Page 49 of Ginger

I swallowed hard, wishing there was something I could do. I could only hope that Vegas would see reason.

The hour passed far too quickly. Detroit came back, his expression somber. “It’s time. He’s back.”

KiKi whimpered a little before pressing her hand to her mouth. I reached over to squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her. I wished like hell Bronx and Reno were back. Maybe they’d have been able to come up with a plan. Instead, KiKi would have to do this on her own.

No. Not entirely. “I’m going with you, KiKi.”

She shook her head. “He could get pissed at you.”

“If he is, then I’ll handle it. I’m not going to let you walk into the lion’s den alone.”

We stood and followed Detroit down to Vegas’ office. When we entered, he looked up from the papers on his desk.

"What's this?" he asked, leaning back in his leather chair. His voice was deceptively soft, a predator's purr. "Detroit bringing me presents?"

KiKi flinched beside me, her entire body trembling. I moved slightly closer to her, our shoulders brushing. A small gesture of solidarity that wouldn't go unnoticed by Vegas. Nothing ever did.

Detroit closed the door behind us with a quiet click. "Got something that needs discussing, Pres."

Vegas' gaze flicked between us, calculating. I could almost see the gears turning, assessing the situation, measuring our fear. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Must be serious if you've dragged Bronx's and Reno’s woman into it," he said, setting down his pen with deliberate care. "Sit."

It wasn't an invitation. KiKi sank into one of the chairs facing his desk, her movements stiff, robotic. I remained standing, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"I prefer to stand," I said, meeting his gaze directly.

Something flickered across Vegas' face—amusement, perhaps, or annoyance. It was gone too quickly to identify.

"Suit yourself." He turned his attention to KiKi, who looked like she might shatter if someone spoke too loudly. "What's this about, sweetheart?"

The endearment slithered from his lips like something toxic. KiKi's eyes stayed fixed on her lap, her hands clenched into bloodless fists.

"I—" Her voice broke. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Vegas, I need to tell you something."

He waited, silent and still. The only movement was the slow tap of his index finger against the polished surface of his desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a metronome counting down to execution.

KiKi looked up at me, her eyes pleading. I squeezed her shoulder gently. This had to come from her.

"The baby," she finally whispered. "It might be yours."

The tapping stopped.

The silence that followed was absolute, like the moment after a bomb detonates but before the sound reaches your ears. Vegas' expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

"Might be," he repeated, each word precisely formed. "As in, you're not sure."

A tear slid down her cheek. “I’m pretty positive. You’re the only one who…”

“Who what?” he asked.

“You didn’t use a condom,” I said. “She said you’re the only one who came inside her without one. So, it’s likely the baby is yours.”

KiKi openly cried now, clearly terrified.

“Out,” Vegas said. “But not KiKi.”

“I’m not leaving her!” I gasped when he stood abruptly and glared at me. “I promised I’d come here with her.”

---