Chapter 1

Charlotte

“I can’t.”

These are not words I usually say to my boss, but the guy has asked me to stay late every night this week and I’ve got the biggest project of my life due at the end of this week. I’ve got to ace this one, graduate, and finally leave Vegas.

The glittering city of lights has a dark side and I’m tired of being under its heel. Well, it’s not Vegas’s heel, really, it’s the Kincaids’s.

I shiver as I remember that night. The one where I realized that I was dating a monster, and his brother, the one I was ridiculously attracted to, was the biggest bad guy of them all.

I push a section of my long brown hair back from my face. I’m the only brunette on staff. At least, I’m the only one that’s still a brunette. I’ve been working here for years and despite not looking like a typical Vegas girl, I make the kind of tips that has paid my rent and the gap in tuition my scholarship doesn’t cover.

“Sorry, Char, but Candy and Destiny called in sick. I’m stuck.” We all have silly names in this place, it helps to keep the customers from tracking us down outside of work. Something I should have remembered two years ago when I told Leo my full name.

Gus scratches at his neck, sweat making the back of his hair wet. He’s got to be pushing fifty and he’s got the extra weight around the middle to show for it.

Not that I dislike Gus. He keeps it professional and he keeps his temper. Both characteristics I really appreciate in a man with power over me.

“Look, Gus, I know I usually take the shifts, but I’ve got to work on the editing for my project and I could use a few more pictures too. All those extra tips won’t mean anything if I have to pay for another semester.” My scholarship ends at the finish of this term, my four years up, and if I don’t pass my visual arts class, I’m doomed.

It’s the class that should be an easy A for me, but my professor has been giving me a really hard time. He’s Kincaid-worthy.

Actually, he’s worse. The Kincaids only threatened my life. My professor? He’s trying to blackmail me into having sex with him. Creep.

I need to get out of this city. Every day I stay is a day closer to the Kincaids deciding I’m a problem they don’t feel like keeping around.

Maybe they’ve forgotten about me? It’s possible. Except, sometimes, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. Maybe I’ve just grown incredibly paranoid, but either way, a change of scenery would do me good.

“I’ll give you tomorrow night off if you’ll stay tonight.” Gus holds his thick hands up in a plea. “I know I can count on you, Char. I’m not trying to screw you over.”

I let out a long breath, looking down at Gus. At five feet eight inches, I’m taller than him by a few inches normally, but he also insists the waitresses wear these ridiculous platforms as part of our uniform, so I tower over him now.

Tugging at my super-short skirt, I sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

But inwardly, I cringe. I have this project planned that’s going to force Professor Burke to pass me. Leaning into my strength, photography, it’s a piece on the gritty beauty of Vegas. The small things that actually make this place beautiful but usually go unseen.

But I need time to get those shots, and finish all the edits, and I’ve had so little of that lately.

With a sigh, I tie my apron back on, and adjust my skintight white top that’s part of our uniform. My boobs have always been bigger than anything else on me, which makes the shirt strain across them. It’s a detail I dislike but I ignore it, just like I do most details in this place.

Or I try…

Moving to the next table, I start taking orders and bringing drinks, the night passing in a blur of alcohol, not that I’m drinking.

I’ve mostly steered clear, other than an occasional glass of wine with dinner. By two in the morning, when we finally close, I’m exhausted and wondering if I ought to change my stance and have a shot of vodka.

I don’t even know how I’m going to drag myself home tonight.

Taking off my platforms, I pull on decent walking shoes, white sneakers, to make the trip faster. Then, I collect up my money and start for my shit apartment. Rebel’s is on the edge of new Las Vegas.

But my place…it’s in the dumps. A tiny studio, at least I get to live alone. I’ve always liked things to be orderly, neat. But after my dad died, my former roommates said I became obsessive. Whether I’m difficult or they’re pigs, it’s much easier to live alone.

I usually stay on the main drag to get home, but it takes longer and I’m just too tired tonight. So cutting down first one alley and then another, I work my way east, eager for the sanctuary of my bed.

I just want to sleep and then I’ll worry about life tomorrow. At least my apron pocket is full of tips. Money I can add to my collection for when I leave this place.

My plan is to go to New York with my best friend, Kim. I know that city has just as many sharks as this place, but first, I won’t have accidentally dated one of them and second, I need to be in a hub of some kind.

My major is marketing, but my passion is photography. Two things that pair rather nicely but only if I can get a job at a marketing firm with a department big enough to create some of its own marketing materials.

I tug at my skirt, which has ridden up at the quick clip I’m currently walking and take the final corner before I reach my street.

Where I stop dead in my tracks.

Fifty feet down the dark alley are three men, one on his knees, one holding him, and the third pointing a gun at his head.

I squeeze my eyes shut, sure that I’m imagining this whole thing, but there is just enough light from the flickering streetlamp at the end of the block to cast the scene in shadowy light.

I can’t see anyone’s faces, but I can see enough to know what’s happening and my blood runs cold with fear.

And then the gun pops off, making me startle. I don’t mean to, but a small cry falls from my lips as my hands raise to my mouth to cover it.

But it’s too late. Both men still standing look at me. The one not holding a gun barely hesitates for a second before he starts charging straight for me.

