Page 3 of Monster: King of Nevada

The night wears on, and so does my amusement. I can only enjoy these events for so long anymore. Boredom quickly invades my surroundings, and I get antsy.

I’ve begun to want more.

Almost become desperate for it.

Ever since Nick Gambino stole that girl from beneath my fingertips, I’ve been looking for the same type of relationship. Unfortunately, Nick and Rue made me a promise that has fallen flat with every girl they’ve sent my way.

None of them hold a candle to the strength in the self-assured woman I paid a hefty sum for. Rue hasn’t given up, though, despite me telling her it’s useless.

After my own brother, Adonis, found his Soren, I became more frustrated.

Nearly forty years old and all I have is money and power.

I don’t know how or when it happened, but I’ve begun to want more.

Growing up, I was ambitious, far more so than my father or brother. I wanted more than the California life and territory that has been controlled by my family for generations.

I was young when I came to Las Vegas, my reputation helping me make connections with the right people and earning top dollar for my work as, first, an enforcer for a loan shark. Then, when I had enough capital and power, I bought his clientele as the man retired to Texas.

From loaning money, I moved into the fighting circuit, but legal fights were too soft for my taste. I wanted a blood sport that didn’t come to an end because someone showed weakness. I wanted more. I wanted men to pay me to stop the fights so their fighters didn’t die.

I built an empire off my thirst for blood, and now, I have it all.

But I still feel like something’s missing.

Orsomeone.

A warm body to bury myself in at night. Someone as committed and obsessed with me as I would be with them. Which is precisely why I won’t settle. I want something specific. A particular lifestyle, and I won’t give that up just for a cum dump.

“We’re done here,” I tell Caleb, stubbing out my cigar and chugging back my thirty-two-year-old Teeling Purple Muscat in a single gulp–an insult to the Irish-aged whiskey at thirty-five hundred dollars a bottle. But I’m too frustrated to care.

“You alright, man?” my oldest friend and second-in-command asks as I get up, dismissing the fight I sponsored below.

“Something’s off…” I mutter.

“I’ll get security on it.” I shake my head before he’s done speaking. “No?” Caleb has always been good at reading me. Mostly because I’m a heartless bastard, and it’s easy to discern my desires.

This time, he can’t.

“Not here. Not tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He nods, but I can see he’s still confused.

Taking the private elevator to the bottom floor of Lorde Arena–something else I built on a whim but is now my largest income source. An event center for a myriad of entertainment. Sports, concerts, fights. You name it, we host it.

As soon as my private door opens into the parking garage, Owen, my driver, is waiting with the back door of my personal limo ajar.

“Sir.” He nods in subservience as I roll my eyes. The man likes to get on my nerves.

“Home, Owen,” I say once he’s behind the wheel.

His brows pique because I planned to spend the night in my hotel, but he doesn’t question me. “You got it.”

I raise the privacy partition as he begins to drive. It’s an hour to my house, so I scroll through emails and messages.

One from Rue catches my eye, and I curse as I read what she’s said.

Rue: I know you said no more but Soren and I have a friend. She’s perfect.

Several hours later, there’s another one.

---