JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys Page 5

  “I sent for a car. It should be waiting for you. But let me walk you out.”

  She smiles. “Thanks.”

  We take the elevator down to the lobby. We stand side by side, and it isn’t an awkward silence that fills the air, more of a why is this ending so soon silence.

  I know Tess is the last thing I need right now. A yearlong cluster-fuck of a relationship should turn me off of women for a while. But Tess isn’t just some woman.

  And, hell, I don’t know what she is exactly ... but it’s worth finding out.

  As the elevator stops on the ground floor, I reach for her hands before the doors slide open.

  “Can I take you out again?”

  The doors open, and before she can answer, the paparazzi overwhelm us. Photos are taken, one after another, as we press through the crowd.

  The limo is waiting, and I see fear in her eyes. Pure pain. She wasn’t fucking around about not wanting drama.

  “I can’t ... Jack, I gotta go. Now.”

  She ducks into the limo as the driver opens the door for her.

  And they’re gone before I can ask her to stay.

  TESS

  Shit. Shit. Shitttttt.

  I want to scream. Probably both.

  Fuck.

  The limo drops me off, but some of those shitty paparazzi followed us here and continue taking my photo as the driver opens my door, and as I jam my key into the door leading to my studio apartment.

  “Get the fuck away,” I yell at them. “Seriously, go.” I’m not playing nice, because this is my worst nightmare and it is literally all my fault.

  I should have never played with fire. Never have gone with Jack Fucking Harris to dinner, to bed. Hell, I never should have become friends with such high-profile people in the first place.

  I came to Vegas to disappear. Not to be on page nine of some gossip magazine. I came here to hide.

  And now ... I’m terrified I’ll be exposed.

  Once inside my studio, I take off yesterday’s clothes, find a pair of sweats, an old hoodie. I put the kettle on for some tea, and as it heats up I dig in my closet, under a box of books, to make sure my money is there. Not that it wouldn’t be, but that cache of cash is my one safeguard. If I need to leave, I can. And that money will ensure that I can start over.

  I take last night’s tips from my wallet and shove them in my money box, lock it back up. Closing my closet door, I make four strides, back and forth, the width of my place. This apartment is my favorite place in the world, my teeny-tiny sanctuary that has now been compromised.

  The paparazzi followed me here.

  Dammit!

  The kettle screeches and I make myself some lemon-ginger tea, hoping the ache in my belly disappears. Screw groceries and laundry. I don’t want to step foot outside this apartment.

  I’m a liar. I told Jack I wasn’t scared of anything.

  But that wasn’t true, because right now I’m terrified.

  Terrified that the people I ran from will come looking. And those stupid photographs will help them.

  I collapse on my double bed, wishing I had a computer, access to the Internet somewhere besides the library. My phone may allow texting, but there’s no data plan.

  My only hope is that the paparazzi will realize me being with Jack is no story. Sipping the steaming tea, I force myself to calm down.

  Why would anyone care about me anyway? Why would anyone want to post a story about some girl who works at a casino. Like every other girl in this town? Nothing is going to happen.

  Right?

  I’m a cocktail waitress named Tess. There’s nothing interesting about me.

  At least that’s what I tell myself. Because what other choice do I have?

  Chapter Six

  Anarchy Motorcycle Gang, Arkansas

  SLIDER

  “Hey, Slider,” Angel says, handing her phone to me. “Look at this.”

  She’s in a thong and a push-up bra, and nothing else. Her fake breasts are full and ready to be fucked. I didn’t come back to this whore’s room for anything other than to have my cock in her mouth.

  I take the goddamn phone. “You gonna start sucking my cock or what?”

  She doesn’t say anything, just rolls off her bed, and drops to her knees, like the good little slut she is.

  “What the hell is this? Why do I care about this fucker?”

  She’s pulled up some shit story about Jack Harris—some pussy DJ in Vegas—and some skank leaving his house.