I scream again, not trying to hold it in as I spin, the treads of my sneakers helping me to pick up speed as I break into a run, my longer legs, stretching out to move as quickly as possible.

But it isn’t fast enough. I can hear him gaining and my lungs strain as another scream builds in my chest.

He’s going to catch me. Will he kill me? Worse?

I’m losing energy, my legs turning to jelly and my body slowing as a broken sob breaks from my lips. Where am I even going?

The high rev on an engine stops me in my tracks as a car appears from the street on my left. The sleek black sedan stops in front of me, the tires screeching, as the driver’s door whips open and a man steps out.

He’s got the car between him and me but our eyes lock as he pulls out a gun. A giant gun.

A gun like I’ve never seen before. I think I’ve gone numb. This should send me to the ground with fear, but I don’t feel a thing. Is he going to shoot me? Dimly, a list of things I wish I’d done flashes through my mind.

I wish I’d visited my dad’s grave more. I wish I’d graduated college. Would have made him proud. I wish I’d had mind-blowing sex…

“Stop,” he snarls.

“I am,” I whisper my hands going up.

But his eyes are not on me, they’re behind me, and that’s when I realize he’s not speaking to me at all.

I turn my head to see both men who’d been chasing me also stopped, ten feet behind me with their hands in the air.

“Get in, princess.”

I know he’s talking to me. My brain won’t even start on whether or not I think it’s a good idea to get in the car with the man who’s holding a giant weapon. I can’t get my legs to work. “I…”

“Get. In. Now.”

Something about his tone, the command, I obey, stuttering forward and pulling on the handle.

The part of my mind that loves little details, hears the perfect tone of the car door opening. It’s heavy but well-made and the noise it makes is one of quality. Like an airtight vault being opened. A slight suck as the seal gives.

I open the door wider, sliding into the leather seat, the smell of new car and expensive cologne hitting my nostrils.

Activating my other senses is helping calm my nerves, and with a steady hand, I close the door, the satisfying sound of it sealing shut makes my breath rush out from my lungs.

I’m not safe. I know that.

It only takes one look out the window, to see the two men who’d been chasing me down still standing just feet away. What happens when the driver lowers the gun?

“We’re going to take this nice and slow,” the driver calls. “I’m going to get in my car, you’re going to go back to your boss.”

“I don’t think so,” one of the killers calls back. “We need the girl.” He’s got an accent, but my brain is too frazzled to process which one I’m hearing.

“That’s going to be a problem,” the driver answers.

“For you.” The other guy spits back. “Hand her over.”

“Not going to happen.” And then he levels the gun, I hear it rest it on top of the roof of his car to steady his shot. “New plan.”

I’ve stopped looking at the men who were chasing me, my gaze now fixed on the driver. At least what I can see of him. He’s familiar.

And his baritone voice has this rich, deep honey that reminds me of…

“You two are going to run. And I’m going to give you until the count of five before I start to fire. I suggest you begin. One.”

Something on the gun clicks and it sends both of the other men into action. Reversing direction, they sprint down the street away from the car.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.” His voice raises with every number he ticks off, the two men moving further away until the first one turns down an alley, diving out of sight.

“Five,” he bellows and then he swings into the car, weapon still in hand as he shuts the door.

In one motion, he tosses the gun in the back seat and then throws the car in gear, peeling out and gunning the vehicle down the next alley.

I gasp, grabbing the door handle as I realize I haven’t even put on a seat belt.

“Duck,” he grits out, taking a hard left as another gunshot rings out behind us. I hear the tink of metal as the bullet hits the car.

My head is between my knees in a second, my breath heaving in and out of my lungs as I try not to vomit.

Squeezing my eyes shut, the car picks up speed, turning right and then left, and then right again. “You can sit up now.”

Slowly I raise my head, my breath anything but even.

I’m trembling all over as I swallow down a lump. “Are they following us?”

“No.” he answers, racing down the street at what must be eighty miles an hour. I don’t mind.

But the knowledge that what just happened is behind me, doesn’t stop the trembling. If anything, I just shake harder. It’s like some kind of delayed reaction that I can’t control.

I have no idea how he manages it, but his jacket, still warm from his body lands across my lap. “Put it on.”

I do as I’m told, automatically. I don’t even think.

Pushing a few buttons on the console, the sound of a phone ringing echoes through the cabin of the car. I press my cheek to the cool glass. Maybe I should be worried about where we’re going or what this man’s intentions are. Instead, I close my eyes.

“Hello,” another deep male voice answers.

The driver hits another button to transfer the call and then picks up his cell phone so I can’t hear the other side of the conversation. “I need the boss now.”

Boss? Who’s boss? Boss of what?

I can hear the man on the end of the phone speak, but I don’t catch the words.

“Pull him out.”

More words that are too muted for me to make out. “Because. There’s been an incident with Charlotte.”

That has me sitting straight up. How does this guy know my name?

I look over, taking in the profile of the man I climbed into the car with, and my blood runs cold. It’s Leo and Mason’s youngest brother, Roman.

Older, harder than I remember, but the man next to me is definitely the youngest Kincaid.

I make some small noise in the back of my throat like trapped prey. Because I am. I’ve stepped out of the frying pan and fallen straight into the fire.