Page 17 of King of Sinners

Reaching in, I pull out my camera first. I love this thing. Next comes some pictures of me and my mom when I was little. They’re from right before she walked out on us.

Then, I pull out my old MacBook. I can’t complete anything without it. Finally, I grab the roll of cash that’s my ticket out of Nevada.

My bag is at my feet, and I stuff the roll in under the laptop, placing the camera around my neck. I let the curtain fall back into place and step back, nodding to Mason to put the bed back. He does, not even huffing like I would, and then I give the place one last look.

It’s not much but I still feel a bit of longing as I look at it. If I only I could rewind to yesterday, take the other path home, I would have woken in my bed.

What is all of this going to do with my plan to leave Vegas? I’ve been itching to get out and I’m so close…

Reaching for Kim’s picture, I stuff that in the bag too.

She works at Rebel’s too and I don’t know how I would have made it through the last few years without her. I’m going to have to call her and tell her something. I’ve got today off but I’m supposed to be at work tomorrow.

And then there’s my project. Mason and I are going to need to talk about that. I can’t fail this class. Not now. Not after everything I’ve gone through to make it this far.

I remember the list I’d ticked off in my head when I thought Roman was going to shoot me. Graduating…it’s one of the things I need to do before I die.

Mason carries my bag out into the hall as I follow.

We step back outside and I stop, looking down the street once again. This is the part of Vegas they never show. Lifting my camera, I take a picture of the entire camp and then zero in on a few homeless people I see regularly as they stand outside their tents.

Their faces are cracked and worn, their clothing filthy. They are still beautiful in their own way, and they deserve to be seen.

“What are you doing?” Mason asks. He hands the bag to the driver, who places it in the trunk, as he comes to stand next to me, his hand at my waist.

I let him guide me back to the car as he opens the car door and I take my spot in the backseat. He comes around and gets in too, the door closing with a satisfying thud.

Silently, I hold the camera out, the pictures I just took flashing over the screen. He didn’t ask me to show him, I just do. And not because I’m proud of them. Taking those pics is my way of not completely letting go of my life. Of accomplishing one of the few goals I set for myself.

He grimaces as he nods. Does he understand?

The car starts rolling as the phone rings. He picks up, only saying the single word, “Yes?”

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the call because he doesn’t have to. He vibrates power. One of his hands is resting on his thigh, the grey of the trousers only accentuating the delicious roughness of his skin, the long taper of his masculine fingers.

I don’t think. I just lift the lens to my eye and snap.

His eyes flick over to me, and I flash him the screen. One eyebrow rises but he says nothing as he keeps not talking on the phone.

Then he hangs up.

“We’ll have to delay the shopping. Something’s come up.”

“I’ve don’t need to shop at all. I’ve got plenty of clothes.”

He grimaces but doesn’t answer. “Jackson,” he points to the driver, “will be at the bottom of the elevator all day should you need anything.”

We pull back into the parking garage, both Mason and Jackson climbing out. Jackson gets my duffel while Mason opens my car door.

This time, when I step out, he doesn’t back up and his body and mine are incredibly close as he rests a hand on my hip. “I won’t be back until late.”

I look away, giving a small jerk of my chin. There is little for me to do but wait. “Will we talk tonight?”

His fingers fan out on my hip. “Yes. We’ll talk tonight.”

I want to remind him that we were supposed to talk in the car. But I’m not sure what I’ll gain from irritating him. “Should I make an agenda?”

He pulls my hips closer to his, the heat of his body seeping into mine. “What would be on this agenda?”

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