  “Thought you might want to know.” She purses her lips, looking up at me, then shrugs and unbuckles my pants, pulling them down.

  “Why would I want to know about some pansy ass boy in the desert?”

  She slides her hand over my cock, but it’s fucking impossible to get hard if she’s showing me pictures of some guy.

  “Just thought you might be interested in the girl he’s with, Slider. Thought Cutter might care even more than you ... thought maybe you’d like to have to pleasure of telling him first.”

  Angel knows she’s on my bad side, I know she’s been sleeping with Drake, and she knows I keep her on this compound to be my little fuck buddy, nobody else’s.

  This must be her way of making it up to me. Cutter is the President of our outlaw gang, and she knows I won’t have access to talk to him unless it’s important.

  “Who is this girl?”

  “Zoom in.”

  I do, and what I see is some skinny little brunette climbing into a limo. The next photo is of her waving goodbye to Jack, but there’s fear in her eyes.

  Eyes I know all too fucking well.

  “Shit,” I pull up my pants. “Is this really Cammie?”

  “Sure as hell is. I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

  I grin, knowing how important this story is to Cutter. Knowing that bringing back his daughter will make me a road captain.

  I’ll get the street cred I’ve been looking for since I joined this brotherhood. Fuck, all I have to do is find this bitch that ran away.

  Chapter Seven

  JACK

  I don’t want to be a shitty son, but I watch as Mom’s call goes straight to voicemail.

  When it shows up as a message, I hit Play.

  “Hello, Jack. Your dad and I are on speakerphone,” Mom says.

  “Afternoon, son.” Dad’s gravelly voice comes through the message. “Just calling to check in. Your mother wanted me to be here when she—”

  Mom cuts in. “You’ve only been gone twenty-four hours after coming home because you needed to regroup after that mess with Ashley, and already Linda from down the street called to tell me you have a new lady according to some photos on glamour.com. Jack, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but when a girl’s heart is involved it’s no joke.”

  “Well, I don’t think this is about hearts and true love, Sadie,” Dad says, laughing softly. “Think this is about our boy sowing wild oats.”

  “Oh, Hudson, enough with that.”

  “Jack, just give your poor mother a call.”

  The message ends and I toss my phone aside.

  All afternoon I’ve been dealing with this shit. One phone call after another. Publicist, agent—those I took. Ace, Landon, McQueen—well, I didn’t answer those. What the fuck was I supposed to say, after Tess explicitly requested I say zilch about her and me, about last night?

  God, my cock twitches at the memory of her soft skin and dirty mouth.

  The only person I haven’t heard from is Tess, and I’m hoping that’s because she hasn’t seen the shit show. I’ve tried to call her a few times, and it went straight to voicemail.

  The only thing I can’t figure out is who would have told the photographers to come here.

  But they must have known. And the fact that mere hours after the pictures were taken they were already posted to online gossip sites adds suspicion to the whole thing.

  Someone presses the intercom from the lobby, wanting to be let in.

  “It’
s me, asshole.” Ace’s voice comes through the speaker, and I get up to let him in.

  When the elevator opens into my loft, out come the boys. I look around, relieved that their women aren’t with them. I can’t fucking deal with them, too.

  “What the hell, man? You sleep with her and then sic the press on her?” Ace asks.

  McQueen walks straight to my fridge and grabs a beer, pops the cap with his key, and takes a swig. I follow his lead and grab a few more, then hand one each to Landon and Ace.

  “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” I explain. “I feel like shit.”

  “For sleeping with her?” Landon asks, plopping down on my couch.

  “Why would I feel like shit for that?”

  “Because it’s Tess, asshat,” Ace says, shaking his head. “Tess has had a thing for you for months. It’s not cool to, like, mess with her. You have any idea how much bitching I’ve listened to today over this? Tess wouldn’t answer Emmy’s calls, so the girls all went over there to find out what happened.”

  “Nothing happened. We hung out. She fell asleep. Bad timing with the news story. Nothing that exciting.”

