Page 17 of Nevada

Will do x

I toss my phone on the passenger seat. I press my palms into my eyes. Lack of sleep is starting to catch up with me. I feel tiredness setting in. I can’t even remember a time when I slept soundly… That’s a lie. When Tilly was around, I slept like a baby. When Tilly was around, everything was better.

Don’t go there.

I start my truck and pull out into the evening traffic. My apartment isn’t far from downtown. The neighborhood is affluent in the Warehouse district nestled amongst diverse restaurants and shops. It was a splurge, but I’ve worked hard. These days though, I’m barely ever there. Every single day of my life is now dedicated to finding my sister, and the fact that I’m a PI and haven’t found any trace of her not only makes me feel like a failure, but also a disloyal sister.

Everywhere I fucking turn this town tries to stop me in my tracks. There is so much corruption. Not just the police force, politicians and the mayor, but everyday people. Everyone can be bought for a price. Everyone has their wish list.

One thing I will never sell is my soul.

It isn’t for sale no matter how much money they offer me. I’ll hold a gun up to the Devil’s head and pull the trigger if it gets my sister out of purgatory, but selling my soul isn’t on the table. It never has been.

My stomach rolls when I think what could be happening to her right at this very moment. I can’t think about that. If I do, I know I’ll never summon the strength to keep going.

She’s still alive.

I know she is. People say that they’d know if a person they’re really close to is no longer of this earth, and that’s exactly how I feel. I’d know. I would feel it, wouldn't I?

While I dislike most of the cops in this godforsaken place, Callaghan seems like one of the good guys, that is when I don’t want to smack him in the face for not giving me information. He’s at least set up a task force to track and follow any suspected traffickers back from when the Caruso mob was taken out. They just don’t know enough to get me what I want, but that’s typical of the police. There’s too much red tape.

When I get back to my apartment, I park in my bay and make my way to the lobby. The concierge is busy, which is good because I’m not in the mood for small talk. I take the elevator up to the fifth floor. It’s a small complex and it’s quiet so when I come back to rest, I’m glad that I don’t have any noisy neighbors. In fact, I’ve lived here for almost a year and I’ve only met two of the five apartment residents on this floor. I mean, I know who they all are and I’ve done background checks. What's the point of having access to people’s private information and not using it?

I get in the door and slide my jacket off. I’m packing, but Nevada didn’t seem to notice the two small handguns in the holsters under my jacket. I didn’t go there to shoot anyone, but a girl can’t be too careful these days. My weapon of choice are knives. I slide my favorite blade out of my boot and slide it onto the kitchen counter. Then I do the same to the other boot. I pull my boots off and tuck them in the hall closet. I peel off my clothes as I walk to the bathroom. I need to shower. I smell like him.

Nevada’s cologne clings to me like a persistent reminder that I’m attracted to him. I don’t want to be. I really don’t. I never go for guys younger than me, and definitely not in their 20s. Men his age aren’t mature enough. I mean, what could he honestly know?

Latin. I tell myself. He knows Latin.

I’m dubious. Really fuckin’ dubious that isn’t just another pick-up line, then again, I’m sure he couldn’t just pull Latin out of his ass at the drop of a hat.

I turn the water on full blast. My shower is the most heaven-sent place on earth, aside from my bed. I love my mattress more than life and sliding into bed at the end of a long day feels like a reward for all my hard work.

I wet my hair before squirting shampoo into my palm. I soap up my hair, rinse, repeat, then apply a good amount of conditioner and comb through the tangles.

I’m anxious. I feel like nothing’s moving. These past few weeks trying to get new information has been like drawing blood from a stone. Meanwhile, Tilly is still out there somewhere. Someone must know something. Every minute that passes equals more danger and distress to her well-being. I turn, letting the warm water wash over me. I need to switch off. Maybe a glass of wine will help, or a shot of vodka or three.

At every turn I try to forget about Nevada. About the concern in his eyes when I told him and his mom about my sister. I also try to forget the feel of his hands on me… Even though he was being an ass and restraining me, it shouldn’t have felt good.

He’s crass and predictable. With a face like his, I’ll bet he gets all the chicks. What do they call those again? Honey butts or sweet butts or something. I snort. Just a little misogynistic for my liking, but there was no mistaking what he had in his pants. No, sir.

For a second there I almost lost my mind.

What would it be like to have Nevada in my bed? I shake my head at the idea. While I’m sure younger guys are virile and can go all night, I’m not about to put that theory to the test.

After I rinse and wrap myself in a towel, I head to the fridge and decide on wine. I also hunt around in the fridge for something to eat and heat up some Chinese food leftover from last night. I eat over the sink, then go dry my hair before bed.

I climb in, not bothering with clothes because that’s how I sleep, and turn on the television. While I like quiet, I also find it hard switching my brain off. I try to watch a sit-com and ignore the pull between my legs to give myself some attention. I hate myself for being turned on by him, but then I convince myself it isn’t that bad. If I do get off thinking about him, it isn’t like he’ll know.

I reach into the bedside table and pull out my vibrator. I have a few, but tonight this baby will get the job done and then I can fall asleep. I tweak a nipple, biting my lip when I let myself imagine him doing that. I turn on the vibrator and run the tip through my soaking pussy. I’m so fucking wet, no thanks to him. I close my eyes, playing with myself as I imagine Nevada between my legs…

He eats me out, spreading my legs wider and I moan.

“Right there, Blue Eyes… Yes, right there…”

He looks up, pleased with himself when he curves his fingers inside me and I buck off the bed.

“Mama,” he drawls. His tongue working my clit is driving me insane, and just when I’m about to come, he eases off, further frustrating me.

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