Page 82 of Illicit Temptation

Trace

Nothing can collapse the ego of a six-five, ex-military bodyguard like his mum. Christ, that was embarrassing.

We drank more tea, and I gave them a bland update on Griffin and his brothers. Nothing too detailed or the woman will drag me back to Waterford.

The lure of the casino several feet away and Mum’s wee-bit gambling addiction won over worrying about me. She and Dad practically ran to the gaming tables, my drunken marriage mistake to Shea-Lynne O’Rourke hopefully forgotten.

As I walk the strip alone, texts with Shea confirm that she and Jillian are having drinks with that Trista woman and that the guards are protecting them.

Shea begged me to take a night off and to have dinner with my parents on her. Yeah, like that’s how I want to spend my night. Fuck, I’m crawling into her bed later to punish that fresh mouth with my cock.

“Don’t move,” a raspy male voice crawls across my shoulders.

Warm breath on my neck and the unmistakable feeling of a gun barrel at the base of my spine registers.

“Keep walking,” the voice says, nudging me ahead.

From behind my shades, I see nothing but tourists. No cops. Where did they all go? I passed at least a dozen of them on my way here.

“Stop.”

I look up and mutter Gaelic curses under my breath taking in the monolith kissing the clouds. The Millennium Plaza. Nico Scava’s hotel and casino. One of them. I heard he lives in this one.

And the reason there aren’t any cops around.

“Inside, Quinlan.”

Aww fuck. “Like I have a choice,” I mutter.

Inside, I glance around for exits, or anyone who looks undercover, but I’m shoved past the gaming floor, where two other men join my captor friend here.

“Where is Mr. Scava?” I don’t have to say Nico because Jillian killed his only brother Lazaro.

She’ll be a fun sister-in-law.

“Waiting for you,” the guy with the gun says with a disgusting cigarette cough that makes nails on a chalkboard sound like Beethoven.

They steer me to an elevator, and I keep my head held high. One of them takes out a card and programs the panel.

40thFloor.

Great, the top floor. They can throw me to my death.

The door opens, and Nico Scava himself is standing there. He grabs me, and with a gun to my head, he pulls me into the Castle Poker room. The two guys who joined Cigarette Breath in the elevator stand by the windows with machine guns strapped to their chests.

“You’re Shea O’Rourke’s bodyguard?” Scava asks gruffly.

“Aye,” I reply. But does he know Shea and I are married? I shrug away from Scava’s hold. “Pretty hostile treatment for a man who sent someone to stalkmyclient.”

Scava eyes me up and down, wondering if his idiot henchmen took my gun. Which they did not. “And you attacked my guy.”

That fucker Delano tattled.

“I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect my client.” My brain calculates the time it will take to pull my gun and shoot Scava before I’m riddled with bullets.

Life is about risks and choices.

“Delano saw you fucking her, bodyguard.” Scava closesin on me.

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