the beat playing in her head that kept her focused on her role. She balanced on a knife’s edge. One push and she would topple into the endless depths of self-loathing, guilt, and depression. She hoped Marcus was able to fuck her out of the past and into the present. It was the only course of action she could think of. If that didn’t work, she had no idea what she would do.

It took too long to reach The Strip, and the lights and manic energy didn’t penetrate her armor. She texted Marcus as they waited in Friday night traffic. He was at Lux, which was hosting a wealthy businessman’s thirtieth birthday. Apparently, the businessman had the dough to fly in the hottest celebrities to help him celebrate. Due to the high-profile event, the wait to reach the valet station was taking forever.

Her patience snapped, and she stepped out of the car. Mickey immediately followed and grasped her arm as she slipped through the crowd. This time, the press of bodies didn’t make her feel better. The excited tourists flocking the sidewalks irritated her. She was tempted to shove and elbow her way through. As if he sensed her volatile mood, Mickey stepped in front of her and cleared a path while she pressed against his back. It was marginally better once they entered the casino. She took the lead while Mickey scanned his surroundings. He didn’t look so young and bright-eyed now. He was tense and alert. She welcomed an attack right now. She was armed and good to go.

The crowd in front of Lux was ridiculous. She hadn’t seen such a crush in a while. Once again, Mickey cleared a path. When they reached the front, she stepped up to security. The club manager spotted her and waved her forward.

“Mrs. Pyre, Mr. Fletcher told me you would be attending,” he said and glanced at Mickey.

His address caused a fracture in her shield. Her body locked, and she sank deeper into character and turned up the rap in her head. “This is my security guard, and I have another, Frederick. He’s ripped and looks like he works for FBI,” she shouted over the sound of the crowd.

The manager nodded and waved her through. “I’ll make sure he gets in.”

Lux was built like an amphitheater with five levels. It was a grand club that hosted the largest events on The Strip. The DJ booth on stage was wreathed in gold lights, as were the dancers being spotlighted on high platforms around the club. The club was bursting at the seams. A quick look at the amount of security in the VIP sections told her it was a star-studded night. No wonder Marcus couldn’t get away. He had a ridiculous amount of high-maintenance celebrities and their entourages to accommodate.

The last time she visited this club, she’d been with Vinny, Gavin, and Lyla. Lyla tried to set Gavin up with another woman that night. That felt like a lifetime ago. The hyped crowd should have improved her mood, but it did nothing for her. Every beat of her heart flooded her with such agony, she was surprised she could walk. It felt as if there were nine-inch nails embedded all over her body. The urge to do something reckless made her temples pound. She was locked down so tight that she didn’t feel the bodies brush against her, didn’t hear the music, and didn’t register the smell of alcohol, lust, or excitement in the air. She needed something cataclysmic and powerful to cancel out the feeling of impending doom. She hoped sex would wash away her raw fragility and replace it with something else. She hoped Angel was wrong—that it wouldn’t take blood to cure her. If that was so, her mother would lose her because she would do anything to stop the pain.

Using her phone to get in touch with Marcus would be impossible. No one would hear their phone ringing above the deafening music, and with the floor jolting beneath her, he wouldn’t feel his phone vibrate, either, so she had no choice but to circulate. A server wearing pink bunny ears offered a glass of pink champagne, which she declined. She headed to the VIP section where she figured Marcus would be. Despite it being three years since Vinny died, the staff acknowledged her. Staff came and went but her face was intrinsically linked to Pyre Casinos as surely as Gavin’s was.

Celebrities greeted her. She allowed hugs and pecks on the cheek. She had no idea what they were saying or how she responded, but they left with smiles and waves. She was so used to her role as hostess that she could have a discussion without needing to think. She felt Frederick press in on her other side as he joined them.

The fourth and highest VIP tier had alcoves set far back from the railings for privacy. One U-shaped alcove could sit up to thirty people, so VIPs could have their entire entourage around them while watching the action on stage or the crowd of thousands rock out below. Carmen passed a popular talk show host and an elderly politician doing body shots off a server in a bikini, a bunch of rappers popping Dom Perignon as if it was Coke, and a boy band who wasn’t old enough to be in the club being fawned over by a hoard of women. She scanned the security in each section, trying to figure out who was the highest profile by the amount of guards.

Eli Stark stood near the last alcove closest to the stage. He turned as she approached and didn’t look pleased to see her. He wore jeans with a navy button up that looked good on him. She suspected he only wore the jacket because he was packing.

“You shouldn’t be in public,” Eli said.

