Free Breaking Beauty (Devils Aces MC): Vegas Titans Series by Celia Loren Page B

their customers, Lefty
will have them...disposed of . I've seen it before. Now, please don't
cry. And whatever you do: don't look up.”
     
    She didn't have to. She knew just where she'd find that
incriminating, invisible patch of ceiling—she was good at sensing their
whereabouts, by now. The camera was likely resting in the near corner, just
above the door. Where Bryson had been staring a moment before. Romy imagined a
careful Lefty, watching her every move from his lodge below as Zaida fixed him
another gin and tonic...
     
    “I'm going to get you out of this, Romy. I swear to God. And
I—all the Devils Aces—we're going to make sure DiMartino and the rest of his
pathetic slice of the Mob pay dearly for what they've been doing. This is a
sick, sick prostitution ring, it's illegal gambling, its...well, enough to put
him away for a long time. But from here on out, what I need most is for you to
play your cards right babe.”
    She couldn't withhold a snort. For the first time that
evening, Bryson smiled his melting smile up at her. His familiar smirk put her
at instant ease. Of course, she'd connected the dots hours before, she knew
that she'd been sold into something as soon as she realized what the stakes
were for the blackjack tournament. Somehow Romy had held her composure during
the game, she dug deep and it wasn't easy to hold back the tears, but she knew
her situation would become much worse if she didn't keep it together now.
    “So what are my cards, Bryson?”
    “Well—,” he began. And for a moment, he looked flustered. I have flustered Bryson Vaughn, Romy thought to herself. Her inner
abandoned-in-the-library tenth grader did a little victory dance, in her head.
But before she could fully rejoice in the moment, a new thought occurred.
    “So you'll need to fuck me,” she said.
    Bryson was silent. He continued to stare straight into her
barely-sheathed crotch, as if hypnotized.
    “I'm not going to fuck you,” he said at last. “Not like
this. But Lefty will be expecting something. Do you understand what that
means?”
     
    She nodded dully, though the power of comprehension might as
well have flown the coop. In only the past hour, Romy had been tossed along a
whole gamut of emotions—terror, disgust, self-loathing, shame, and
now—impossibly—a steady, burning hunger for the man before her. But desire
couldn't win out. It was all simply too much. She didn't want to fuck him
either... not like this.
     
    “I'm just so tired,” Romy said, collapsing back against the
sheets. His eyes were still hunting towards her center. She felt them break
contact, at last.
     
    Bryson stood up slowly. He put a finger to his lips, in echo
of his earlier gesture, and retreated to the bathroom. Romy listened for a
moment while the water ran. She grew accustomed to its thrum before allowing
herself to give in to the soft, several-hundred-count thread sheets. Her eyes
slid closed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

     
     
    She didn't know how long she'd been asleep before she woke
with a jolt, to a hand on her face. The hand was Bryson's. In a moment of
surveillance, Romy determined that they were still in the hotel room, it was
still night, and no—her disastrous first shift at the Needle had not been a
dream.
     
    Bryson didn't speak; he merely held out his other hand for
her to grasp. Still in a waking state, she took it, and allowed herself to be
led. He was picking their way towards the bathroom.
     
    All “Basic Luxury Package” suites at The Windsor were
equipped with state-of-the-art Jacuzzis and marbled countertops; the management
presumed that most couples on Vegas vacations would be looking to have
elaborate sex in glamorous locations and furnished rooms accordingly. So the bathrooms
were romantic. The tubs were large and the towels were especially fluffy, and
most suites supplied between four and twelve fat votives. Stepping into
Bryson's bathroom, she saw that the only lights available were these.
     
    Indeed, more than