Page 1 of The Tourist

CHAPTER1

Chloe

SIX MONTHS AGO

“Ican’t believe it’s been so long since we last did this,” I announce before taking a sip of the sweet cocktail, made with vodka, orange juice, and cranberry, that Serena just handed to me.

“I know. You work far too hard these days, Chloe,” Serena teases.

It’s been a year since I was last in Las Vegas. My journalist apprenticeship in London has consumed me, but it’s all been worth it. Last week, I was given a full-time position at the magazine I’ve been working for as a trainee.

I’m now employed in the women’s section, focusing on current issues that affect females. I’m halfway through my first article on the oppression of women in some Middle Eastern countries, focusing on those who’ve been able to find their voice, freedom, and a career after years of silence under harsh regimes.

“But it does mean I’ll finally see my name in print when my article comes out,” I retort.

“And we’ll cut it out and frame it.”

We clink our cocktail glasses together. The night, like any other in Vegas, is starting out with bright lights, pulsating music, and an air of excitement that electrifies the atmosphere.

Serena and I are dolled up in high heels and short black dresses. We’ve curled our hair and put on lots of makeup—silver eyeshadow for me, to accentuate my blue eyes, and gold for Serena, to complement her darker features from her Mexican ancestry.

We’re ready to paint the town red.

We’ve already made enough memories together to last a lifetime, having been friends since we started elementary school, but there’s always room for more. We’ll be old and gray before we stop adding to our list of fun nights out.

Serena’s my best friend, despite our very different upbringings. I was born to Tim and Patricia Benson in suburban London. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, and my father, who’s now retired, was a doctor. He specialized in plastic surgery, not the type concerned with bigger tits and asses or smaller hips and stomachs, but the type focused on reconstructing physical deformities and burns injuries.

When I was three, we moved to America for my father’s work. He was offered an opportunity of a lifetime, and he couldn’t turn it down. It was surprising how much in demand his specialist skills were in Las Vegas!

Last year, my parents moved back to England after my father took early retirement. I wasn’t sure if I should go with them, but when I got the offer of an apprenticeship with the magazine in London, the decision was made for me. Saying goodbye to my best friend was hard, but Serena and I vowed to talk daily, and we’ve kept that promise.

My best friend’s start in life was very different from mine. At first, my parents were reluctant to encourage our friendship because she’s a member of a well-known cartel family. However, once they saw the way her relatives helped the local community, they changed their minds. Serena’s family own several hotels in Las Vegas, and even though they do some dodgy dealings, which I know nothing about and never want to, they are a good family, on the whole, who protect their own and those close to them.

Serena’s father, Carlos, and her mother, Lucia, were both killed in a plane crash when my friend was fifteen years old. After Serena’s father died, her brother, Diego, took on the family empire. I’ve known Diego almost as long as I’ve known his sister. He’s handsome with dark features, and if he wasn’t so intimidating, I might find him attractive. He scares the life out of me, though, especially when his brows furrow together in a scowl while he’s chastising Serena for taking risks. He adores his sister, but I know he constantly worries about her safety, and at times, he finds her reckless behavior frustrating.

My friend doesn’t need to work. Instead, she helps the less fortunate citizens of Las Vegas. With the assistance of some of the other cartel wives and daughters, she runs clothing and food banks and shelters where the homeless can get a shower and a decent night’s sleep. Many are reluctant to use the facilities she offers, though, because of the stigma attached to being poor in such a wealthy, thriving city. Ironically, it’s often the gambling and readily available alcohol and drugs that causes their downfall in the first place.

For all that glitters in the city that never sleeps, there’s also a darker side, especially since Covid.

“Have you finished your drink, yet?” Serena asks as she sips the last of her cocktail through a straw.

I shake my head, laughing. “I can’t keep up with you.”

“That’s because you’ve been living with all those stiff-upper-lip Brits for the last year.” She laughs, playfully sticking her tongue out at me.

“How rude!” I shake my head, and with a wave of my hand, I call over our private waiter.

We’re currently in the VIP section of one of the night clubs belonging to Serena’s family. As special guests, our every whim is catered to, even if later in the evening it’s a request for a greasy kebab from Downtown. The club is in the basement of the casino the family also owns. It’s a massive place and very easy to get lost in. There are restaurants, theaters, hotel suites, and so much more all under one roof.

The only drawback to the club being owned by Serena’s family is the security detail stopping anyone from approaching us. Serena is Catholic and has chosen to save herself for her husband, but even if she was interested in finding a man, I think her brother would kill anyone who dared to look at her—or at me, for that matter.

I never intended to remain a virgin, but Diego’s always been protective of both of us, hence all the guards. I mean, seven burly men for two tiny women is a bit excessive. Since moving to London, I’ve had a lot more freedom, but I’ve been too focused on my career to date anyone, and I’m really not interested in a one-night stand.

“Where is Felix tonight?” I ask. He’s Serena’s ever-present personal bodyguard. I think he secretly has a crush on her, and I suspect the feeling is mutual.

“He’s got family issues,” she replies, her smile fading.

I can’t have that.

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