She ignored him and waded through the milling security guards into the alcove. Frederick grabbed the arm of a guard who tried to touch her while Mickey stuck to her like glue. What she found in the VIP area stopped her in her tracks. Angel sat with retired football star (and douchebag) Carter Raymond and Phillip Marquee, Nevada Attorney General. Angel was getting a lap dance from a Hispanic woman wearing a barely there dress that couldn’t contain her boobs, which were hanging out. The woman on Angel’s lap had her arms around his neck and was riding him as if she were on a galloping horse. Having a big ass drop on his crotch like could be dangerous if he had an erection. The woman whispered something in his ear, which made him smile. The woman did a reverse cowgirl and then dropped her hands on the floor, planted her knees on the seat and began to twerk, exposing her ass and black G string. Angel put one hand on each cheek and squeezed.

A hand wrapped around her arm. “Let’s go find Mr. Fletcher,” Mickey said.

Angel looked up and noticed her. His hand paused in its caress over smooth tanned skin. His gaze moved over her and lingered on her breasts, thighs, shoes, and then fixed on her lips. The girl air humped as if her life depended on it. Angel’s mouth curved as his hand slipped under the woman’s ass. Carmen saw the woman’s body jolt as Angel inserted his finger in one of her holes.

“Carmen,” Mickey said and tried to drag her back, but she stayed where she was.

Angel’s arm moved as he fingered her. When the woman tipped her hips up, Angel smacked her ass hard enough to make her yelp.

“Don’t move,” Angel ordered, voice barely audible over the music.

The woman hung her head and nodded as she held her position, legs splayed on either side of him, giving him access to everything. She was at his mercy.

Carmen kept her eyes fixed on his. He stared at her with an amused, faintly cruel expression that put her on edge. Was he trying to shock her? She couldn’t deny that something inside her stirred at the lewd act. She’d seen him in many moods. This one was melded to the darkness in him. He was unaffected by the woman whose movements became increasingly frenzied. He was getting off on controlling her, on exploiting her. He cared nothing for the woman begging him for release.

The attorney general and Carter Raymond were staring at him, transfixed by his ability to make the woman his bitch. The woman moaned and clawed the carpet. Her hooker heels bounced as she fought her pleasure. Angel licked his lip and winked at her as the woman jerked and screamed.

“You want some of that, Carmen?” Carter Raymond asked, reaching for her.

Even as Mickey stepped forward to block his hand, Angel said, “Don’t touch her.”

Carter’s head whipped around. “What?”

“Don’t touch her.”

“Carmen and I go way back,” Carter said.

Angel shook his head. “Not Carmen.”

He was just like Gavin. He thought because she was part of the family that he could call the shots in her life. He, on the other hand, could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The woman on his lap did push-ups to shove herself against his hand. He laughed, well pleased with her out-of-control state. He did something with his hand that made the woman scream and collapse on the ground, shuddering as if she was having a seizure. The attorney general laughed and beckoned to her. The woman crawled to him. He unzipped his pants, and she took him in her mouth.

Angel raised a mocking brow, eyes gleaming dangerously. “You need a release, Carmen?” He beckoned with a glistening hand and patted his lap. “I’m free.”

The guards behind her were shuffling like a bunch of teenage boys. She could smell their lust. She needed something to get her off, but she wasn’t so far gone that she’d allow herself to be used in front of a crowd for his amusement. His eyes dared her to come to him, silently promising her that he could banish the darkness he knew festered within her. He saw too much and would use his knowledge to destroy her. Luci’s voice drifted through her mind. Angel likes you. The man waiting for her capitulation wasn’t the brother Luci knew and loved. This was the crime lord, the one who didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. High on power, pitiless, and shameless.

She’d never been able to walk away from a dare.

Carmen handed her clutch to Mickey. Angel’s eyes gleamed and his mouth began to curve in victory, but he stiffened when she walked toward Carter. She perched sideways on the footballer’s lap and looped one arm around his neck. Carter was looking at Angel, but she cupped his face and turned it to her. Carter was good looking. Unfortunately, he was one of the most self-centered, arrogant men she knew. He thought he was God’s gift to women and had been hitting on her for years. It was time to make him her slave.

She placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. He leaned toward her, reflexively seeking more. She obliged while she stroked his cheek with a feather light touch that was worlds away from what he was used to getting from prostitutes. She ran kisses across his cheek, down his neck, and sucked delicately, laving his skin with her tongue. His pulse flickered beneath her tongue as his erection prodded her hip. She straightened and straddled his lap. He looked up at her, eyes cloudy with desire. He was in her thrall. Her dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull it up as she planted her knees on either side of him and rode him nice and slow.

“You’re fucking beautiful. Always have been,” Carter said through gritted teeth.

