Page 6 of Twisted Fate

“What do you need me to do?” I ask.

He lets out a sigh then, a shaky, wavery sound that only ramps up my anxiety and concern.

“Go to my place. There’s a spare key hidden in the cracked flowerpot to the left of the door. Under my bed is a black duffle bag. I need you to bring it to me.”

“Should I ask why you can’t go get it yourself?” I ask, voice tight.

“I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Markus, what the fuck is going on?”

“Just…just do it. Please, Sis. Just do this one thing for me without a fuckton of questions, all right? Do this and I promise this is the last time I’ll ask you for a favor like this.”

I don’t believe him. I’ve learned the hard way never to trust a drug addict with a gambling problem. I’d trusted him in high school when he told me he could double the money I’d saved from my part-time job flipping burgers. I never saw a penny of that money again. I’d trusted him my first year in college when he begged me to get him out of the hole he’d dug for himself. I’d given him what I could afford, and some I couldn’t. He’d promised he’d pay me back, and he had…two years later. I’d had to take the graveyard shift at a gas bar to afford to eat for the rest of that semester. I’d trusted him when we each got a tiny inheritance after Mom and Dad died and he begged to borrow mine to pay off his debts, swore he’d pay me back every penny. He’d started out strong, sending money every month. Until he didn’t. I’m still waiting for the rest.

“What casino are you at and how much do you owe?” I ask grudgingly.

“How the hell do you know I’m at a casino?”

I roll my eyes. “Let’s call it a lucky guess.”

He lets out another shuddery breath. “Like I said, this is the last time.”

“Sure.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but it’s a gift-with-purchase when it comes to being an audience member for a lifetime of Markus’s issues. “Where are you?”

“Are you going to bring me the bag?” he presses.

“What happens if I say no? Got someone else to call in town that you trust?”

“Do you?” he asks softly.

My jaw tightens. “I asked first.”

There’s a grudging silence. We both know the answer to that. Neither one of us has anyone else in the world who gives a single shit about us. Anyone we can trust with our darkest secrets. It’s a sad realization, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

I wait. It doesn’t take long before Markus tells me where he is.

I wave at Susan—the closest thing I have to a friend in Vegas—and gesture to let her know I’m leaving. She nods, mouths call me later and blows me a kiss, then points toward the boss’s office, but I shake my head.

No sense trying to give some lame excuse to my boss about why I’m leaving early. He’ll tell me I have to stay. So I just leave, knowing I’ll have to find another dive to work at tomorrow.

It’s okay, there are plenty of them in Vegas.

4

Alina

An hour later, black canvas duffle bag slung over my shoulder, I walk through the front entrance of the casino Markus directed me to. My heart’s pounding hard, since it’s smack-dab in the center of the Vegas Strip, swarming with tourists and thousands of pairs of eyeballs. I feel exposed, and it isn’t just because my short black skirt and sequinned halter top leave little to the imagination. I might not be a stripper, but I’d quickly learned how to get maximum tips for minimal effort. I glance around, wondering if any of the people I pass are Enzo’s associates.

Markus told me where to find him, so that’s where I head. Through the casino, a distracting gauntlet of bells and dings from the slot machines, a low roar of conversation throughout the massive space, and shouts of glee or regret over the results at the blackjack and roulette tables. I ignore it all, focused only on my destination.

At the back is the entrance to the private VIP gaming rooms, and my steps slow when I see it’s flanked by two hulking, musclebound guards wearing matching jet-black dress shirts and trousers. The monoliths eye me, expressionless.

“I’m here to see Markus Madsen,” I tell them, raising my chin as I try to look like I did this sort of thing all the time. Totally confident, no problem at all.

Their gazes flick to the duffle bag and, without a change in his expression, one opens the door for me. I don’t bother with a thank you before I swiftly move through it.

I’ve already decided not to do more than what I’ve been asked for. Find Markus, make sure he’s all right. Give him the duffle bag. Then get the fuck out of here.

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