1. Jezebel

CHAPTER 1

JEZEBEL

T he complete upending of my life started one sunny April with a hastily arranged wedding in the Black Diamond Hotel, Las Vegas. Not mine, thank fuck. I didn’t do marriage. Hell, I didn’t even date. My one and only attempt at a serious relationship had ended in death—his and not mine, clearly—and I’d long since returned to the world of superficial hookups and no-strings sex.

The loved-up fools in question were my former roommate-slash-fuck-buddy and his girlfriend of roughly a week, although she’d worked for him for several months, so I guess that him bitching about his emails counted as courtship in their book. Anyhow, I’d been invited to witness him make what was possibly the second biggest mistake of his life, and since Vegas was the closest thing I had to a home, I figured I’d go for the free food. And also, it turned out, for the handsome-in-the-rough guy at the bar.

That had been five and a half hours ago. Now, I felt for the next step, toes outstretched, the wood cool against the soles of my feet. Nice knowin’ ya, hot stuff. In thirty minutes, I’d be back in my own bed, ready to snatch a few hours’ sleep before I hit the gym at six. Did sex count as cardio? I mean, it had certainly raised my heart rate. Cole had been a ten until he tried the whole cuddling thing afterward—I’d signed up for a quick fuck, not a cosy tête-à-tête. This was why I usually hooked up with assholes. They didn’t give one single shit about my feelings.

They didn’t ask for anything more than a wet pussy.

They didn’t abuse my trust and put my career—and my life—in danger.

Silently, I shifted my stilettos to my other hand and checked my watch. Ten past two. If I picked up a pizza on the way home, would that be classed as a late dinner or an early breakfast?

What if I chased it with vodka? Dinner, right?

On second thought, it was almost lunchtime in Italy, so a glass of vino would be more appropriate.

In the hallway, a grandfather clock ticked steadily, and I timed my footsteps with the movement. Step, step, step. The house wasn’t quite what I’d expected from a man like Cole. I’d figured him for an “untidy hotel room” kind of guy, but what I found when he took me back to his place was a big old ranch-style home set on a generous lot in McNeil, full of old tchotchkes and vintage furniture that looked like the real deal. A small part of me had wanted to ask him why he was living in a time warp, but the bigger part wanted a fast orgasm and a full night’s sleep. One orgasm had turned into three, all better than expected, which was why I was exiting stage left in the early hours. Cole was snoring softly in his king-size bed, face down and dead to the world.

I’d taken one last lingering look at his ass before I walked out the door.

So long, angel. It’s been fun.

I paused in the living room to check my phone. It was my lucky day—an African prince wanted to send me fifty million bucks, and all I had to do was pay the admin fee. If the poor dumb schmuck had known what I did to African princes with dubious ethics, he’d have tried his utmost to stay off my radar. I clicked over to the Order of Service app. I forget who came up with the name for our group chat. Probably Echo, the team geek.

Me

Anyone near McNeil?

Storm

Yes, but twenty thousand feet up.

Me

Then shouldn’t you be concentrating on flying the plane?

Storm

I’m a woman. I can multitask. Besides, this baby practically flies herself.

Storm was the newest member of the Choir. Our pilot. She split her time between testing experimental aircraft that didn’t officially exist and supporting our little team.

Three years ago, our mentor, Priest, had taken over the project with one simple brief: build a new special forces unit, but make it female. Overload that estrogen. Harness that feminine rage. We were an experiment. What, if anything, could women do that men couldn’t? The answer? A lot. We were smart, and we were sneaky, plus we had a genetic advantage—nearly everyone underestimated us.

Tulsa

It’s 2 a.m. Just stay until morning. Ride the dick again.

Uh, no. It would be harder to sneak out in daylight, and what if Cole was an early riser? He might suggest getting breakfast, or worse, want to talk. I shuddered at the thought.

Me

Negative.

Sin

Playing poker, can pick you up after?

Me

Are you winning?

Sin

Of course.

Me

Don’t worry, I’ll take a cab.

But not from Cole’s place. I always liked to cover my tracks. People said I was paranoid, which was true, but just because I was paranoid didn’t mean nobody was out to get me.