She didn’t respond. She swiveled her hips against his crotch. His head dropped back, and he panted as if he was in pain. Seeing his insolent masquerade fade urged her onward. She did a reverse cowgirl on him. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he buried his face in her hair with a groan. She continued to move achingly slow. No less than fifteen men watched her with rapt attention. She placed her hands on Carter’s knees and rocked forward. She panted as if she was getting off on this. In reality, the lap dance was doing nothing for her. It was the dark lust emanating from the crowd of men who fed her inner demon and calmed her. She made her eyes heavy lidded and let tendrils of hair drop over her face so she looked like she was in the throes of ecstasy. She opened her mouth obscenely wide as she rocked on her victim. Her eyes locked with Angel’s. She couldn’t read his expression, but that didn’t matter. All she cared about was that he was watching her. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He liked to play with his food in front of an audience? Two could play at that game.

She leaned back against Carter’s chest and allowed his hands to move over her, tugging at her clothes and pawing at her breasts. She reached up and looped her arms around his neck as she ground on him. He groaned and shifted restlessly beneath her. One guard took a step forward before he caught himself, drawing Angel’s attention. The guard cleared his throat and looked away.

The music in the club built to a crescendo while she undulated her body, using every feminine wile she had picked up in her years. The Hispanic woman who sucked off the attorney general was curled up in a ball on the couch, forgotten. She allowed the men to use and wring her dry. Amateur move.

She spread Carter’s legs wide so she could brace her feet on the ground and swiveled her hips against his dick. Angel shifted. It was a small movement, but she knew what it meant. Mission accomplished. He was aroused. She kept up the charade until Carter had an arm banded around her waist and was basically trying to fuck her through his clothes.

“How much do you want?” he growled in her ear.

“What?”

“How much do I have to pay to fuck you?”

“You can’t afford me,” she whispered before she tapped his arm to be released.

“What do you want?”

“I’m sure you can find someone to finish you.” She looked up and gave him an arched eyebrow. “Let me go.”

His eyes narrowed, but something over the top of her head caught his attention and he released her instantly. She smoothed her dress down and calmly walked toward Mickey who had beads of sweat on his forehead. She grabbed her clutch and raised a brow, completely ignoring the wall of guards staring at her.

“Let’s go,” she said.

For a moment, no one moved but then Mickey made a path through the motionless men. They gave way reluctantly. She felt hands brush against her as she passed. Mickey led her away from Angel’s alcove. The other VIPs weren’t nearly as risqué as Angel. He made the rappers look like old women knitting.

“What was that?” Frederick growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“You’re fucking with him.” Frederick sounded pissed.

She glanced at him. “So?”

“You don’t fuck with men like him, especially in front of his men.”

“Angel didn’t do anything.”

“He will. Later.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

Angel taunted her by bending that woman to his will in front of her. It was his way of showing her what he could do to her if she submitted to him. She slammed his suggestion back in his face by showing him he wasn’t the only player in the room. She wasn’t a toy to be played with. She was a woman, one who would spit in his face if he tried shit like that on her. Being objectified like that in front of other men to be used and discarded wasn’t something she would sink low enough to participate in.

“There’s Fletcher,” Mickey said, sounding relieved.

She followed his gaze and spotted Marcus talking to Bridgette Mackee, who was now married to an A list actor. She had definitely come up in the world since her days of seeking out publicity. Bridgette noticed her and waved. Marcus turned and scanned her appreciatively. She did air kisses with Bridgette and shook her husband’s hand before she stood beside Marcus.

“Glad you found me in this crush,” Marcus said and nodded to the couple. “Have a great night.”

Marcus took her hand and led her from the fourth tier and paused on the third. He pulled her against him and leaned in close.

“I have two people to talk to and then we can go,” he said.

Classy sin teased her senses. His presence made that tight, destructive ball in her chest ease. He had a numbing effect on her pain. It didn’t cure her, but it was something. She followed him into the fray. He talked to a bunch of politicians and lawyers and introduced her while he kept their hands clasped. She spoke when she needed to and even managed a smile although she couldn’t hold it long since her head was all messed up and her insides were mangled and heavy.

That lascivious scene with Angel fed her dark cravings. She couldn’t deny that it gave her a degree of satisfaction to arouse Carter, Angel, and the other men, but … now what? Depraved, erotic needs swamped her. Involuntarily, she squeezed Marcus’s hand. He squeezed back and shot her a reassuring smile. She focused on his smooth, polished voice. He was good at what he did—making everyone feel welcome and important, extracting information, offering future services, and solidifying their relationship with personal tidbits. Marcus was a natural. Vinny worked hard to maintain that level of poise. Vinny … She forced her mind away from that dangerous path and took in Marcus’s thick eyelashes she would have stolen if she could. He was freshly shaved and well-groomed, as usual. Being on the arm of another COO, it should have felt like Deja vu, but it didn’t. Marcus was definitely his own person, and she wasn’t the carefree, vivacious woman who once graced Vinny’s arm. She felt like a shadow of the woman she used to be, a stitched together version that could fall apart at any moment.

