Page 161 of Cook

Cook

Ididn’t mind a good timein Las Vegas, but sadly, we weren’t here for a good time.

No booze or drugs.

No girls, not that I wanted any skanky Vegas piece-of-ass now, anyway.

No gambling, except with our lives.

Wilde swung off his motorcycle first, and the rest of us followed. I checked over my shoulder, up and down the street in the middle of the high rises that littered Vegas. So much for backroom card games and speakeasies from the old mob movies. The Mafia had found other holds here.

I glanced up at the name of the place.

Parisi Hotel and Casino.

Of course, he fucking owned one of the tallest places on the strip.

Celt checked his watch and then nodded. Wilde walked forward first. Celt, Angel, and I trailed. As much as I wanted to bring more men, Massimo had given us direct orders. We had the Warden staking out the place electronically, but I wanted more boots on the ground.

The silver automatic doors swept back as we stepped inside the high rise that was too gray and white. It was like we had entered anew hospital. Even down to the soft classical music playing overhead. I kicked orange dust off the heels of my shoes, leaving it on the floor of the reception.

“Good afternoon,” said the woman at reception. She wore a dark dress tight to her body, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. “You must be the gentlemen from The Ridge motorcycle club.”

No shit, Sherlock!I checked over my shoulder again.Is Massimo expecting another MC?

“You’ll need to sign in,” said the receptionist, holding out a tablet. “It’s for safety reasons, of course.”

“What kind of safety?” asked Celt.

“In case of fire,” said the receptionist, a practiced response. How many times had she had to say it before? “Also, all weapons must be left at the desk.”

I snapped my gaze to her, and I wasn’t the only one. Everyone in our group was staring at her like she’d just walked off a spaceship and informed us she was here to take over Earth.

She didn’t lean back. This was probably another thing she had to ask on the regular, but this wasn’t because of a fucking fire hazard. I reached for my gun in the back of my waistband, staring around. We were close enough to our motorcycles to make a clean getaway. We didn’t need this damn business with the Mafia.

Then again, my mom was somewhere hidden amid these white-washed walls.

“We’ll lock them up, and you’ll be able to retrieve them once your meeting with Mr. Parisi is over,” said the receptionist.

We all looked to Wilde, who was contemplating it. His lips were pursed, and his eyes were narrowed on the receptionist, like he could smell her lie. She smiled at him kindly and waited expectedly. This was just another day at the office for her.

Wilde withdrew his gun from the back of his pants and then placed it on the counter. Celt and Angel followed. Finally, I did too. I had already lost my gun once and that was how we’d landed in this shitshow. I hated to do it again, this time deliberately. At least Maddie wasn’t here. She was safe with Bou and Melanie. We just needed to worry about Mom.

The receptionist held open bags one-by-one for each of us to drop our guns inside, then she tucked them into a cabinet and locked the door.

Once the guns were checked in and locked away, she led us to the elevator and rode all the way up the high rise with us. The soft classical music playing over the elevator speakers made me want to rip my hair out, but I held my hands in my pockets.

This had to be the longest elevator ride ever. At least the receptionist stood at the front of the group. It gave me a little assurance that there wasn’t an immediate fire coming when the doors opened. She let us out and then said, “Mr. Parisi and the others are through those doors. I’ll see you back downstairs in a bit.” She smiled as the elevator doors closed.

“How pleasant,” I muttered.

Celt snorted a laugh. I knew my best friend would have my back.

Wilde walked ahead, and the rest of us moved like a pack of wolves, stalking down the white halls illuminated in dim light and abstract art. Again, too sterile. We probably left a trail of dust and sand in our wake like fucking Hansel and Gretel. This hallway was far too fake and unlivable.

It needed life breathed into it.

The white doors waited at the end of the hallway, and Wilde pushed them open. They banged against the walls, and the Mafia stared at us with disdain etching lines into their faces. I almost laughed. They’d brought us here, but they were the ones who looked like ghosts.

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