  “You already said you slept with her, idiot,” McQueen snorts.

  “You guys really come over here to chew me out for this thing with Tess?”

  “We came over to chew you out on behalf of our women,” Landon says. “Claire seems to think Tess is this innocent princess who will be ruined if you sink your teeth into her.”

  “Why is your woman hating on me? I’m not a player like you guys.”

  “Yeah right. Before Ashley, how many women did you sleep with?” Ace asks.

  “I have no fucking clue.”

  “That’s something a player says. The girls seem to think Ashley had your nuts in a grip for the past year, and now the moment you’re free you’re gonna become a sex addict.”

  “Sex addicts and players are two different things,” I say, raising an eyebrow. Hell, I had Tess once and I already feel like I’m going through withdrawals. And, oddly, I have no desire for anyone else.

  “For the record,” McQueen says. “JoJo doesn’t care who you sleep with as long as it’s not me.”

  “Why the fuck would JoJo think I’d sleep with you, dick weed?” I ask.

  He looks offended. “I’m McQueen, everyone wants me.”

  Ten minutes with these guys, and my head is starting to pound. The last thing I wanted was to hurt Tess, and now these guys are sitting here saying I have.

  “Okay, you fuckers can stay and drink my beer and avoid your women. I’m gonna go find Tess and apologize. See? Not a player. I’m a fucking man.”

  TESS

  It’s four-thirty in the afternoon and I’m still in bed. The tea is cold and I’m starving. I didn’t buy any groceries so there’s nothing to eat, and I didn’t do any laundry so there’s an enormous basket of dirty clothes. And I don’t even care.

  I’m burrowing myself deeper into my cocoon of blankets when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” I turned my phone off hours ago, because I wanted to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. Somehow my head got all wonky in the last twenty-four hours, and no amount of “talking it out” with Emmy and Claire would fix that.

  I’m a shitty friend.

  The stuff with the press showing up, and remembering why I’m so uncomfortable with the spotlight, just brought to the surface exactly why I’m running—brought to the surface who I’m running from.

  I blink back tears and roll out of bed.

  Looking through the peephole, I see Emmy and Claire.

  I pull open the door and plaster a smile on my face.

  “Hey, ladies, what’s up?” I ask.

  “You didn’t answer your phone like a normal person so we came over to see if you’re okay. Are you okay?” Claire asks, pushing through my door.

  “Sorry, I just woke up.”

  “This place is so depressing, Tess,” Emmy says. “I think you should move into the extra bedroom at our place.”

  “Emmy’s right,” Claire says. “I mean, this place is—.”

  “You guys, don’t. Please. I know you mean well, but I’m not moving into your apartments. That would be awkward. Besides, it wasn’t so long ago you weren’t living in penthouses, and you had to find quarters to do your laundry at the laundromat, and you were eating cereal for dinner.”

  Claire waves her hands for me to stop. “We get it. Sorry. It’s just things have changed for us, and I hate that they haven’t changed for you.”

  “I don’t need anyone to sweep me off my feet to be happy. I’m working hard and making a life for myself, okay?”

  We’re standing in my one-room studio because I don’t exactly have anywhere to sit, besides a chair at the desk and my double bed.

  “I know, girl. You work hella hard,” Emmy says. “We just don’t want things to get weird because we have….”

  “Billionaire husbands?”

  “Yeah.” Claire purses her lips, then speaks again. “I think I forget how hard-up you are right now, Tess. You never complain or ask for anything. And I haven’t been to your place since I came back from London, which was almost two months ago.”

  “Why would you come here?” I ask. “You both have lovely homes. And I love spending time with you guys there. I don’t even have a place for us to sit.”

  “You have a bed.” Emmy plops down. “And speaking of sleep.”

  “No one was speaking of sleep,“ I say. “Anyone want tea?”

  “No, thanks,” Claire says, pulling out the chair tucked away at my desk, looking at my neatly stacked piles of library books. “Man, Tess, you have so many books. It’s sort of insane. I never see you reading anything but fashion magazines.”

