Page 1 of Devil of Vegas

PROLOGUE

ISLA

I'm late.

The word pounds through my head with each slap of my shoes against the pavement. Twenty-three minutes until curtain. My first major solo at the Grand Vegas Theatre, and I'm racing through the streets in nothing but a rhinestone covered tutu and tights.

I should have grabbed my coat. The thought stings almost as much as the October wind cutting through the thin fabric. But Madame Durant's voice echoes in my mind:Punctuality is the courtesy of kings and the discipline of dancers.I'd lost track of time warming up in my apartment, too nervous to eat, too anxious to sit still.

Now I'm paying for it. The rhinestones on my costume catch the neon lights of the strip, making me shimmer like a beacon.Look at me,they seem to scream.Young woman, alone, practically naked.

I quicken my pace, my dance bag bouncing against my hip. The theatre glows just ahead, its art deco marquee promising safety. Fifteen minutes now. I can make it.

"Hey, baby."

The voice slithers from the shadows of an alley, stopping me cold. "You a dancer or something? Bring that pretty body of yours over here and you can dance forme."

I keep walking, practically breaking into a run. But footsteps follow—heavy, persistent.

"Hey, slow down, princess." A second voice joins the first. "You got time for aprivatedance with us, don't you?"

"No, I'm late and people are expecting me and I—" The words tumble out as I try to outpace them. The theatre doors gleam ahead. Just another hundred feet. Fifty. Twenty?—

A hand clamps onto my shoulder, spinning me around. The world tilts. My knees hit the concrete hard, tearing through my tights. My dance bag skitters across the pavement, spilling ribbons and rosin.

"Come on now, sweetheart." The first man looms over me, his friend closing in from the side. His backhand catches me across the mouth before I can scream. I taste copper. "We just wanna have a little fun, then you can go, okay?"

He grabs my wrist, pulling me up towards him. I wrench against him with everything I have, but he's too strong. This can't be happening. Not tonight. Not when everything I've worked for is just minutes away?—

"I suggest you lowlifes crawl back under the rock you came from before I make you regret it."

The voice cuts through the night with surgical precision. Madame Durant stands ten feet away, streetlights turning her gray hair silver, her cane gripped in one weathered hand. She looks like what she is—a ballet instructor in her late fifties, maybe five-foot-four in heels.

She looks like nothing.

She looks likeprey.

But both men freeze. The one holding me actually takes a step back.

"Sorry, ma'am." The words tumble out like a child caught stealing. They let me go so fast I stumble. "We didn't mean?—"

"Leave." One word. Quiet. Final.

They melt back into the shadows without another word, heads lowered, shoulders hunched. As if they know something I don't.

"Come along, Isla." Madame Durant retrieves my scattered belongings with surprising grace. "You're late, and now we need to get you cleaned up."

Inside the theatre, she guides me to my dressing room with brisk efficiency. "Let me see." Cool fingers tilt my chin, examining my split lip. "Not too bad. The stage makeup will cover it."

"Madame, how did you?—"

"I heard you call out." She dabs at the blood with a tissue. "Though I don't recall you screaming."

She's right. I hadn't screamed. The realization sends a chill down my spine.

"You should be more careful, child." Something flickers in her eyes—knowledge, perhaps. Or a warning. "This city, this life we've chosen... There isalwaysdanger lurking. Some perceive it more readily than others."

"Five minutes to curtain, Isla!" The stage manager's voice echoes down the hall.

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