“Are you gonna take these off of me now that you’ve got me trapped?”
Her voice pulled my focus off of the bed and to her scowl.
“Yeah, hold on.” Dipping my fingers into the back pocket of my jeans, Scarlett faced away from me as I strolled across the floor with the key.
“Are you planning to try and hit me as soon as I get these off?” I asked, aligning the key with the lock.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“You know I have special combat training, right?”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t get a crotch shot in.”
“Actually, it does.”
“Can we stop with the fucking banter and just uncuff me please?”
And only because I knew it would bother her, I remarked, “Only because you said please.”
Scarlett groaned, and I allowed the satisfaction of her irritation to slide wide across my face from cheek to cheek. I unlocked the handcuffs from around her puckered and reddened wrists, and she moved away from me immediately.
“Thank fuck,” she breathed, bringing her wrists into her hands and massaging them. With that done, I made a quick trip to the bathroom, finding it decorated base to floor in neon colors and so many mirrors, it felt like I was taking a leak in a funhouse.
“God, I hate Vegas,” I muttered, turning off the sink faucet and drying my hands on a towel so yellow, the sun would be envious.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Scarlett had spread herself out like a starfish on the bed I was going to use as mine. Of course.
“I like beds next to the window. Hope you don’t mind,” she said.
Although I minded, I didn’t mind enough to make a fuss about it. All fusses and fucks I could have given were left along the road we traveled here on, and now I was empty. There was only one thing in the world that I could rely on to fill that emptiness.
A mini-bar sat in the corner of the room, with a—no surprise—neon sign above it that read ‘Let The Good Tims Start Here.’
“Who the fuck is Tim?” I turned my attention to Scarlett who had propped herself up on the bed, eyeing the same sign I was.
“I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to say ‘time’.”
She hummed, sinking back down onto the bed. “Kinda like it more as Tim.”
Laying herself back down on the bed, she picked up her phone lying just next to her. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, mouth pursed to the side as she typed away on it. I had to wonder if whoever was on the other side of that conversation would end up being problematic for me.
Another problem for tomorrow.
Tonight, my only worry was the lack of selection in the minibar and if it would be enough to keep my subconscious asleep and the nightmare away.
Kicking the door to the mini-bar fridge closed, I carried out four tiny Jack Daniels laced through my fingers and a cup of ice.
“You drinking on the job, Agent?”
“You’re here. We’re enroute. I’m off the clock.”
The Jack hit the ice in my glass as I poured out the first two tiny bottles. The alcohol curdled the ice with that special crackle sound, and already, my insides were melting in anticipation.
“If you’re gonna get blitzed, at least let me have some fun too.” The sound of the bed moving was followed by the blur of fire-red as Scarlett came up beside me. “I’ve always wanted to play slots.”
I stopped mid-pour, cocking my head at her. “I’m beginning to wonder if you actually think I’m stupid.”
“Not stupid. Just not smart.”