Therewereplentyof dreadful things about the world mankind created.
Las Vegas was riding high on that shit list.
Everywhere I looked as we drove in was either caked in glitz or grime from the establishments to the people. I’d been here only once before for a buddy’s bachelor party and knew before the weekend was even over that his marriage wasn’t going to last.
People who sought out Vegas wanted to get drunk and nose-deep in a lifestyle they wished for. Everyone who came to Vegas wanted to play make believe to get away from their lives, and while I could respect the sentiment, I couldn’t respect the liar it made them into.
If there’s one thing I couldn’t fucking stand, it was a liar.
Hit me. Rob me blind. Run me over with your car.
But don’t dare fucking lie to me.
Scarlett was in the backseat, laying down with her legs stretched out to the window she’d been staring out for hours. She hadn’t made a peep in so long, I might have forgotten she was there if her presence wasn’t so damn suffocating. She practically drowned the car in lavender and tension so thick it could be smoke—lavender-scented smoke—and I didn’t know whether to get high on it or choke on it.
She would keep me on my toes this trip. That’s for sure.
“We’re almost to the hotel,” I said, clearing my throat that stuck deeper than usual from not talking for the better part of four hours. “Think I can uncuff you without you running away again when we get there?”
Scarlett didn’t even lend her stare away from the pictures outside the window. “I don’t care.”
In the rearview mirror, I squinted at her expressionless face. She really didn’t sound like she gave two fucks whether I left her handcuffed or not. Back at that gas station, she was fighting and yelling and spewing fire on a constant loop.
The girl in my backseat was unrecognizable to that spitfire.
“You promise you won’t try and run again?”
She batted a blank-eyed blink. “No.”
In the mirror, curiosity narrowed my eyes on the redhead in my backseat. “No?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
Now that I could respect.
I appreciated her honesty. What I didn’t appreciate were the looks I got in the lobby as I checked us in for the night. They were everything from curious to appalled as I kept a handcuffed young woman by my side. I even caught a small group of lobby attendants trying to catch Scarlett’s attention, worry casting their faces.
That almost made me smile as I put away my credit card at the check-in desk. I had about 3% faith in humanity left after this job, and people like those lobby attendants were the reason for the 3%.
Scarlett paid them no mind, and as we passed them, I flashed them my badge to watch their worry ease into relief. I wasn’t some perverted, sick fuck taking her up to my room to fuck her twelve ways from Sunday without consent.
I was just some bitter, alcoholic-leaning asshole doing my job.
Scarlett remained tight-lipped as we traveled through the lobby and into the gift shop. She was taking everything in, eyes wide as we passed the bustling casino and neon lights, but never uttered a word.
“Okay, pick out some clothes for the rest of the trip. Keep it under $100. We’ll get toothbrushes and deodorant sent up from the front desk.”
If she heard me, she didn’t react like it. She just walked away, hands locked behind her back, and went right over to the rack of bathing suits. My shoulder muscles slacked as she clumsily yanked some red bikini off of its hanger and chucked it my way.
The flimsy material hit at my feet, and I rolled my stare up to a bright-eyed Scarlett.
“No.”
Her eyebrows dipped together as she protested in silence, showing me the pout of her lip. That protruding lip was red as cherries and plump as hell and needed to go right the fuck back in her mouth.
“I said clothes. Not swimming attire, Avery.”
Her face bunched up like she’d tasted something sour, and she finally broke her silence. “Don’t call me that.”