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I want to make a miserable joke about eloping off into the sunset together, but I get the impression that he won’t appreciate it much. So I just say, “Okay.”
He grunts and gives me something resembling a nod. I don’t push him for anything more.
52
CLARA
The valet takes Demyen’s keys without us pausing for a second. Demyen is all business, no time for pleasantries or hesitation. He ushers me to the gilded doors and I have to practically skip just to keep up.
Sometimes, I forget just how powerful he is. How he doesn’t just rule the Vegas underworld and half the Sierra Nevada, but alsothis. This world of gold and glitter, of fantasies and indulgent dreams.
Here, people admire him as much as they fear him and it’s written all over the faces of the gamblers who recognize him when we walk in.
“… around what time was that?”
I freeze.
No. Please, no.
That all-too-familiar voice makes my stomach turn and my feet glue to the spot—and apparently, it has the same effect on Demyen. He whips his gaze to the bar as quickly as I do andboth of us stare at the “casual” interrogation Martin is giving the bartender.
I feel Demyen’s arm wrap around me. Next thing I know, he pulls me tight to his side and whirls me around down a side wing that wraps around a cluster of slot machines.
“I need you here.” He’s talking through his earpiece. “Patterson. No shit. I didn’t see him holding a warrant, no.”
The smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth tells me it’s probably Bambi on the other end. I don’t know what all she does as his right hand, but I’ve listened to her flay someone alive over the phone before. I can only imagine how she feels about Martin.
“You got it. See you in ten.”
Demyen pushes us into a back wall elevator, presses a button, then turns around to face me. He doesn’t say anything, but he stands so close I can breathe in his cologne from the patch of skin showing from beneath his undone top buttons.
I dare a peek up at him. I try to hide the soft gasp at seeing he’s gazing at me through lowered lashes, and he’s not pissed. Not like he was earlier.
I almost think he’s going to…
But no. The elevator settles, the panel softly dings, and the doors slide open. Demyen glances over his shoulder, then pulls me close to lead me down a carpeted hallway filled with unmarked doors.
Was he… protecting me?
Is that what he’s doing now?
We enter a lavish office that is without a doubt his. It looks like the one he has at home but on steroids.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he orders. “But don’t leave. And don’t open the door for anyone, no matter who they say they are.”
“What if?—”
“I’ll come and get you once this is done.”
He hesitates. Or, more like, he doesn’t just sweep out of the room as quickly as he ushered me into it. Instead, he takes a step toward me and I swear I see his hand move up from his side like he’s about to?—
But then he turns on his heel and leaves me there. I hear the door click, then several beeps and another click indicates I’m locked in here until he comes back.
I have no idea what the codes for his security computer screens are and I definitely do not want to try hacking in. But there’s also no television and I don’t have the patience or amount of calm necessary to just sit down and “be comfortable.”
So I pace around the room a few times. Sit on the lavish futon, test its bounciness, hop back up and pace some more. I tell myself he has something to sleep on in here because he’s dedicated to his work, not because he entertains dates or trial runs his escorts himself.
Not that it would bother me if he did.
