I hold my breath as the elevator ascends, and to my amazement, we’re not stopped. The door slides open, and I step out into the Nevada desert. Taking a deep breath, I look around. The night sky is starry and beautiful, the vastness of the space so immense that I’m awed. The Club has dozens of entry and exit points all over Las Vegas, and this one is just a few miles from my apartment. Guess that digital map-reader thing from Hubert really did come in handy. I’m glad I made friends with the shy guy.
But now I’m on my own. I can’t pull Hubert or Mary or any other number of staff workers from the Club into my temporary escape. So I pull my thin jacket close around my shoulders, and begin to walk. The glow of my tiny city beckons in the distance, and I know I’ll be there soon enough.
After about twenty minutes, I reach the city’s edge. The hamlet is nothing much really. Just some strip malls housing places like the Silver Star, but I’m glad to be home. Resuming my pace, I start walking again, still breathing deep of the chilly night sky.
Finally, I’m home. Funny that I’d call this ramshackle apartment building home after so long. But that’s what it is. It’s humble, it’s falling apart, and it’s nothing to look at – but it’s mine. The front door creaks loudly as I open it, and I grimace. Damn. Don’t want to wake anyone.
Quietly, I take the stairs up to my apartment on the third floor. Yep, the fifth step on the second floor still squeaks, and the bannister’s worn and shiny with age. I run my fingers along the railing, savoring the knots and rolls in the wood. It’s nice to have some imperfection once in a while, especially because everything at the Billionaires Club is so perfect all the time.
Slowly, I unlock my door and push it open.
“Henry?” is my quiet voice. “Henry, you here?”
There’s no sound, so I flick on the light and squint against the sudden glare. The florescence is killing me, but my shabby kitchen slash living room is oddly familiar and comforting. There’s the linoleum breakfast table, with the rickety chair I sit in while eating cereal. There’s my orange-green couch from the used goods store that they offered me for free if I took it off their hands. Yep, there’s still one cushion exploding at the seams, and a bit of foam peeks out. I’m about to walk over and try to push the stuffing back in when suddenly there’s a yowl and a twenty pound ball of fur shoots into my arms.
“Henry,” I laugh. “Hey, it’s me, it’s me! I missed you too. Calm down, Hen.”
The cat ignores me and licks my face with his rough tongue. Uck. That doesn’t feel too good as cat tongues can be kind of sandpapery. But I endure it as I cuddle the striped furball closer.
“I missed you, Henry, that’s why I’m back. I know it’s been months since I was here, but don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you. You’ve been top of my list, I swear,” are my playful words.
Suddenly, Henry stiffens and starts hissing in my arms. He’s glaring at something over my shoulder, and without even turning around, I know who it is. It’s him. Mr. Carmichael … and he’s here for me.
Chapter 14
Peter
Is Gemma fucking insane? What was she thinking, stealing out of the club at 3 a.m.? Who does that?
Well, I guess someone who’s been under virtual house arrest for the past couple months. Even if she was living in the lap of luxury, I can understand why you’d want to get out and breathe in some fresh air, maybe get some sun.
But that’s the thing. It’s 4 a.m. now. There’s no sun because the desert is pitch black except for the stars high above. There are no warm rays to bask in, and no happy glow for a deep tan. So what is she thinking?
But I get it. I knew that something was going to happen, it was just a question of what and when. After all, Gemma is sassy and resourceful, and there was no way she was going to be my personal lady in waiting for the rest of her life.
So I let her go. I knew the moment the girl left our bed, although my snores kept going. I watched from the corner of my eye as she hurriedly slipped on some sweats and sneakers, and stood by the master bed, looking down at me. And I breathed in her sweet scent as she bent down and brushed her lips against my cheek, whispering, “I love you, Peter.”
I almost bolted up right then, my plans be damned. Gemma loves me? My heart pounded so loud and hard that I was sure it was going to give everything away. But if she loves me, why the hell would she leave?