  Ignoring her, I try to get to the real reason they’re here. “Um, it’s cool you came over to visit, but since we’ve already covered the fact you never do ... what is this all about?”

  Emmy smiles, falling into the pillows on my bed. “Well, we’re kinda pissed at you.”

  “Me?” I huff indignantly. “What did I do?”

  “You were naughty last night and didn’t even call to tell us,” Claire says, crossing her arms in mock seriousness.

  “Yeah,” Emmy says, throwing a pillow at me. “We had to hear about it online.”

  I catch the pillow, and my breath catches, too. “What do you mean?” I ask. “What did you hear?”

  Before Emmy can respond, there’s another knock on the door. My heart jumps. If those photos of Jack and I got out in the world, I’ll have lost all sense of security.

  Chapter Eight

  JACK

  When the town car stops at the apartment complex, I try to swallow my sense of shock. I knew Tess worked at a casino, and I knew she must be living on her tips, but I can’t believe Ace pays his employees a wage that forces them to live in a place like this.

  Walking up the three flights of stairs to Tess’s place—#308, according to the text Emmy sent—I tell myself that this is just an apartment. But, in my gut, I know it isn’t good enough for Tess.

  Shit, what does it say about all of us, that we have so much money but one of our own lives in such a sketchy place?

  I hear people screaming in one unit, and the strong scents of cat urine and cigarettes wafts down the hall. I see two men passing bags of weed to one another, and I drop my head, not wanting them to recognize me. Not here, not now.

  Right now, all I care about is Tess.

  Seeing her.

  Making sure she’s okay.

  After knocking on the door of her unit, I stuff my hands in my pockets to stop from fidgeting. I can’t think of the last time I felt so jumpy—but hell, I feel like shit for bringing Tess into my world when she so clearly told me she didn’t want me to.

  “Jack,” she says, opening the door and moving to let me inside. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She shuts the door, locks it.

  She’s in sweats and a hoodie, and looks
rumpled in a way that I find incredibly attractive. Most of the time Tess is trying to look put together, but here, now, I see more of who she really is. A girl, carving a life for herself.

  Emmy and Claire are sitting here in this tiny studio, and a rush of embarrassment floods my veins as I think about my place, where I brought her last night. Thirty of her apartments would fit inside my ten-million-dollar loft.

  Emmy jumps up from the bed. “Tess, actually, Claire and I are going to get out of your hair.”

  “Don’t go. Tell me what you heard,” Tess says.

  Emmy smirks, looking between Tess and me. “If Jack’s showing up at your place, I think what I read is true.”

  Tess’s brows furrow, and confusion flashes over her face.

  Claire stands from her chair. “You better not mess with our girl,” she says, while shooting me an evil eye.

  Why does everyone think I’m gonna mess with Tess? First the guys, now these girls. Hell, since when did I get the reputation of being an asshole?

  “I just can’t believe Ashley is so vindictive,” Emmy says, throwing her purse over her shoulder. “I mean, obviously she’s jealous of Tess, but who calls the paparazzi? That’s just lame.”

  “You think it was Ashley?” I ask.

  Claire and Emmy both snort. “Uh, you don’t?” Claire asks. “That girl is always looking for attention. Why else would the press be literally everywhere you go?”

  “Your theory is pretty cold,” I tell Claire, watching as she kisses Tess goodbye.

  “Well, Ashley was pretty icy,” Emmy says, shrugging. “Honestly, I never got your relationship. I always pictured you with someone warm, gentle. Someone less calculating.”

  All three of us turn to look at Tess, and the innuendo is clear: Tess is all the things Ashley is not.

  “Okay, well … Tess, call us later, okay? We love you.” Emmy gives her friend a hug, and then she and Claire leave.

  With the door shut, I watch as Tess locks the deadbolt again. Once it’s secure, she leans against it, arms crossed. Eyes on the ground.