Page 5 of Vicious Little Games

“Got it. No laying of my fingers, even to save lives.” Again, his demand is technically vague. I don’t go around literally laying my fingers on anyone, ever. Not that I would touch either of his daughters, but still, he should be more specific, like not shoving my fingers, tongue, or dick inside of them. That’s specific as hell.

“If you break either of my rules, I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

“Understood.” There are plenty of ways for the man to screw with me that wouldn’t result in my death. Injuries that I would eventually heal from over days or weeks. I have a high pain tolerance. Not that I plan on doing anything deserving of his punishment this summer. At least nothing that doesn’t have a damn good benefit to cost ratio. I really don’t like being told what I can and can’t do. I do whatever the fuck I’m confident that I can get away with.

“You say you understand, but I’m not sure if you actually comprehend the things I would do to you, Cole.” The mafia king finally presses the bottom button on the elevator, swipes his card through the reader, and even provides a thumbprint scan, then we’re going down instead of up.

Down into the pit of hell I’ve heard rumors about but never seen myself until today, apparently.

When the elevator doors open, I follow Dante across the concrete floor, each step of his dress shoes echoing around the wide-open space, along with the sound of the rolling wheels of my luggage. “Wait here,” he says, stopping in the middle of the dark space before using the light from his cell phone screen to walk over to a nearby wall.

The scent of dirt, sweat, and copper hang heavy in the air that’s thicker than in the casino, as if the basement is part of another world.

Dante flips the lights on overhead, one row at a time, until they reach and illuminate a man hanging from a giant hook dangling from the ceiling. His face is covered in blood, a rag tied around his mouth, his wrists restrained with metal cuffs draped over the hook. His toes are a good three feet off the floor, ensuring he can’t touch it. I can’t even decipher what sort of clothing he was wearing before his blood drenched them, thanks to the many tears and slices all over his body. The guy looks like he was attacked by Edward Scissorhands.

“This is Virgil, one of my blackjack dealers. He made the mistake of stealing from me and my customers,” Dante explains. “Eli has been playing with him for three long days. I’ll give you to Eli for a week if you break any of my rules.”

“Understood,” I assure him, while avoiding the dangling man’s pleading eyes and trying to ignore his muffled pleas. As if either of those things will save him.

“Great. Go on up to the penthouse and send Eli down. I want to finish this up today.” He hands me a plastic key card, then removes his suit jacket. “Use that card to get up to the penthouse. The code at the door is currently nine-four-six-two. Your thumbprint has been added to the casino’s security system so the touchpads will work for you.”

“How did you get my thumbprint?” I ask him curiously.

“Off something you once touched,” he replies. “I’m resourceful, Cole. Remember that.” Folding and hanging his jacket over an empty chair, he says, “Your mother and I will both be back for dinner at seven tonight and you will also attend.”

“Yes, sir.”

I gladly head back to the elevator with my suitcase and make my way up. Once I swipe the card, scanning my thumb to get up to the penthouse, I enter in the code next to the door, giving the two stony guards stationed there a nod of my head that they ignore. I roll my suitcase in behind me, letting the door slam shut, then leave it in the entryway to go search for Eli.

I find the psycho sitting in Dante’s office at a small, wooden table off to the side, a casual leg crossed over his knee in one of the chairs. His blond hair that’s more sandy-colored than mine is pulled back in the usual manbun as he scrolls through his cell phone. “Hey, man. Dante wanted me to tell you to come down to the basement and ‘finish this up today,’ meaning the guy hanging on by a thread.”

“Oh, good.” He pops up and slips his phone into the front pocket of his slacks. Flashing his teeth at me, he says, “This is always my favorite part.”

“No kidding?”

“Well, I do love drawing it out, too. Their fear of anticipation at the beginning is almost as fun as their terror when they know it’s finally the end of their existence.”

Yeah, the man is a sick fuck.

Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else as he hurries out of the office and the penthouse, humming an upbeat tune.

In the entryway, I start to pick up my luggage to begin making the trek up the stairs to the second floor when something outside catches my attention. Needing a better view of the mostly naked woman soaking up the sun from a long float in the pool, I stroll over to look out the floor- to-ceiling windows.

Cass’s blue bikini barely covers any of her pale skin. Her long red waves are swept-up in a messy knot on top of her head, sunglasses concealing her eyes that are always glaring. She doesn’t move a muscle, like she’s napping. And speaking of muscles, unlike most women from school that are simply half-starved and scrawny, Cass is Fit, with a capital F. Her long, toned, outstretched legs and arms raised over her head are etched with the hard work of hitting the gym for hours every day.

Then there are her killer breasts that look about two sizes too big for the rest of her body. They’re the heavy, natural kind that straight men are compelled to stare at. Especially when they’re falling out of tiny blue triangles that barely cover her pebbled nipples.

Knowing Dante and Eli will be busy with the basement guy for a while, and not wanting her to burn her pretty, ivory flesh, I open the back door and pull down my sunglasses from the top of my head to keep from going blind.

I barely make it two steps away from the door when she speaks as if she wasn’t napping but simply plotting mayhem with complete stillness.

“Ugh, you're back.” Her scowl deepens the closer I get, which is nothing new. I think the only time I’ve ever seen her stop frowning was when I caught her watching me bang the brains out of a housekeeper on the island nearly a year ago. The look of longing on her face, the way she was biting her bottom lip, made it clear that she liked what she saw, every inch of me, including the long ones hanging between my legs that have been swelling since the second I saw her in her bikini.

Hell, I’m probably wearing that exact same lustful look on my face now. It’s not the Vegas heat that has me on the verge of panting with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. I’m surprised Cass hasn’t called me on it yet.

Getting ahead of her incoming taunt, I remove my sunglasses to blatantly study all those tiny blue triangles a little closer, including the one between her legs. The soaking wet fabric is clinging to her cunt, creating the mother of all camel toes. “Are you trying to burn up that albino skin of yours or just add a few more freckles?” I ask her. “And who the hell are you trying to tempt up here with this tiny bikini, cocktease?”

“Nobody.”

---