Marcus wrapped his arm around her waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

Frederick made a way through the main floor with Mickey following behind. Marcus paused to talk to the nightclub manager before they reached the casino.

“You look amazing,” Marcus said as he led her to the elevator.

She raised a brow. “You like my badass bitch look?”

“Bitch?” he echoed as he swiped a key card and pressed the highest floor. “You may be a badass, but you’re not a bitch.”

She glanced at Frederick and Mickey who gave them a modicum of privacy by standing in front of them. What she’d done to Carter was a bitch move—arouse, taunt, desert.

“I am a bitch.”

“You won’t convince me of that,” Marcus said.

He leaned against the wall of the elevator in a charcoal gray suit with a navy-blue handkerchief in the pocket. He was effortlessly stylish and handsome and a sight for sore eyes. He was relaxed and amused and worlds away from what she experienced with Angel ten minutes ago. He was smiling and happy while she felt wanton and vicious. Angel guessed what was going on with her at a glance because he was experiencing it himself. He could control and exploit a woman to get off, but what the hell was she going to do? She was on the verge of another bender as Marcus called it. Three steps forward, six back. She was good for a couple of days before something dragged her back to square one. She instinctively called Marcus. She hoped he could help her because she had no plan B.

She crossed her arms as she faced him across the lift. “I have bitch moments. Do you have a thing for dangerous women?”

He cocked his head to the side as he examined her. “Dangerous?”

“I’m armed,” she said.

He shrugged. “So am I.”

He was dismissing her claims, as usual. She wasn’t sure if that irritated or charmed her. He refused to see how fucked up and crazy she was. A part of her hated that she wanted to be the woman he thought she was. Well, she couldn’t say she hadn’t warned him.

The elevator opened to reveal a short hallway that led to two imposing doors. Marcus turned to Frederick and Mickey.

“No one can reach this floor without a key card. I’ll take care of her. Take a break.”

Frederick and Mickey looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded. Marcus swiped his key card in the elevator so her guards could go back to the lobby and turned to her.

“You’re staying in the penthouse?” she asked.

“No, but since you were coming, I thought we could enjoy the view.”

Marcus swiped his key in the door. The sound of running water tickled her ears as she entered. There was a five-foot-tall lion fountain to the left of the door. Its mane was perpetually slick from the water cascading down his back and tapping pleasantly in the pool he stood in. A wall of unbroken glass showed The Strip in all its glory. The bright colors bounced off the gleaming black floor. There was a full-size kitchen to the left and a massive living area that could easily sit up to fifteen people. On the long black dining table was a bucket of ice with two bottles of wine and several covered trays.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Thought you might be hungry.”

“It’s midnight.”

“So? Are you hungry?”

She was a lot of things, but she wasn’t sure if hungry was one of them. She watched him uncover the trays to reveal rows of tiny, elegant appetizers.

“I told you I was coming an hour ago. How did you put this together so quickly?”

He raised a brow. “This is Pyre Casinos, babe. We’re ready for anything.”

He opened a white wine with a French label as she walked toward the wall of glass. The huge balcony along two sides of the penthouse was everything. There was a full-size Jacuzzi, lounge chairs, and a covered cabana along with an untended bar. The penthouse was definitely made for entertaining.

“Here.”

She accepted the glass of wine. “Thanks.”

She let the chilled wine wash away the bitter taste on her tongue. Marcus watched her intently, gauging her mood. How much did he see?

“I’m glad you came tonight.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “You’re wearing your armor tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”

“You look hard, untouchable. You use clothes the same way I do—to make a statement.” He grasped her free hand and carried it to his mouth. He kissed the inside of her wrist. “You may think you’re a badass bitch, but I know your secret.”

She tensed. “Secret?”

“You’re soft.” He unfurled her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Delicate. You champion those who need it. Lyla, Honey, Alice … What war are you fighting tonight, Carmen?”

An internal one that she was losing. Angel enhanced her carnal hunger into debauched desires that chased through her mind. Marcus’s gentleness made her feel like a depraved pervert.

He cupped her chin. “Tell me what you need.”

The hand holding her wine glass trembled as she tried to get her skittering thoughts together. If Angel hadn’t publicly humiliated that woman, he would have been the perfect candidate to help her out tonight. Angel was right. Vinny’s death changed her. She’d always had a high sex drive, but now there was a dark edge to it—a craving she wasn’t comfortable with because it was new and unexplored. She was in the mood to be used, pushed to her limits, and wrung dry. She needed a man who wouldn’t use her dark needs against her. Was Marcus up to the challenge or was she about to destroy their tentative friendship by asking for too much?