Usually, I didn’t shit in my own backyard, or fuck people from it either. I preferred a clean break. But pickings had been slim today at the Black Diamond—the options included a selection of drunk idiots from a bachelor party who probably wouldn’t be able to get it up, an array of sweaty executives, and a cowboy named Boyd who kept calling me “little lady.” Cole had been sitting at the bar on his own, occasionally looking around but mostly staring into his drink as if it held the answers to life. I could assure him that wasn’t the case. Anyhow, he didn’t belong. He showed no signs of gambling, he wasn’t spending as if he had an expense account, and he didn’t talk to anyone. The Black Diamond was the fanciest joint on the Strip. If he wanted to have a deep and meaningful conversation with a Jack and Coke, there were cheaper places he could have done that.

I’d sipped a cocktail as I wrote his life story in my head. Maybe he’d wiped out at the poker table? Or had he come to Vegas to get married, only to be ditched at the altar by a cheating fiancée? In my experience, either scenario could make a man open to a hookup, although the last jilted husband I’d fucked had started crying afterward, and did I really want to deal with that again?

I flipped my lucky coin, the silver dollar that came from the father I’d never met. Heads, I’d move on. Tails, I’d talk to the guy at the bar.

Lady Liberty looked up at me.

And suddenly, the coin didn’t matter anymore because the guy rolled up the sleeves on his button-down shirt, and holy forearm porn…

I slid onto the stool next to him. “Difficult day?”

The stranger slowly turned to study me with eyes the colour of the ocean, and I returned the favour. He was big. Not so big that he’d present a challenge in a fight, but six feet of sinew and muscle that hadn’t come from a gym. The tan suggested he spent time outdoors. The creases on his face said the same—the crinkles around his eyes from smiling and the worry lines that traced across his forehead. His dark hair showed the occasional strand of silver, even though I put his age within a year or two of mine.

This was no frat boy.

“I’m not a man who pays for sex,” he said.

“Good, because I’m not a woman who charges for it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. I’m sorry. The make-up, the dress… I just figured.”

“I’m here for a wedding.”

“But you don’t want to be?” he guessed.

“It’s complicated. What brings you to this fine establishment?”

“Curiosity. I heard it was the best hotel on the Strip.”

“That’s probably true. Are you staying here?”

He shook his head ruefully. “My budget doesn’t run to the room rate. ”

Plan A flew out the window, but we could still have some fun. “Did you check out the club on the roof?”

“Heard tonight’s event is ticket-only.”

I ran a finger up his arm. “Then we’ll have to sneak in.”

“Security is meant to be good here.”

“Fifty bucks says we can get past.” I threw in a giggle so I didn’t sound too competent. “Me and my friends do it all the time.”

Although I’d feel almost guilty about taking his money. We—and by “we” I meant the Choir—never paid to attend events at the Diamond Club. Spider had found a way in two years ago, and we’d been exploiting it ever since. We just had to make sure that we never discussed it in front of Priest because he’d tell his good buddy Charles Black, who owned the hotel, and the loophole would be closed.

Did I feel guilty for creeping around at the Black Diamond? Nope. Firstly, Black was a billionaire so he could afford a few freebies, and secondly, he owned a security firm—he could carry out his own damn audits.

Hot Guy regarded me closely, then finally shook his head again. “I’ll have to pass.”

“Because you think we’ll get caught?”

“Because my budget doesn’t run to making bets I think I’ll lose, either.”

Aw, it was sweet that he had so much confidence in me. I gave him another once-over in light of the new information, taking in the navy chinos that showcased his well-muscled ass, the plain leather belt, and the scratched diver’s watch. He wasn’t drinking expensive liquor from that high-ball glass.

“Okay, new stakes.” I leaned in close and took a sip of his drink. Straight Coke, not even a shot of whiskey. “I bet you a blow job we can sneak into the party.”

I mean, I’d win either way.

His eyes saucered. “Are you serious? ”

“Deadly.” But I could tell he thought I was kidding. “C’mon, live a little. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“If only that were true.” He blew out a breath, shaking his head, but this time, it was more “I can’t believe I’m considering this” than an outright “no.”

I stood and walked away, half-turning and beckoning him to follow. If he did, happy days. If he didn’t, I’d find another willing dick for tonight.

There was no need to look back.